“I’m going to take your husband.”
I laughed. I honestly laughed. I thought it was a joke. Some kind of strange joke that divorced women make.
“Okay,” I said. “Good luck with that.”
She didn’t laugh.
She just kept looking at me. Smiling.
“I’m serious,” she said.
My laugh stopped.
“I’ve been thinking about it,” she said. She said it calmly, the way you’d talk about the weather. “He’s sweet. He’s kind. He’s smart. He has a good job. He’s a little goofy, but I can work with that. He’s exactly the kind of man I should have married instead of Mark.”
“Vanessa—”
“And let’s be honest,” she said. She leaned back in her chair. She looked at me. At my face. My hair. My old T-shirt. “You’ve been married for seventeen years. Men get bored after that many years. They all do. They don’t say it. But they do. They look at their wives in the morning and they think, Is this it? Is this all there is?“
