I lay there in the dark and listened to him breathe.
His phone was on the nightstand on his side of the bed. Face-down.
I thought about reaching over him and picking it up. I thought about it for a long time.
I didn’t.
I couldn’t sleep. Around two in the morning, I gave up and went downstairs to get a glass of water.
The kitchen light was on.
Tom was sitting at the kitchen table. He was still dressed. He had a cup of coffee in front of him that looked cold. He was staring at the wall.
He jumped a little when I came in.
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Couldn’t sleep.”
“Me neither,” he said.
I filled a glass at the sink. I stood there holding it. Tom didn’t say anything. He just kept looking at
the wall.
“Tom,” I said. “About dinner. About what Rachel said. I’m sorry. I don’t know why she does that. She’s always been like that. Ever since we were kids.”
He looked up at me.
“You don’t have to apologize for her, Jenna,” he said. “You’ve been apologizing for her your whole life. I can tell.”
