Two By Two

“That’s okay. Auntie Marge was there. She drove me home.” She put her arms around me. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too, baby.”

“I love you.”

“Ditto,” I said.

“What does ditto mean?”

“You say ‘ditto’ when you want to say the same thing. You said I love you, so I said ditto, meaning I love you.”

“That’s neat,” she said. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“It’s just a crazy world, isn’t it? Did you learn anything fun in school?”

“I learned that spiders aren’t insects. They’re called arachmids.”

“You mean arachnid?”

“No, Daddy. Arachmid. With an M.”

I was pretty sure she was wrong, but she’d figure it out eventually. “That’s cool.”

“It’s because insects have six legs and spiders have eight legs.”

“Wow… you’re pretty smart, you know that?”

“But I still don’t like spiders. I don’t like bees anymore either. Even though they make honey. But butterflies are pretty.”

“Just like you. You’re pretty, too. Prettier than any butterfly,” I said. “Can I go say hi to Auntie Marge for a minute?”

“Okay. I have to check on Mr. and Mrs. Sprinkles. Did you remember to give them water?”

Oops.

“No, I didn’t. But they had plenty yesterday. I’m sure they’re okay.”

“I’ll go make sure.”

I kissed her cheek and put her down. She ran toward the steps and vanished from sight. Marge, I noticed, had been watching us from the kitchen.

“You’re a good dad, you know that?” she said when I reached her.

“I try. How was she?”

“You mean in the hour I’ve had her? I had to drive her home and get her a Popsicle. And then, Mom showed up with a ton of food and I had to deal with that, too. I put some in the refrigerator and some in the freezer, by the way. Let’s just say that you really owe me for this one. I’m exhausted. What a day! I’m not sure I can take any more.”

My sister had a flair for sarcastic melodrama, obviously. “I didn’t think I’d be back so soon.”

“Neither did I. And when you did get home, I thought you’d resemble a pile of mashed potatoes. What happened? Was she even there?”

“I saw her,” I said. “Well, kind of.” I told her what had happened. While I spoke, she poured two glasses of ice water and handed one to me.

“Can I ask a question?”

“Go ahead.”

“Why didn’t you just wait for her?”

“After they went to Spannerman’s place, I realized I didn’t want to see her after that.”

“Because?”

“She was… with him. Probably at his penthouse or whatever. And…”

“And what? She left you. She told you she was in love with him. You do know she’s sleeping with him, right?”

“I know that,” I said. “I just don’t like to think about it… I don’t want to think about it.”

Marge offered a sympathetic expression. “That makes you perfectly sane.”

I hesitated, realizing I was utterly exhausted. “What am I going to do?”

“You’re going to take care of yourself. And you’re going to continue to be a good father to London.”

“I mean about Vivian.”

“For now, let’s just worry about you and your daughter, okay?”

I never should have gone to Atlanta.

On Tuesday, I tried to bury myself in work on Taglieri’s commercial, but it was hard to stay focused and I thought endlessly of Vivian. I would see her in the Bentley, Spannerman in the seat beside her; whenever I imagined her expression, it was the same one I’d seen on the patio.

Those images haunted me, bringing with them a sense of inadequacy. Of inferiority. I hadn’t simply been rejected; I’d been replaced by someone wealthier and more powerful, someone who had the ability to make Vivian laugh and smile in a way that I could not.

She had left me, not for reasons of her own, but because of me.

I said as much to Marge on the phone the following day, and when she wasn’t able to talk me out of funk, she and Liz showed up at my home after work. It was Tuesday night and I’d fed London one of the meals my mom had made; as soon as they walked in the door, Marge and London headed off to watch a movie in the family room while Liz and I sat on the back patio.

I recounted everything that had happened and the way I’d been feeling. When I was finished, Liz brought her hands together.

“What did you think would happen if you talked to Vivian?”

“I guess I was hoping that she’d make the decision to come back. Or at the very least, we’d discuss how we could work it out.”

“Why? Has she given you any indication that she wants to come back? Or try to work it out?”

“No,” I admitted. “But she’s my wife. We’ve barely spoken since she left.”

“I’m sure that the two of you will have a sit-down when she’s ready. But I can’t promise that you’ll like what she tells you.”

It wasn’t that hard to read between the lines. “You don’t think she’ll come back, do you?”

“I’m not sure my opinion is any better than anyone else’s. Or that it’s even relevant.”