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Part 2: Last Thursday
The dining room went silent.
Twelve guests stared at Mark. Then at Claire. Then at Greg.
Greg set down the wine bottle. He said, Claire, why didn’t you tell me you were coming here?
Claire said, It’s just a birthday party. Mark’s family.
Greg said, And last Thursday? And the Thursday before that?
Claire didn’t answer.
Greg turned to Mark. He said, quietly, You two have been meeting. Haven’t you?
Mark said, We get coffee. As friends.
Greg said, Every Thursday? For six months? While she tells me she’s at her sister’s?
My stomach turned.
Every Thursday. Mark told me he had a late meeting. Every Thursday for six months.
I looked at my husband. I said, Mark. Is that true?
He didn’t answer.
Greg picked up his car keys. He said, Claire. Let’s go.
Claire stood up. She grabbed her purse. She didn’t look at me.
They left.
One by one, our guests found reasons to leave too.
Mark stood in the dining room. Surrounded by half-eaten plates.
He said, You set me up. In front of everyone.
I said, You invited her. You said she was family.
I just invited the rest of her family.
He said, We were just talking. That’s all.
I said, Then why did she lie to her husband? Why did you lie to me?
He didn’t answer.
I went upstairs. I packed a bag. I drove to my sister’s house.
At midnight, my phone rang. It was Mark’s mother. Judy.
She was angry. She said, You humiliated my son. On his birthday.
She said, Claire’s been part of this family for ten years. You can’t just erase her.
She said, Men need old friends. You’re pregnant. You’re emotional. You’re seeing things that aren’t there.
I kept my voice calm.
Judy, I said, he met his ex-wife every Thursday for six months. And lied about it.
I’m not seeing things. I’m just seeing them now.
Judy was quiet.
Then she said, I know about the Thursdays.
He told me months ago. I told him it was harmless.
Part 3: Seven Months
I didn’t sleep that night. I lay in my sister’s guest room with my hand on my stomach. And I let myself count.
Seven months married.
Four months pregnant.
Twenty-six Thursdays. Mark came home late every one. He said the meetings ran long. Once, he brought me flowers. He said, Sorry I’m late again, babe.
I counted the times he mentioned Claire. I wrote them in my phone after the first month. Because I thought I was going crazy.
Forty-one times. In seven months.
Claire warmed plates. Claire folded towels in thirds. Claire made better lasagna. Claire knew where everything went.
I counted the times I asked him to stop. Six. Every time, he said I was insecure.
Then I counted Claire.
Married to Mark for ten years. They divorced three years ago. Mark told me she left him.
Claire married Greg two years ago.
Six months ago, Claire started texting Mark. He told Judy. Judy said it was harmless.
Mark never told me.
Then I counted my baby.
Sixteen weeks. Twelve more weeks until I’d feel her kick for sure. Twenty-four more until I’d meet her.
I’d spent the first four months of her life trying to compete with a woman who wasn’t even supposed to be there.
In the morning, my phone buzzed.
A text from Greg. Claire’s husband.
Claire told me everything last night. I think you should know what she said.
Can we meet for coffee?
Part 4: Claire
I met Greg at a coffee shop near my sister’s house. He looked like he hadn’t slept either.
He said, Claire told me everything at three in the morning.
He said, It started with texts. Then coffee. Then lunches.
She says nothing physical happened. I believe her. Mostly.
He said, She told me she was lonely. That I work too much. That Mark always listened.
He said, She said Mark told her he made a mistake. Leaving her. Marrying you so fast.
I felt sick.
Then the coffee shop door opened.
Claire walked in.
She saw Greg. She saw me. She walked over to our table.
She didn’t sit down.
She said, I came to say something to you. Not to him.
She said, I didn’t plan any of this. Mark texted me first. On my birthday. He said he missed me.
She said, I’m sorry about your seat. And the kitchen. I don’t know why I did that.
Then her voice changed. Defensive.
She said, But you need to know something. Mark never stopped talking about me. Not because of me. Because of him.
She said, He did the same thing when we were married. About his first girlfriend. Every day. How she cooked. How she cleaned.
She said, He’s always looking backward.
Then she said the thing she came to say.
Don’t blame me for your marriage. Blame him. And let my husband go home.
I felt that one land. It was meant to.
Because part of it was true. Mark chose every Thursday.
I took a slow breath.
Claire, I said quietly, I don’t blame you for my marriage.
She looked surprised.
But you sat in my chair, I said. You moved my things. You called me insecure in my own home.
You lied to your husband every Thursday for six months.
That part’s yours.
Claire’s face crumpled.
I’m not keeping Greg from anything, I said gently. He’s his own person. So are you.
But I’m not going to pretend last night didn’t happen.
Claire stood there for a long time.
Then Greg stood up. He picked up his coat.
He said, quietly, Claire, I’m going to stay at my brother’s for a while.
I need to figure out if I can trust you again.
Part 5: The Head of the Table
Claire left the coffee shop crying.
Greg stayed a few more minutes. He said, I’m sorry. For all of it.
I said, It isn’t your fault either.
Mark called me that afternoon. He was crying.
He said, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what I was doing.
I said, You did, Mark. Every Thursday.
He said, Please come home. I’ll stop seeing her. I’ll stop talking about her.
I said, I’m not coming home yet. You need to figure out why you kept going back.
He started seeing a counselor that week. Then I joined him. Every Tuesday.
The counselor asked Mark why he compared me to Claire.
Mark said, I don’t know.
Then, three sessions later, he said, My father did it to my mother. Every day. Compared her to his first wife.
My mother would cry in the bathroom. I promised I’d never do that.
Then I did it anyway.
It took four months. Slowly. Honestly.
Mark stopped mentioning Claire. Completely. He blocked her number. He told his mother she couldn’t bring up Claire anymore.
Greg and Claire went to counseling too. They’re still married. Greg sent me a Christmas card. He said, Thank you for the invitation. Best worst party I ever went to.
I moved home in my eighth month.
Our daughter was born in June. Mark held my hand through every contraction. He cried when he saw her.
We named her Grace.
On Mark’s next birthday, I planned another dinner. Twelve guests. Our friends. My sister. His parents.
No Claire.
Before everyone arrived, I set the table. I put out the place cards.
Then I stood back and looked at them.
Mark walked up behind me. He looked at the table.
He picked up the card at the head. His card.
He moved it to the side.
Then he picked up mine. And put it at the head of the table.
He said, quietly, This is your house. You belong here.
Then he picked up Grace’s high chair.
He set it right next to me.
He said, And she belongs next to her mom.
Mark sat down beside us. On the side.
He didn’t mention anyone else all night.
