“Of course you think we should,” I said sarcastically. “Never mind the twins, right? Divorce because you need sex.”
“Come on, Artie. You said you were unhappy, too.”
“Yeah, but—”
I started to argue, but realized it was pointless. She was done, and I needed to get away. This time, when I left, she didn’t stop me. As I was about to leave, one last question burned in my mind.
Without turning around, I asked, “Who was that guy?”
“Derek. His name is Derek. He works with me,” she replied.
“Derek,” I whispered, recalling him from an office party two years ago. “You two danced a lot.”
Sensing my implication, she quickly responded, “We weren’t sleeping together then, I promise.”
I scoffed bitterly. “I guess that’s something.”
“But you were flirting, right?”
“What does it matter, Artie?” she asked sadly.
“It matters to me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. There was some attraction, maybe flirting, but it was just office banter. Things didn’t get serious until we started meeting at the gym.”
“Of course, the gym,” I muttered venomously. “That’s when you decided to wreck our marriage, right? Because I’m just the boring, fat guy?”
“Artie,” she whined, but I ignored her.
“He’s great in bed, right? Turns you into a nympho. Those were your words.”
She just repeated, “I’m sorry I said those things.”
Tired of her hollow apologies, I muttered, “Whatever,” and walked out.
I drove straight to my brother’s place. He took one look at me and stepped aside.
“Staying over?” he asked.
I nodded. He returned with a blanket.
“Thanks,” I said.