The Cheater

Sue sipped an Americano she’d drowned in french vanilla creamer and gazed out the window of the cafe for a moment. Outside on the patio, a teenage couple flirted, laughing and scribbling in a notebook, taking turns with a Sharpie. Sue couldn’t help but smile to herself, wondering if they would be together after high school, still meeting up at the cafe, or if theirs was only a fleeting moment never meant to last. She pressed her hands to the warmth of her mug and looked down, watching the steam swirl for a moment before glancing up. Across from her, Allen was finishing up his portion of their latest project. This was how it had always been, ever since they’d met in high school. She dreamed up the subject matter and wrote. He caught her mistakes and offered suggestions. She rewrote, gaining new ideas from his perspective and his detached way of viewing situations she seemed so entangled within. And then, the real magic–he would beautifully illustrate an image for her text. It was never what she expected. And he did it so effortlessly and beautifully, in a flourish of color and perfection. Just a few more mouse clicks. She could tell he was almost finished from the way he parted his lips and paused to squint at the screen. Her eyes traced his movement as he reached for his mug, absently raised it to his lips, his eyes still squinting at the screen.

“Allen?”

He froze, mid sip. It was unlike her to ever use his name. Slowly, he lowered the mug to the tabletop, as if it were sure to crack if it made the slightest sound. His forehead creased above the wire rims of his glasses. A stray strand of hair tumbled forward as he slightly shook his head. “What?” His voice was nearly a whisper, a short puff of breath.

“I really wasn’t going to tell you….” Sue began, yet still hadn’t worked out how to continue. “I–well–you know–”

“You sound so stupid when you do that,” he interrupted. “I wish you wouldn’t fumble because we both know how smart you really are.”

The characteristic bluntness. She didn’t know how Meg survived as his wife, sometimes. And maybe that was the point. Maybe she wasn’t surviving. All those surprise visits–Meg showing up on her doorstep, asking her advice over Allen’s sometimes baffling behavior. The hot-cold approach–days obsessed with drawings in his studio, followed by short bursts of interest in only sex with her. Over and over. The fervent tapping at the door that signaled endless tears and cups of tea, tissues crumpled on the kitchen table…taking her hand and telling her it would work out…mascara melting in gray streaks over her cheeks…sobs shaking her shoulders as she would scoot closer….

Sue cleared her throat. Well then, why not just be blunt instead of trying to soften the blow with a sprinkle of sugar? “Meg’s cheating on you,” she blurted.

Allen closed the laptop. He squinted at Sue. In one swift motion, he swallowed the rest of his coffee and clanked the empty mug to the tabletop. Without a word, he rose, collected the laptop and mouse. He reached over, firmly grabbing Sue by the arm. She nearly tripped over her seat as she struggled to her feet, the chair audibly protesting as it scooted over the tile floor. He pulled her through the door and led her to his Hyundai Sonata. She could hear the teens laughing, still immersed in their own world, as Allen released her arm, opened the door and stepped back, gesturing to the interior as he raised his eyebrows. As she slid into the seat, she could smell Meg’s musky vanilla perfume clinging lightly to the upholstery.

Awaiting a green light at the plaza exit, he finally spoke. “How is this your business?”

After all these years, the things Allen chose to focus on still surprised her. She drew in a breath.

“I said, ‘How is this any of your business?’” He demanded. The light changed and he merged into traffic, flipping the sunshade down halfway through the turn.

“You know, I thought since you’ve always been important to me….” Sue’s fingers smoothed the hem of her blouse.

Allen chuckled softly, activating his turn signal in preparation to enter the freeway. “Okay, Sue. But I know you–”

“Could we please—” she attempted to interrupt.

“And I know damn fucking well that you don’t–”

“Stop!” she shrieked, as he stomped on the accelerator, weaving in and out between cars.

“You don’t,” he repeated, “ever get involved in anyone else’s business unless you have something directly to do with it. I’m right, aren’t I?” He glanced at her for a second, head half turned in her direction. She gripped the door handle as he stomped the accelerator harder, watching helplessly as the needle on the speedometer rose. At ninety miles an hour, they headed straight for the back of a semi truck. She screamed as he swerved at what seemed to her, the last second.

“You know, Sue, you could’ve had me back then. I guess now it’s perfectly clear why you didn’t.” He slammed on the brakes. Sue lurched forward into the dash, hitting her chest upon it, her forehead against the windshield.

Horns wailed as traffic sped past.

“Get the fuck outta my car, Sue!” he demanded.

Stunned, Sue brought her hand to her chest, trying to recover her breath.

Allen whipped the gear shift into park, leaned past Sue and pulled the release handle, pushing her against the door with his forearm. She tumbled out onto the gravelly berm, gasping for breath, feeling hot tears escape from her eyes. How was this her fault? Meg had come to her. Meg had made the first moves. Did he know about this all along? Would he ever have said anything if he did?

Allen slammed the door shut as she scrambled backwards to avoid it. With the squealing of tires, he shot back into traffic.