Against the clock

27.

In a surprising turn of events, Derek managed to shift my perspective on dinner with him and his wife. Standing before the mirror, I had taken the time to apply makeup and curl my hair. I was wearing a white top paired with a short blue skirt. Approaching the eighth week, I couldn't help but notice a little bump, a detail that left me feeling slightly uneasy. It made it feel very real. I looked back to find George standing behind me. 'Are you sure this is a good idea?' George suddenly asked, genuine concern lining his voice. 'They want to discuss things with me,' I explained to George, my hand unconsciously resting on my barely noticeable belly. I could tell George had picked up on things. Living together, he couldn't have missed me running to the bathroom to throw up several times a day. At one point, he thought it was appendicitis, but I just brushed it off as the flu. Eventually, he stopped bringing it up, but I knew he still noticed. There was this unspoken thing between us, an understanding of what was going on even though we never really talked about it.

'What's your therapist's take on this? In my classes, they usually suggest going separate ways after something like this,' he asked, his gaze fixed on me. I turned to look at him, meeting his eyes. 'My therapist believes in working through our issues, having those tough conversations,' I replied. George continued to look at me, a mix of concern and curiosity in his eyes. 'Doesn't seeing him just remind you of the pain?' he asked gently, his voice carrying a genuine worry for my well-being. I took a moment to consider his question, a pang of truth resonating within me. 'It's not easy,' I admitted, 'but there are just some things we have to talk about,' I said, turning back around to face the mirror. George's concern deepened, and he took a step forward. 'Is there something you want to tell me?' he asked, his voice filled with a mix of apprehension and understanding. It was as if he could sense there was more beneath the surface.

I shook my head, attempting to dispel the suspicion building in George's eyes. 'No, there's nothing,' I insisted, my voice carrying a weight of secrecy that felt increasingly burdensome. I met his gaze in the mirror, hoping he wouldn't press further. 'What would there be?' I added. George's gaze held mine for a moment longer, a silent exchange of unspoken thoughts passing between us. Finally, he sighed, seemingly accepting my response. 'Alright, if you say so. Just remember, I'm here if you ever need to talk,' he said, offering a supportive smile that did little to ease the lingering unease in the room.

We sat in the car in silence, George at the wheel, driving me to the dinner. The car moved through the city streets, each passing streetlight casting fleeting shadows across George's face. In an attempt to lighten the mood, I glanced out the window and commented on the city lights, 'The city always looks different at night, doesn't it?' George nodded but quickly redirected the conversation, his concern still evident. 'Are you sure this is a good idea? I could turn around,' he suggested, a furrow forming on his forehead.

I sighed, realizing that George's unease wasn't solely about the night ahead. 'It's important, George. Besides, they're expecting me,' I replied, trying to reassure him. He gave a reluctant nod, but curiosity glinted in his eyes. 'Why is it important?' I hesitated, grappling with how much to share. 'It's just some unresolved issues that need addressing. You know how it is.' George's gaze lingered on me for a moment before he sighed, finally revealing a different layer of his feelings. 'You know, I never really liked Shepherd. There's something about him that doesn't sit right with me.' His admission caught me off guard, and I glanced at him, surprised. 'Why? What's wrong with Shepherd?' He shrugged, his expression troubled. 'I can't put my finger on it. Just a gut feeling, you know? I don't trust him completely.'

'Right,' I said, acknowledging his feelings while maintaining a sense of mystery about the dinner and Shepherd's role in it. The city lights continued to flicker outside the window, casting fleeting shadows on our conversation as we approached the venue. George, sensing an unspoken tension, couldn't resist probing further. 'Is there something going on between you and Shepherd?' he asked, his voice carefully neutral but with a hint of concern. 'What? No!' I exclaimed, surprised by the question. 'Why would you say that?' George's expression softened, and he shrugged, 'I don't know. It just seems odd. You're going to his house and you're acting all weird.' I rolled my eyes, realizing how the situation must have looked from the outside, 'it's not like that at all, in fact his wife will be at the dinner.'