April 13
Paul held my hand across the table at the busy French brasserie and only let it go when the waiter delivered his steak frites and my grilled salmon. He was in his charming phase. For some reason, he had decided he would do anything to save our relationship—even if it meant accepting that I had been suffering from a real illness and everything had been pretty difficult for me over the past few years.
"Why are you doing this?" I asked.
"Doing what?" he replied, distracted as he chewed on a fry and cut into the rare meat.
"What I mean is... this talk about starting over, being the perfect couple. You think we have what it takes?"
"I did a lot of thinking while you were away," he said, setting down his fork and taking my hand again. "I was a real asshole in the past. I've changed."
"What prompted the change?" I studied him almost suspiciously, then twirled my fork in the rice, breaking down the fancy pyramid.
"Hearing you mumbling the name 'Will' in the middle of the night. Either you're having an affair with this guy or he's someone from your past."
I felt my face turn red, but Paul didn't seem to notice.
"Anyway, I realized that if you did cheat on me, I probably deserved it after the way I've behaved. It's been a wake-up call. And I was pretty miserable when you were away. I don't want to lose you again."
"I'm not cheating on you."
"I know," he murmured. "You're above that kind of thing."
And for the first time in a long while, things were OK. We chatted about books and movies and new restaurants in the city. As we strolled home in the brisk spring air, we marveled over the night sky and connected the stars to form constellations. We were on our best behavior as if it was a first date. Trying to convince ourselves that we could turn back the clock.
Two glasses of wine were enough to go to my head. Paul undressed me, and we tumbled onto the sheets.
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