Free Table for Seven by Whitney Gaskell Page A

especially, had loved his,scraping his spoon against the bottom of the pudding cup to make sure he got up every last bit.
    Pots de crème were the perfect dessert , Jaime wrote. Simple but elegant .
    “Do you think Will and Fran have the happiest marriage of anyone we know?” she asked.
    There was another long pause. Jaime was just wondering if Mark had tuned her out again, when he said, “I don’t know, really. It’s hard to tell about someone else’s marriage.”
    “But do you get the sense that they’re really happy together?” Jaime persisted. “I would say that they’re comfortable with each other. But I don’t get the sense that they’re still madly in love.”
    Mark put down his iPhone and glanced at Jaime over the top of his horn-rimmed readers. He hadn’t worn glasses until recently, and even now insisted that he didn’t really need them. But Jaime had noticed that he’d taken to wearing them more often while reading, at least while he was home.
    “They’ve been married for, what, twelve years?” he said.
    “Something like that,” Jaime said.
    “I think it’s unrealistic for any married couple to still seem madly in love after that much time.”
    “That’s not true,” Jaime said. “Leland told me that he was married for forty-years, and I could tell he adored his late wife.”
    Mark shrugged. “I think that’s the exception, not the norm.”
    “What do you think other people think about our marriage?”
    “Who knows?” Mark said. “And, really, who cares?”
    “I care,” Jaime said.
    “I meant, who cares what anyone else thinks about us?People can think what they want to think. We have no control over that,” Mark said. His iPhone dinged, and, like Pavlov’s dog, Mark immediately turned his attention back to it.
    Jaime set her notebook down on the nightstand, and then rolled over on her side, her back to her husband. How long had it been since she and Mark had made love, she wondered. A few weeks? Longer? Over a month?
    That was worrying.
    Although, Jaime had to admit, at first she had been grateful that her husband’s libido had taken a nosedive shortly after Ava’s birth. Her days were spent with one or both children in her arms, picking up their warm, solid bodies, their small hands always reaching out to grab on to her shirt or a lock of her hair. By the time she fell into bed each night, the last thing she wanted was to have anyone else touch her, even her husband.
    But a month or more? Jaime felt a prickle of unease. That was a long time to go without sex, even for a couple with two small children. Was this further evidence that Mark might be having an affair? And if he was, was it because she’d been sexually inaccessible to him? Or was it the other way around—had he lost interest in her because he’d found someone else? A swooping, sickly feeling spread through her stomach.
    This can’t go on , she thought. We need to fix this . I need to fix this .
    Jaime rolled back toward Mark, intent on doing something . They needed to talk. Or no, forget talking, she’d just seduce him. But Mark’s eyes were closed, and his breathing had deepened, so that he was snoring softly on each exhale. His iPhone was still clasped in his hands. For a moment, Jaime considered taking the phone gently out of his hands and sliding his reading glasses off his face. But for some reasonshe wasn’t quite sure of, she instead rolled back over, turned off her bedside table lamp, and closed her eyes.
    “ARE YOU TALKING TO me?” Fran asked when Audrey answered the phone.
    “No,” Audrey said.
    “Will you at least listen while I apologize?” Fran said.
    There was a pause. Fran wondered if Audrey was so mad, she’d actually hung up.
    “Are you there?” Fran asked.
    “I’m waiting for my apology,” Audrey said.
    “Oh good, I’m glad you didn’t hang up. I’m sorry I told you Coop is gay,” Fran said.
    “And that you humiliated me?”
    “You weren’t humiliated, were