“I’m doing that!”
“But then you have to duck back behind the pilla–ohhhh, you’re done. Try again, hon.”
Imaani waited until Clayton would turn back to her, expecting him to apologize and give her his full attention. Instead, he continued talking to Natasha as if he hadn’t initiated the conversation with his wife at all.
Annoyed, Imaani got up and made her way toward the stairs, speculating whether her husband would follow her. He’s a good dad, she told herself. He’s spending time with her and she really needs this with him. She reached the top of the stairs and heard her husband and daughter’s animated cries from the living room, neither noticing she’d left.
Normally, Imaani would have gone to the basement and taken her irritation out on her cello rather than going to bed. But maybe if she left Clayton to do the security check himself as well as Nat’s bedtime, he would notice she was upset with how rude he’d been to her. He asked me, she reflected upon whether she’d prattled on and bored him with unsolicited details.
She wondered if she was being too sensitive and that he didn’t even realize he’d cut her off and ignored her. Briefly, the night in the sleeping bag with Quinn flickered across her mind; how she’d felt she had his rapt attention even when they hadn’t been facing each other for hours.
How could she not even engage her husband in a conversation past one sentence anymore? She knew if the situation were reversed and she’d ignored Clay, he would have immediately let her know his displeasure.
Imaani had a disturbed sleep that night and awoke the next dawn expecting Clayton would apologise to her, or at least notice she was upset. She thought about her parents’ marriage, where neither would bite the bullet to come to the other and discuss their frustrations but instead opt for the silent treatment for days.
I don’t want Nat to be one of those kids who wishes we’d get a divorce and get it overwith, she conceded, thinking about her teenage self.
“Hey,” she finally spoke up mid-morning Saturday when standing by the pantry where Clayton had come to get an extra box of cereal. “I’m only saying this because I don’t want to be like my mom and keep things bottled up. It’s nothing, but something you did yesterday kind of bothered me.” There was a pause between them and Imaani was heartened that she had his full attention.
“God, I am sick of this,” Clayton muttered. Imaani felt the slap of his words. “If it’s not enough that constituents and the mayor are breathing down my neck, it’s you, too? I thought I could get some peace at home.”
“Clay, it’s something tiny,” she tried to explain, partly confused and a little panicked. “And I thought we promised we’d never keep our feelings from each other.”
“What did I possibly do this time?” Clayton spat out. “If I didn’t even notice it, it means it’s who I am, Imaani. Sorry, but you’re stuck with this imperfect version of a husband you settled for.”
“What are you even talking about?” Imaani exclaimed. “I am not criticizing you. I’m just saying something little happened that I hope you might be aware of next time. Why are you reacting like this?” she took a step back, vaguely aware that her hands were starting to shake.
“Because nothing I do is good enough!” Clay all but shouted. “I’m not here, you’re unhappy. I’m home, you’re unhappy. And half the time you’re with your music friends working for free to help your boyfriend’s failing business.”
“Wait, this is about Quinn?”
“Come off it, Imaani,” Clayton thundered. “I’ve seen how you look at each other when you play.” Imaani took a deep breath and tried to remain rational.
“I have been nothing but loyal to you, Clayton. Quinn and I are good friends and that’s it. I don’t know what my face looks like when I play, but I do know I’m caught up in the music. As you just said, if I didn’t even notice it, it means it’s who I am.” Clayton was silent and Imaani softened her voice.
“I can’t believe how angry you’re getting when you don’t even know the incident I’m referring to last night. I assure you, it’s absolutely nothing compared to how you just blew it out of proportion.”
“I don’t have time for this,” Clayton flatly replied, shuffling out of the kitchen. “I have a store opening to get to at noon.”
***********
“Are you sure you wanna be doing this tonight?” Ethan asked Quinn Saturday night, setting down two pints on their table in a crowded pub. “I’ve known you long enough to know you’re not much of a drinker.”
“Yeah, I wasn’t, back when I thought alcohol would do more harm than good,” Quinn replied, picking up his glass. “But I need this tonight.”
“Is there something you wanna tell me?” Ethan pressed. “Imaani’s staying, right? You managed to backtrack after hitting on her again in the middle of a concert, in a room full of schoolchildren this week?” This time, Ethan couldn’t keep the smirk off his face.
“I managed to get her to stay, but I think it’s going to mean self-medicating like this every time I’ll have to see her again,” Quinn said despondently. “Just do me a favour and keep me to two beers.”
“Are you sure this is about her and not just the closest you’re ever going to get to fucking a cello?” Ethan was trying to stifle his laughter by this point, and Quinn glared at him. “I’m sorry, man, too far,” Ethan coughed.
“I get you have a crush on her, but she’s no different than any other fellow musician you’ve gone after in the past.” He took a sip of his beer. “I’m kind of struggling to figure out how you let it get all the way here.”
Quinn’s mind zipped back to the night he and Imaani were stuck in the rental car, snuggled together in the sleeping bag, talking for hours. He hadn’t told anyone about that night, and he was hoping Imaani hadn’t either. It somehow felt sacred; something that was just theirs.
Her warm breath against the back of his neck, her smooth sienna forearm contrasting against his pale chest… Quinn shook his head, annoyed at himself. It had been a crush up until that night. Then, he’d solidly fallen in love with her.
“Imaani’s something else,” he vaguely answered Ethan. “I wasn’t friends with any of the women I was with before, not even Monica.” He briefly wondered what kind of glamourous and ragged life his ex-wife was living up nowadays while playing her trumpet in Paris. That is, if she was even in Paris anymore.
“I don’t even know why we got married, to be honest,” he confessed. “I thought we loved each other and we’d been together for a while so that… that was enough?” Ethan shook his head.
“Nah, man, let me tell you what being married is like. It’s like having a business partner with whom you run a very small, very boring establishment that’s always losing money.”
“So you and I are married then?” Quinn laughed.
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Ethan said confidently. “We take care of each other, we don’t need things to be super exciting all the time in order to stay together, and until Imaani came along we were sturdily losing money.”
“Doesn’t having sex play a role in there somewhere?”
“I love you, man, but I am not throwing away my life with Cliff for your puny ass.” Ethan took a swig of his beer as Quinn chuckled. Then, Ethan spotted an idea.