Free The Men I Didn't Marry by Janice Kaplan

at him in amazement. “I got those tickets for you and me. For us.”
    “Well, ‘us’ is good,” he says jovially. “We can go together. Ashlee won’t mind. She doesn’t even like basketball.”
    I take a bite of the disgusting omelet and almost gag. “ ‘Us,’ is not good,” I say.
    “Why not?”
    I shake my head. Bill’s upended my entire universe and he’s acting like he did nothing more scandalous than move the living room armchair a few inches to the left. Could he possibly not understand that his choice to be with Ashlee has repercussions? Losing courtside seats for the Knicks is the least of it.
    “I got those tickets as part of my plan for life-after-the-kids-are-gone. You made a different plan.”
    Bill swipes a paper napkin across his lips to wipe away some errant maple syrup. “Hallie, be reasonable. We can still do things together. We’re a family, and the kids being in college doesn’t change that.”
    Unexpectedly, I sit back and start to laugh. I’m here at a greasy diner on Ninth Avenue, explaining to my Neanderthal mate why he’s not going to see any three-point shots in person this season. I can only pray that Ashlee doesn’t have premium cable and he won’t get to see the games on TV, either.
    “Unfortunately, darling, you did change our family. But one thing hasn’t changed. You can still finish my breakfast.” I stand up and slide my plate of eggs toward Bill.
    “Thanks,” he says, picking up his fork to dig in and flashing what he thinks is a charismatic grin. “Will you at least think about those Knicks tickets?”
    “I will.” I smile generously because that’s what I typically do. I try to make everything work. I try to be nice. But not today.
    “I’ll think about the Knicks tickets and you think about this,” I say sweetly. In one bold motion, I sweep my hand across the table, sending eggs, coffee, and half a glass of orange juice flying into his lap. A big blob of ketchup lands smack-dab in the middle of his white polo shirt. His fault—who uses ketchup on eggs anyway?
    “HEY! What are you doing?” Bill screams, jumping up and smashing his knee against the table. I hope it’s the bad one.
    I toss back my head in satisfaction and stride toward the door. The websites are right that revenge is sweet. And in this case, it’s also messy.
    When I get to my office, I spend ten minutes sifting through papers and then stretch out exhausted on the sofa. But as tired as I am, I can’t sleep, and I stare out the window at the water tower on the next roof. Not exactly the fourteen-million-dollar view from the Time Warner building (south tower), but in this office, my real estate passes for prime. If I stand in just the right spot and crane my head in just the right direction and it’s a particularly clear day, I can even catch a glimpse of the Chrysler Building.
    A lot’s happened in the last twenty-four hours, but for some reason, one line plays over and over in my head. I keep hearing Eric say,
I
heard about your little sister
. Though she was six years younger than me, I adored Amy and she idolized me. I read her bedtime stories, took her to school for show-and-tell, and helped her learn long division. (Why aren’t fourth graders allowed to use calculators?) Studying in my room on sunny afternoons, I’d peek out my window and see my vivacious little sister turning somersaults in the backyard. After I went to college, Amy visited me often. We giggled together in my dorm room, and I let her meet all my friends.
    Something I should never, ever have done.
    My sweet sister Amy. Charming, funny, trusting Amy. I can still see her happy face that last day. Amy never dreamt that I couldn’t protect her. I never imagined that I wouldn’t get to laugh with my sister again.
    I twist around on the sofa, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in, but I keep thinking of Amy. I can’t let Eric’s comment make me relive that whole awful night. Restless, I head over to my