Page 25 of Marriage and the Midlife Crisis

I didn’t see a tag, but I did see the same sparkly shimmer on the lace that I’d discovered on the shirt.

Body glitter, on a used thong, in my husband’s fucking suitcase.

I was wrong. Ryan was a cheater after all.

Chapter 8

Ryan

I was making decent headway on one of our new projects when Dave popped his head around the door to my office. He’d been in meetings off-site all day, so our paths hadn’t crossed yet today.

“Well, I heard that you were here slogging away early this morning, so I assume that Lady Luck wasn’t kind to you in Vegas?”

I tossed my pen on the desk and leaned back in my chair to look up at him with a tired grin.

“You made me promise I wouldn’t quit, remember?”

He laughed and eased himself down onto the chair on the other side of my desk as I added, “Besides, I don’t think the eight hundred bucks I won would get me very far,” I joked.

“I caught the end of the tournament on the Sports Channel yesterday. I was glad to see Landon Brown win. That last shot of his…” He shook his head in admiration. “Man, that was a thing of beauty.”

I started to agree, then had to stifle a sudden yawn.

“Sorry about that,” I offered, stretching my arms wide above my head to try to shake off my lethargy. “Our flight was delayed and I didn’t get home until after one. I feel like I’m running on nothing but fumes.” I didn’t bother explaining that I’d slept like shit Saturday night, too.

Dave Wellsley was a nice guy, and an excellent employer. He’d also become a pretty solid friend in the nine years I’d been working for him. Still, there were limits to friendship when it involved the guy who signs your paycheck, and recounting the ways my weekend getaway had turned to shit would have definitely tested those limits.

He waved off my apology, then suggested, “It’s almost three-thirty, so just call it a day and head home. Catch up on your sleep.”

“Thanks, but I don’t want to hold up the rest of the team any longer than necessary. They can’t move forward with the final contracts until I sign off on the change orders for the Milton house. I’m not quite finished reviewing Courtney’s calculations for the load requirements, but so far it looks like it won’t be an issue. I’ll get it wrapped up before I leave.”

Dave was one of the leading custom home builders in the region, and he was damned good at what he did. Our work was so sought after that Wellsley Homes had a waiting list of high-end clients clamoring for us to build their dream homes, and the company had been featured in several national building and home design magazines in the past few years.

He’d built a solid company with a talented team, and I was proud to be part of it. As the lead structural engineer, it was my department’s job to make sure we could accommodate our client’s sometimes intricate and innovative design choices without compromising the integrity of the homes we built and the safety of those living in them.

“All right then, keep me posted if you run into any problems. Milton’s already referred a colleague to us for a monster of a house up in Noblesville, so I’d like to keep him as happy as possible.” With that, he pushed himself to his feet, I noticed that he was moving a little stiffly. Before I could ask if he was all right, he winced and rubbed his hip, and then the grabbed his lower back.

“By the way, the next time you fly somewhere warm in the deadass of winter, make sure you get a ticket for me, too,” he instructed with a pained smile. “I slipped and wiped out on an icy patch while I was shoveling our front porch steps yesterday morning and now I feel like I’ve been run over by a bus. I think the only thing on my body that doesn’t hurt is my hair.”

He shuffled out, and I pictured my own house as I’d seen it last night, with the snow shoveled from our porch and walkway, along with a path along the edge of the driveway. Melanie could have hurt herself doing that.

Damn, there was another entry to add to the list of shit I needed to make up for. I’d worked in various construction trades during college, so the maintenance and upkeep of our house naturally fell to me to handle. It felt good to grab my toolbox once in a while and knock out a small project, so I preferred to do the work myself rather than hiring someone.

I thought about all the things I’d been letting slide around the house lately, though, things that Melanie had mentioned a few times that I hadn’t gotten around to doing just yet.

The laundry room door was sticking. The toilet handle in the bathroom the boys shared had to be jiggled after it was flushed or else the water would continue to run. The garbage disposal needed to be replaced because it sounded like an angry badger was trapped under the sink every time we turned the damned thing on. There were various knobs and handles loose – I’d have to ask her again which ones – and a bulb was out in the light fixture in the entryway.

I sighed as I made a list on my phone, deciding to tackle those repairs over the next few evenings. The Pacers were playing Wednesday night, and since Mitch and I had season tickets, we always went to the home games. Honestly, though, I’d had enough of Mitch’s company for a while, so I’d just give this week’s game a miss and cross some things off what I liked to call “Mel’s Never-Ending To-Do List”.

Tossing my phone on the desk, I grabbed a coffee from the break room, then headed back to my office to dive back into the pile of work waiting for me.

I worked steadily for the next half hour and knocked out the review of the Milton calculations. Courtney had done an excellent job with it, and I didn’t find a single thing she’d missed. As soon as I sent an email to the team to let them know that things were a go, I shut down my computer and stood, groaning softly as my back and shoulders objected to being hunched over my desk all day.

I’d worked through lunch so I could clear the backlog from Friday as well as taking care of the items on today’s schedule. I was exhausted and starving, but happy to be completely caught up and back on track.

Now, though, I needed to get home to shower and change for dinner. I frowned as I pulled up the message chain and realized that Mel hadn’t responded back to my text earlier, which was unusual for her.

Melanie: I saw your note. Kirby’s sounds great.