“I don’t want Venla!” He yelled at me.

I turned to face him. “Why the hell not? You wanted her just fine last week.”

He sighed and sat on the edge of my bed. I just stood there, with an armful of dirty laundry and watched him as he tried to get his breathing under control, or whatever it was he was sitting there doing. “I admit that after a few drinks, when they showed up, I allowed her to get too close to me. I remembered our time together the previous summer and how simple and good it all felt. There was no work needed. No constant worry that I was fucking up with her. She was just easy to be with.”

Every word coming out of his mouth, that celebrated how good he had it with her, was also a punch to the gut because it meant the opposite was true of me. “We were reminiscing and drinking. Things got a little out of hand and Wes suggested we take the party up to the room so that no one would be able to see the display we were making.”

“Good for Wes, at least he tried to keep your affair discreet for you.”

“It wasn’t like that. He knew that’s all we were doing was taking a walk down memory lane. Hell, the only reason I even had a fleeting thought to be with her was to get back at them.” Get back at them? I wondered about that briefly but thought it better to point out reality to my husband.

“I’ve taken walks down memory lane and they didn’t involve people sitting on my lap or being snuggled up in a tight embrace while waiting for an elevator to my private room.”

“You’re right, and I apologize for the fact that it ever happened like that. I would blame the alcohol for loosening my inhibitions and making me do stupid shit, but the stupid shit started with the fact that I even thought it was a good idea to get intoxicated in a public place. Everything else snowballed from that lapse in judgement. I take full responsibility for my actions.”

“I don’t think you get it,” I explained again. “You taking full responsibility doesn’t keep me from looking like the punk-ass wife sitting at home while you happily carry on affairs around the world, and don’t care who sees.”

“You’re right. I can’t fix it, and for that I am even more sorry than you will ever know.” He sighed again and looked away. “I won’t tell you nothing happened with her, because I won’t lie, or insult your intelligence. But it wasn’t what you’re probably thinking either. We kissed. She kissed me, and I let it happen, because damn it she was the woman I had planned on marrying not even a year ago. Being intoxicated helped me forget why it was that I never got around to asking her to marry me.” He sat on the edge of my bed and rested his head in his hands for a moment.