Rating: ★★★★☆ Tags: Mystery Detective, General, Fiction

mwaha-waah-gwwahh-and-waaa-wa
– so I
had to tell him what happened, and he told me I should
open a bottle of wine and wallow in it for a bit. Dad is
always a proponent of a good indulgent sulk. Still, Nick will
be angry that I told Rand, and of course Rand will do his
fatherly thing, pat Nick on the shoulder and say, ‘Heard you
had some emergency drinking to do on your anniversary,
Nicky.’ And chuckle. So Nick will know, and he will be angry
with me because he wants my parents to believe he’s
perfect – he beams when I tell them stories about what a
flawless son-in-law he is.
Except for tonight. I know, I know, I’m being a girl.
It’s five a.m. The sun is coming up, almost as bright as the
streetlights outside that have just blinked off. I always like
that switch, when I’m awake for it. Sometimes, when I can’t
sleep, I’ll pull myself out of bed and walk through the streets
at dawn, and when the lights click off, all together, I always
feel like I’ve seen something special. 
Oh, there go the
streetlights!
I want to announce. In New York it’s not three or
four a.m. that’s the quiet time – there are too many bar
stragglers, calling out to each other as they collapse into

---

taxis, yelping into their cell phones as they frantically smoke
that one last cigarette before bed. Five a.m., that’s the best
time, when the clicking of your heels on the sidewalk
sounds illicit. All the people have been put away in their
boxes, and you have the whole place to yourself.
Here’s what happened: Nick got home just after four, a
bulb of beer and cigarettes and fried-egg odor attached to
him, a placenta of stink. I was still awake, waiting for him,
my brain ca-thunking after a marathon of 
Law and Order
.
He sat down on our ottoman and glanced at the present on
the table and said nothing. I stared at him back. He clearly
wasn’t going to even graze against an apology – 
hey, sorry
things got screwy today
. That’s all I wanted, just a quick
acknowledgment.
‘Happy day after anniversary,’ I start.
He sighs, a deep aggrieved moan. ‘Amy, I’ve had the
crappiest day ever. Please don’t lay a guilt trip on me on
top of it.’
Nick grew up with a father who never, ever apologised,
so when Nick feels he has screwed up, he goes on offense.
I know this, and I can usually wait it out, usually.
‘I was just saying happy anniversary.’
‘Happy anniversary, my asshole husband who
neglected me on my big day.’
We sit silent for a minute, my stomach knotting. I don’t
want to be the bad guy here. I don’t deserve that. Nick
stands up.
‘Well, how was it?’ I ask dully.
‘How was it? It was fucking awful. Sixteen of my friends
now have no jobs. It was miserable. I’ll probably be gone
too, another few months.’

---

Friends. He doesn’t even like half the guys he was out
with, but I say nothing.
‘I know it feels dire right now, Nick. But—’
‘It’s not dire for you, Amy. Not for you, it never will be
dire. But for the rest of us? It’s very different.’
The same old. Nick resents that I’ve never had to worry
about money and I never will. He thinks that makes me
softer than everyone else, and I wouldn’t disagree with him.
But I do work. I clock in and clock back out. Some of my
girlfriends have literally never had a job; they discuss
people with jobs in the pitying tones you talk about a fat girl
with ‘such a nice face.’ They will lean forward and say, ‘But
of course, Ellen has to work,’ like something out of a Noël
Coward play. They don’t count me, because I can always
quit my job if I want to. I could build my days around charity
committees and home decoration and gardening and
volunteering, and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with
building a life around those things. Most beautiful, good
things are done by women people scorn. But I work.
‘Nick, I’m on your side here. We’ll be okay no matter
what. My money is your money.’
‘Not according to the prenup.’
He is drunk. He only mentions the prenup when he’s
drunk. Then all the resentment comes back. I’ve told him
hundreds, literally