The Next Wife Kaira Rouda (book club reads TXT) 📖

bit chilly once the dying glow of the sun disappears. It’s gorgeous. I remind myself to take another breath. Since our little chat, I’ve been on edge, waiting for an explosion of sorts from Tish. But nothing bad has happened yet. She’s been fine, calm and friendly even. Maybe she realizes it, too. The spark is gone. She’ll be happier without me.

I sip my cocktail, enjoying the salt rim although I know I shouldn’t be. I think the drink is a margarita, but from the stiff taste of it, she’s added extra alcohol. It’s a tangy, somewhat bitter version of a margarita. I love margaritas, so I’m not complaining.

I hold my glass up to her as she walks outside carrying a tray with guacamole, chips, and salsa. This is when I fell in love with her, why I fell in love with her. She’s unexpected. Spontaneous. Unlike anyone I’d ever known. Kate and I had gotten into a rut, a pattern where neither of us had the energy to do anything but work and try to manage Ashlyn. We were just barely keeping it together. There was no fun, no laughter. Every day was heavy. Tish was light.

“Cheers! This is good.” I lie and take another big sip.

“I wondered if it was too bitter. Glad you like it. I added a little something special.” Tish sits down across from me. I notice she’s drinking wine.

“Can I pour you one?” I lean forward, reaching for the pitcher.

“Oh, no thanks, I overindulged at lunch. Gave me a bit of a headache, so I’m sticking with rosé. A little hair of the pink dog.” She lifts her glass. “Cheers, though! I’m sorry for starting a fight. It’s such a beautiful evening. Seems your altitude sickness has subsided?”

I shrug. “I suppose it has, or the drink is masking it.” I dip a chip into the guacamole and enjoy the salty, lemony taste. “This is just about perfection.”

Tish wears a fitted white sweatshirt with a lacy bottom. She has on jeans and the summer boots she bought at the boutique in town. Her hair is shiny and tucked behind her ears. Aside from the large diamond studs sparkling in each ear—last year’s Christmas gift, among other things—and the oversize wedding ring, she could still be the same young woman who appeared at EventCo five years ago, fresh off the turnip truck from somewhere in eastern Kentucky. Or was it Cincinnati?

My mind has a pleasant haze gathering around it.

Despite what Kate thinks now, I didn’t hire Tish. Sandra from HR did. Actually, truth be told, the only folks I care to really interview are executive level, like Jennifer or Lance. Kate and I used to do those interviews together, making sure we both agreed before extending an offer. Thinking back on it, that sounds so simple, so functional.

Ah hell, we were good. We just needed counseling, or mediation, or meditation, or maybe a vacation alone.

We just needed to try a little harder.

I needed to try a little harder.

I should have tried harder.

I pull out my phone. Tish is somewhere inside, so the coast is clear. I take a photo of my margarita glass and quickly text it with a “cheers” message from under the table. All’s well, my cheers is implying. Even though it’s not, and she knows it.

My phone lights up: Looks delicious. Enjoy.

I text: It tastes horrible. I’m just trying to get drunk. It’s working.

She texts: Ha! Xo

My heart swells. It’s nice to have someone who cares about you. I hurry and delete this text chain so Tish won’t see it when she snoops. She’s always spying on me. I slip my phone under my thigh. This margarita is going to my head. I swipe the moisture away from under my eyes, quickly, before Tish sees it. I grab a chip and dunk it into the salsa. I almost miss my mouth before gobbling it down.

She’s filling my glass again. I probably should tell her to stop, but the drink takes the edge off this shit show. I’ve got nowhere to be, nothing to do, until I fly out of here tomorrow. “What time do you have the plane scheduled?”

Tish throws her hands in the air. “Why? Ready to get away from me?”

“No, of course not. Just a lot to deal with back home, that’s all.” I know my speech is slurring. I tell myself to talk slowly. I tell myself I’m happy to be here, drinking on the deck, watching the moonrise. Pretending everything is fine. Meanwhile, my inbox is piled high with emails. What does she expect? I just took a company public.

Then a word comes to me, the word to describe Tish: selfish.

“When did you stop loving me, John?” She’s put sunglasses on, big black-rimmed sunglasses. She looks a little like a fly. Which is funny. I hear myself chuckle. I cover my mouth.

“What are you talking about, honey?” I gulp some more margarita as Tish’s face blurs and then comes into focus. My phone vibrates under my thigh. I can’t take the chance of looking at it, not with Tish staring at me. I need to say something. “I love you.”

“I think that’s past tense. You’ve made it very clear today that you’ve moved on, that our relationship isn’t working. I believe that’s exactly what you said. I know the signs, remember? You did this with me, too. It’s a shame, John. You shouldn’t go backward in life. Kate is a mistake. She’s not as perfect as she seems, remember? You left her for a reason.”

I left her for a stupid reason: to screw you. But I’m not talking about this. I’m too drunk. We will talk in the morning. I will leave here tomorrow, with or without her. And I will file for a divorce. All of this is clear, and then the deck sways.

“Do you remember why you left her?” Tish asks.

I won’t answer that. “You think I have the bandwidth to sell my company, hang out with