Five

Nellie smiled, keeping her lips pressed together. Yes, she wanted to say. I am busy. Yesterday I scrubbed that rug after a kid spilled chocolate milk on it. I bought a soft blanket for the quiet corner so your overstressed boy can rest.

 I pulled three late shifts this week at a restaurant where I waitress because what I earn here won't cover my cost of living—and I still walked through these doors at eight every morning with energy for your children.

She was heading back to Linda's office to claim the other half of her croissant when she heard Mr. Porter's booming voice: "I forgot my jacket." He reentered her classroom and retrieved it from the back of the tiny chair.

"Why did you think I was from Florida?" Nellie blurted.

He shrugged. "My niece went to school there, too, at Grant University. I thought someone mentioned you did as well."

That information wasn't in her bio on the preschool website. She owned nothing with her college's insignia—not a single sweatshirt or key chain or pennant.

Linda must have given her credentials to the Porters—they seemed like the type of parents who would want to know, Nellie told herself.

Still, she looked at him more carefully, trying to imagine his features on a young woman. She couldn't recall any with the last name Porter. But that didn't mean the woman hadn't sat behind her in class or tried to rush her sorority.

"Well, my next conference is about to begin, so…"

He looked at the empty hallway, then back at her. "Sure. See you at graduation." He whistled as he walked back down the hallway. Nellie watched until he disappeared through the door.

***

Richard rarely talked about his ex, so Nellie knew only a few things about her: She still lived in New York City. She and Richard had split up shortly before he met Nellie.

 She was pretty, with long dark hair and a narrow face—Nellie had done a Google search and came across a blurry thumbnail photo of her as a benefit.

And she'd been perpetually late, a habit that had irritated Richard.

Nellie sprinted the final block to the Italian restaurant, already regretting the two glasses of Pinot Grigio she'd had with the 3s and 4s teachers as a reward for surviving their conferences. 

They'd swapped war stories; Marnie, whose classroom was next to Nellie's, was declared the winner because one set of parents had sent their au pair, whose English wasn't very good, to represent them at the meeting.

Nellie had lost track of time until she checked her cell phone on the way to the bathroom. As she'd exited a stall, a woman nearly bumped into her. "Sorry!" Nellie had said reflexively. She'd moved to one side but dropped her bag, scattering its contents across the floor. 

The woman had stepped over the mess without a word and quickly entered a stall. ("Manners!" the preschool teacher in Nellie had longed to chastise as she knelt to retrieve her wallet and cosmetics.)

She made it to the restaurant eleven minutes late and pulled open the heavy glass door as the maître d' looked up from his leather reservations book. "I'm meeting my fiancé," she panted.

Nellie scanned the dining area, then saw Richard rising from his seat at a corner table. A few fine lines framed his eyes, and at his temples strands of silver were woven through his dark hair. He looked her up and down and gave her a playful wink. She wondered if she'd ever stop feeling a flutter in her stomach at the sight of him.

"Sorry," she said as she approached. He kissed her as he pulled out her chair, and she breathed in his clean citrus scent. "Everything okay?"

Anyone else would've asked almost as a formality. But Richard's gaze stayed fixed on her; Nellie knew he truly cared about her answer.

"Crazy day." Nellie sat down with a sigh. "Parent conferences. When we're on the other side of that table for Richard Junior, remind me to say thank you to the teachers."

She smoothed her skirt over her legs as Richard reached for the bottle of Verdicchio cooling on ice in a bucket. On the table, a votive candle burned low, casting a golden circle on the heavy cream-colored tablecloth.

"Just half a glass for me. I had a quick drink with the other teachers after the conferences. Linda treated; she said it was our combat pay."

Richard frowned. "Wish I'd known. I wouldn't have ordered a bottle." He motioned to the waiter, a subtle gesture with his index finger, and requested a San Pellegrino. 

"You sometimes get a headache when you drink during the day."

She smiled. It was one of the first things she'd ever told him.

She'd been sitting next to a soldier on a flight from South Florida after visiting her mother. She'd moved to Manhattan for a fresh start immediately after graduating from college. If her mom didn't still live in Nellie's hometown, she'd never return.

Before the plane took off, the attendant had approached. 

"There's a gentleman in first class who would like to offer you his seat," she'd told the young soldier, who stood up and said, "Awesome!"

Then Richard had walked down the aisle. The knot of his tie was loosened, as if he'd had a long day. He held a drink and a leather briefcase. Those eyes had met Nellie's and he'd flashed a warm smile.

"That was really nice of you."

"No big deal," Richard said as he settled down beside her.

Then the safety announcements began. A few moments later the plane lurched upward.

Nellie gripped the armrest as they bounced through an air pocket.

Richard's deep voice, close to her ear, surprised her: "It's just like when your car goes over a pothole. It's perfectly safe."

"I know that logically."

"But it doesn't help. Maybe this will."

He passed her his glass and she noticed his ring finger was bare. She hesitated. "I sometimes get a headache when I drink during the day." The plane rumbled, and she took a big gulp.

"Finish it. I'll order another … or maybe you'd prefer a glass of wine?" He raised his eyebrows questioningly, and she noticed the crescent-shaped silver scar by his right temple.

She nodded. "Thank you." Never before had a seatmate tried to comfort her on a flight; usually people looked away or flipped through a magazine while she fought through her panic alone.

"I get it, you know," he said. "I have this thing about the sight of blood." 

"You do?" The plane shuddered slightly, the wings tipping to the left. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard.

"I'll tell you about it, but you have to promise not to lose respect for me." She nodded again, not wanting his soothing voice to stop.

"So a few years ago one of my colleagues passed out and hit his head on the edge of a conference table in the middle of a meeting.… I guess he had low blood pressure. Either that or the meeting bored him into a coma."

Nellie opened her eyes and released a little laugh. She couldn't remember the last time she'd done that on an airplane.

"I tell everyone to step back and I grab a chair and help the guy into it. I was yelling for someone to get water when I saw all this blood. And all of a sudden I start getting light-headed, like I'm going to faint, too. I practically kicked the injured guy out of the chair so I could sit down, and suddenly everyone was ignoring him and trying to help me."

The plane leveled off. A soft chime sounded, and a flight attendant walked down the aisle, offering headphones. Nellie let go of the armrest and looked at Richard. He was grinning at her.

"You survived, we're through the clouds. It should be pretty smooth from here on out."

"Thank you. For the drink and the story … You get to keep your man card, even if you faint."

Two hours later, Richard had told Nellie about his job as a hedge fund manager and revealed he had a soft spot for teachers ever since one had helped him learn to pronounce his R's: "It's because of her that I didn't introduce myself to you as Wichawd." 

When she asked him if he had family in New York, he shook his head. "Just an older sister who lives in Boston. My parents died years ago." He bridged his hands and looked down at them. "A car accident."

"My father passed away, too." He glanced back over at her. "I have this old sweater of his.… I still wear it sometimes."

They were both silent for a beat, then the flight attendant instructed the passengers to close their tray tables and tilt their seats fully upright.

"Are you okay with landings?"

"Maybe you can tell me another story to get me through it," Nellie said. "Hmmm. Can't think of one off the top of my head. Why don't you give me your number in case one comes to me?"

He handed her a pen from his suit pocket, and she tilted her head to jot it down on a napkin, her long blond hair falling forward in front of her shoulders.

Richard reached out and gently ran his fingers down the length of it before tucking it back behind her ear. 

"So beautiful. Don't ever cut it."

I sit on the floor of the dressing room, the lingering perfume of roses reminding me of a wedding. My replacement will be a beautiful bride. I imagine her gazing up at Richard, promising to love and honor him, just as I did.

I can almost hear her voice.

I know how she sounds. I call her sometimes, but I use a burner phone with a blocked number.

"Hi," her message begins. Her tone is carefree, bright. "I'm sorry I missed you!"

Is she truly sorry? 

Or is she triumphant?

 Her relationship with Richard is now public, though it began when he and I were still married. We had problems. Don't all couples, after the glow of the honeymoon fades? 

Still, I never expected him to tell me to move out so quickly. To erase the tracks of our relationship.

It's as though he wants to pretend we were never married at all. As if I don't exist.

Does she ever think about me and feel guilty for what she did?