Suddenly, his phone buzzed. He snatched it off the table so fast he almost knocked over his water glass. He read the message, and the color drained from his face.
“I have to go,” he said, standing up abruptly.
“What?” I blinked, my fork hovering halfway to my mouth. “Brandon, we haven't even ordered the main course.”
“It’s an emergency,” he said, already putting on his coat. “Work. A server crashed. It’s a disaster. I have to go to the office right now.”
“On our anniversary?”
“I’m sorry, Maureen. I really am. I’ll make it up to you.” He dropped a stack of cash on the table, not even looking at me. “Take a taxi home. I love you.”
And then he was gone.
I sat there, the "I love you" echoing in the empty space he left behind. The waiter approached, looking awkward.
“Is… is everything alright, ma’am? Should I bring the main course?”
“No,” I said, my voice trembling. “Just the check, please.”
I took a taxi home. The house was dark when I arrived. I expected it to be empty.
But as I walked into the living room, I saw them.
Denise was sprawled on the couch, her red dress rumpled, her makeup smeared. She was laughing, a loud, slurring sound. There was a bottle of tequila on the table, half empty.