“I’ve gotta confess, I have an ulterior motive,” Rob said. “I’m not sure how many people will come and want to play. So I’m hoping I can convince you to get up there. You still play, right? You writing your own stuff yet?”

Emily felt bad admitting that she didn’t, that she hadn’t. Though she had played last night at the fund-raiser. So she settled on, “I don’t play often. And I told you I’m not a songwriter.”

He laughed at their longstanding argument. He’d always said that one day she’d write something herself, instead of just harmonizing his songs. “Well, think about it,” he said. “It’d be fun to hear you play again, even if it’s not your own stuff. And I’d love to meet your husband.”

When he said it, he genuinely seemed to mean it, but Emily wondered what it would be like for him to see her with someone else, especially after he’d just gotten divorced. Even though she was the one who ended things years ago, and even though she knew his marriage was over, she still felt a pang of jealousy that he’d loved someone else enough to marry her, to have kids with her. She knew she had no right to be jealous, but the feeling was there.

“I’ll talk to him,” Emily said, knowing that after their argument last night there was close to no chance that he’d agree to come. Or that she’d even ask. Once he got home tomorrow night, hopefully they’d be able to talk. Put things back to normal. She missed him.

“He must be on call tonight?” Rob asked.

Emily nodded. “Life of a doctor’s wife,” she answered.

Rob stood up. “Here,” he said, “why don’t I give you my cell number. Then you can let me know whether to expect you two.”

Emily hesitated for a moment. She shouldn’t have his number in her phone. It would be too easy for an innocent text to turn into something more. But it seemed rude not to give him the phone—and like it would telegraph the message that he meant more to her than he did. Besides, she could always delete the number after she told him they weren’t going to make it tomorrow. She handed him her phone so he could type in his number.

As he was typing, a text message chimed.

Rob looked up. “Ezra said his parents need help moving some furniture in their house, so he’s going to go home with them tomorrow and spend Sunday in Princeton. He’ll be home on Monday after work and you can talk then.”

“Oh,” Emily said, not finding a better word than that. Not wanting to explain what they were going to talk about or why her husband was texting her that information.