Below, already printed in fine font, are our names.
Victor St. Clair and Cecilia Myers.
25
Cecilia
I follow the hostess in a numb daze. Around us, people sit at long oak tables, talk mingling into a low-level chatter. Paper lanterns hang from beams in the ceiling. It’s cozy.
I can’t appreciate any of it.
Victor walks behind me. His presence is solid, real, ever-present… and yet I can’t look at him. I had resealed the document and put it on his desk. He asked about it when he came home. “On your desk,” I’d said.
“Thank you,” he’d replied, face a mask. As if the document inside isn’t premature, isn’t an end to us.
My heart feels twice its normal size, beating so hard it might break out of my chest. He brought his briefcase tonight. Did he bring the papers? Is that why he wants to have dinner?
He’s going to talk about our divorce. About how this has gotten too complicated, too messy. We mixed business and pleasure and we shouldn’t have. The end is coming.
And there’s not a thing I can do to stop it.
“Is this okay?” the waitress asks with a bright smile. It dims slightly when she glances from me to Victor.
I guess he doesn’t look happy either.
His voice is low. “Yes. Thank you.”
“Of course. I’ll be back soon to take your order, or if you prefer, you can order through an app on your phone. The info is in the menu.”
She leaves us, and we sit down, silence reigning supreme. I force some cheer into my voice. “This is an interesting place. Not your usual restaurant?”
“Thought I’d branch out. Was that okay?”
“Yes, yeah, absolutely.” I look down at the menu and fight the knot in my throat. Of course I’d end up here. It’s a surprise to absolutely no one, least of all myself, and the sense ofI should have known betteris crushing.
“If you don’t like what they have, we can leave,” he says. “I’m not set on Asian fusion.”
“No, we’ll stay. This looks good. Look,” I say, tossing out the first thing I see. “They have BBQ pork buns. I like those.”
“All right.”
We order through the app on my phone, and I’m grateful for it, for the practical discussion and something to do with my hands. But it doesn’t last, and as soon as the order goes out, we both fall silent.
He looks still as a statue, gazing out at the fully packed restaurant. Not at me or the silent pleading in my eyes. As impenetrable as he ever was.
“You’ve been busy this week,” I say.
“Work is gearing up,” he says.
“Oh? Anything in particular?”
“Exciteur is purchasing a small Canadian consulting firm. It’s failing, and by taking over their operation and clients, we’ll expand our reach.”
I force a smile. “A venture capitalist, serving as a CEO, turning back to venture capitalism?”
He snorts. “I guess, yes. It’s a good opportunity.”
“I’m sure it is. Did you negotiate it?”