“Hey,” Priya said as she set out a steaming plate of stir-fry.
“Hi, sweetie,” Brad said in return, and Priya forced herself to meet his eyes. Is this what other women did, the ones who knew their husbands had been unfaithful and decided to stay? She knew several women who stayed for financial reasons, but Priya had a modest amount set aside from her days selling her paintings, so it wasn’t that. She stayed because Brad made her feel safe, or at least safer than she’d ever felt before. There was no way someone who’d never experienced an anxiety disorder could understand, but Priya didn’t believe she could be okay all by herself without his care. It wasn’t just that he medicated her—she could find a psychiatrist for that—it was the day-to-day monitoring of her behavior, her moods, and her fears. Who else would do that with such care? Priya was terrified of her own mental state, because what if she missed the subtle signs and then plunged into a downward spiral? What if she went off the deep end again with no one there to save her? What if that happened, and she lost Elliot?
Brad set down his bag, his green eyes searching hers as they always did, asking: Are you all right today?
It was a harder question to answer without Elliot here.
“How was teaching?” she asked, praying she could get through the whole evening without anything tipping him off that tomorrow she was going to meet Josie, whom he’d expressly asked her to stay away from.
“My day was terrific,” he said, upbeat as usual after his anatomy lab. He loved being listened to, respected, and adored, and teaching gave him that.
“Great,” Priya said as he hugged and kissed her. She knew she should press for details but couldn’t come up with a good question. She uncurled from his hug and went to get water.
“The food smells delicious,” Brad said, which was kind because they both knew it probably wouldn’t taste that way. Priya had tried for years to get better at cooking; she couldn’t stand being mediocre at something. She’d always chased the things she was wildly good at, mostly school and art, but there were so many regular-life things she sucked at, like organizing Elliot’s closet or remembering to sign him up on time for Little League.
“Let me help you,” Brad said, grabbing two napkins from the center stack and folding them. “Where’s Elliot?”
“He’s next door with Robby,” Priya said, wondering what took him so long to notice. “I told him to be back by eight.”
“Isn’t that late?” Brad asked, and Priya was momentarily thrown. He usually let her make those kinds of decisions. Not for a ten-year-old, she wanted to say.
“Maybe,” she said instead, not wanting an argument.
“We’ll address it with him later,” Brad said, looking satisfied for uttering something fatherly. Priya was sure he’d have been a better dad to a girl. He didn’t get along that well with members of his own sex. There were always arguments at work he was telling her about, and they almost never involved a female colleague.
Priya sat at the table. If Elliot were here, it would be easier to fake being okay. She hated lying, and she knew omitting her meeting with Josie tomorrow counted as a big lie. Years ago, Josie had gotten in touch with Priya under the pretense of a new house on the market, prattling on about an appointment she’d made for Priya to view it, laughing over the irony that she’d once been Priya’s art student, and saying something about how after graduating Yarrow she realized you can’t make a living off art, you need a real job! Brad had wanted to move again, and Priya assumed Josie was the real estate agent he’d selected for them. She’d felt exasperated by the thought of another move, but she’d gone along with it, about to meet with Josie when Brad found out and exploded with rage. He’d told Priya that Josie was an agent trying to poach the sale from another agent, but Priya wasn’t dumb enough to believe that that could ever justify his reaction, so she went to the meeting behind Brad’s back.
“Let’s eat,” Brad said, sinking his large frame into a wicker chair. Priya had decorated the house a few summers ago with bright blues and yellows, and with colorful vases and wicker chairs that surrounded a farm table. Her décor choices struck her as ridiculous in the dead of winter.
Priya sipped her water. “How was your day?” she asked again, stupidly. She wanted to kick herself for repeating the question.
Brad raised his eyebrows, but said nothing about her misstep. He reached for his water glass. “How about you tell me about yours?” he asked instead.
“It was fine,” Priya said, exhaling, grateful he was being easy on her. It was one of the things she loved about him: he didn’t pick fights. Priya raised her fork above the chicken and vegetables. “Elliot mentioned the science project didn’t go well at school this week,” she said, spearing a pepper.
“Did he say what went wrong?” Brad asked. He gulped a swig of water and set his glass down too hard on the table.
“You should ask him,” Priya said, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin.
Brad frowned, and Priya watched as he shoveled the stir-fry into his mouth. He didn’t appear to enjoy it, but maybe he was just distracted about the failed science project. “We should go away,” he said suddenly, chewing furiously. He took another sip of water, and locked eyes with her. “You, Elliot, and me. We should get away.”
“Where would we go?” Priya asked.
Brad held her gaze until she looked down into her lap, embarrassed. Sometimes she felt so dumb in front of him. His mind worked faster than hers, even though it used to be the other way around. She knew part of the reason he’d fallen in love with her was her intelligence, but now her brain felt so clouded with worries, anxieties, and racing thoughts, and she couldn’t seem to get it back on track.
“Anywhere,” Brad finally said, not looking at her anymore. “Anywhere but here. Let’s get out of Waverly for a bit. Maybe a fishing trip somewhere, the kind of thing we’ve always said we’d do, but we never have.”
“It’s January,” Priya said, unsure of where he was going with this, unsure of what had brought it on.
“So we’ll hop on a flight somewhere. Even better.”
“Um, okay,” Priya said. She supposed Elliot might like a vacation, and she certainly could use one.
“Great,” Brad said. “I’ll look into some options.” His phone buzzed, and Priya watched as he nearly knocked over his water glass to conceal whatever message was on it. “It’s the hospital. I’ll have to call back. You don’t mind?”
“Of course not,” she said, forcing a smile at her husband.
SEVEN
Haley
That evening Haley sat on a stool inside her mother’s immaculate kitchen, watching Liv carefully place an ice cube into the dirt of one of her potted orchids. Haley loved her parents’ home with its wide doorways, exposed wooden beams, and stucco walls. It was the kind of house that was supposed to look lived in, and it used to, before Emma disappeared and Liv started maniacally organizing and cleaning each night. What Haley remembered most about the house from her childhood was the immense amount of artwork that always scattered the surfaces: kitchen countertops, side tables, even the backs of toilets next to scented candles they never lit. Emma’s talent had been obvious from a young age—everyone remarked upon it—and it made Haley happy to be surrounded by her sister’s art. She wasn’t the type to get jealous, and besides, there was plenty of praise to go around, because that’s how her parents were. And as Emma’s artistic ability was escalating, so was Haley’s academic ability. It had felt good to make her parents happy, and Haley wondered when the last time was that she’d done that.