the dining room table.
When we sat down, Michael pulled out Rachel’s chair for her.
He’d never pulled out my chair. Not once in ten years. I’d never cared. I’m not a chair-pulling-out
kind of person. But I noticed it.
Rachel sat down. She looked up at him over her shoulder. She smiled.
“See, this is what I mean,” she said. “If I’d met you first, I might have picked a different husband.”
I nearly choked on my water.
I actually coughed. Water went down the wrong way, and I had to put my glass down and cover my mouth with my napkin.
Across the table, Tom’s face went bright red. He looked down at his plate. He picked up his fork. He put it down again.
I waited for Michael to say something. Anything. Rachel, that’s not funny. Rachel, come on. Rachel,
I’m married to your sister.
He didn’t say anything.
He just smiled. He sat down in his own chair, picked up his wine glass, and smiled into it.
“Rachel,” I said when I could breathe again. My voice was shaking. “Please don’t say that. He’s my husband.”
