Don’t Make Me Turn This Life Around by Pagán, Camille (dar e dil novel online reading .txt) 📕

not,” I assured him. Shiloh, who’d been my pilot on the flight I took from San Juan to Vieques thirteen years earlier, had narrowly pulled off an emergency landing on said flight. But thanks to Paul’s proclivity for reciting random statistics, I knew a person was more likely to die eating barbecue wings than in a plane (not that this had alleviated Paul’s flying phobia). “I just think I’m not cut out for small planes.”

He frowned. “Yeah, but now that I’m thinking about it, you never say yes when I ask if you want to go flying with me.” He put his palm to his forehead. “Rookie move, Velasquez.”

“Hey,” I said, reaching across and touching his arm. “Don’t beat yourself up. I really appreciate you trying. But maybe we go to the movies next time?” I said, even though I was on record as this being the adult version of parallel play; whether we saw a rom-com or one of those war films where no fewer than twenty-eight people are blown to smithereens in the first five minutes, one of us was bound to suffer.

Now that I was thinking about it, why couldn’t we agree on a movie?

“I’ll do better next time. But for now, let’s finally celebrate.” He lifted his glass to me. “To love, life, and your continued good health. Salud, Libby.”

It was a lovely sentiment, even if I might have overheard the same toast at, say, a business dinner. “Salud,” I said, forcing my lips into a smile.

“When I met you nearly thirteen years ago, I had no idea that we’d be sitting here together one day, let alone celebrating your complete remission,” he said, staring into my eyes.

Okay, I thought. This is an improvement.

“I’m so happy for you,” he added. “For us. You’re the glue that makes this family stick together.”

Yes, I was—and I was glad he’d reminded me of that. It was time to stop nitpicking and start being grateful for the experience I was literally in the middle of. “Me, too,” I said. Then—and I’m still not sure why—I blurted out, “Paul and Charlie are getting a divorce.”

Shiloh, who’d just taken a sip of his wine, coughed so hard he nearly choked. “Pardon me?” he said when he’d recovered.

“Sorry,” I said with a grimace. “Bad timing. But yeah. He told me at lunch yesterday.”

He looked incredulous. “Where is this coming from? They seemed fine.”

“That’s what I said. He claims their chemistry isn’t there anymore,” I said, watching Shiloh to see if his expression changed.

“Huh,” he said. “I guess that can happen, but is that really a reason to end a good marriage?”

It was all I could do not to wince. Was he trying to tell me something?

He continued, oblivious to the fact that all of the rejection and disappointment I’d been attempting to hold down had just floated right back up to the surface. “But it’s not like chemistry is some fixed entity. You have to work at it. Anyway, every relationship has its ups and downs.”

It did, and hearing him say that instantly lifted my mood. “That’s what I told Paul.”

“Great minds,” he said, but then his face grew serious. “Did he say anything else, though? They really don’t seem unhappy together.”

“They don’t,” I agreed. Not two years earlier Charlie had finally won a best actor Emmy for his long-running role on a popular TV police procedural show. And in his acceptance speech, the first person he’d thanked was Paul—the father of his children, he’d said tearfully, the man who had helped him realize his full potential, the love of his life.

If that wasn’t enough, what was?

“He didn’t elaborate, but between us I have to wonder if Charlie even wants this. Paul’s the one who initiated it,” I said. I didn’t add what he’d told me about his emotional affair, since that seemed like a secret he wouldn’t want me to share, even with Shiloh. “I don’t understand why he can’t just be grateful for what he already has instead of thinking he should try for something different or better.”

“Yeah, but that’s kind of the human instinct, isn’t it?” said Shiloh, reclining in his chair.

I frowned, recalling what Paul had said about Andy’s attention. “Is it, though? Or is that just what people who don’t want to stay married tell themselves?”

“I’m not saying it’s a good excuse. But novel experiences are what get people out of bed in the morning. Maybe that’s what’s going on with Paul.”

“Maybe,” I allowed, even as my mental wheels began spinning. If that was true, why hadn’t our flying excursion made me feel any better? However terrifying, it was novel. “He says it started around the time—” My voice caught. “Around the time my dad died.”

Shiloh leaned forward and took my hand. “I’m sorry, Libby. Grief can do weird things to people. I bet he’ll realize he’s making a mistake and try to reconcile.”

“I hope so,” I said softly. “What will Christmas and birthdays and family dinners be like without Charlie?” I shook my head. “You know, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m actually a little glad Dad isn’t alive to see this go down.”

Not half a year earlier, my father had come to visit. He and I were cleaning up after dinner while Shiloh and the girls went to the bodega to get ice cream—a rare treat since Charlotte’s diagnosis. My father, who’d been up to his elbows in sudsy water, had looked over at me and remarked apropos of nothing, “You and Paul are incredibly lucky.”

“How’s that?” I said, drying off the pan he’d just handed me.

“Well, Libby Lou, it’s one thing to truly like your spouse, and another to share that special spark. But to have both: that’s like the holy grail right there. Your mother and I had that. And now both of you do, too.”

“Yes, we do,” I told him, smiling to myself. “We’re lucky.”

And we were. Except as my eyes landed on Shiloh again, I suddenly felt almost as fearful