Read Online Mating for Life by Marissa Stapley - Free Book Online

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    Lincoln had leaned against the fence, and Ilsa had, too. He had looked up at the chaos of stars in the navy sky, then back down at her, and she had felt like one of the stars he had just been looking at, suspended in anticipation, light-years away from her life as it was—but, perhaps, seconds away from implosion. She had, for just a moment, had a grasping holdon the beginnings of a painting. Star hanging in summer sky, about to fall. “When are you leaving? My wife is already gone.” Ilsa had cleared her throat. She had swallowed. She had tried not to feel disappointed. What did you want him to say? Something else. Something memorable. Something not quite so straightforward. And also, something that did not include the words “my wife.”
    Ilsa had not been planning to leave, but finally, when she found her voice again, she murmured, “Soon. Probably.” “Do you live near here?” he had asked. She had nodded, unable to find a word, not even Yes, not even Somewhat .
    â€œI’d like to walk you home,” he had said. “I’d like that, too,” she had finally managed, a proper sentence, because “I’d like to walk you home” sounded good to her. A little sweet, but a little suggestive. Still, when she spoke, her voice had sounded wrong, like it had been grated along something, smashed against the bricks. “I’ll wait for you on the sidewalk,” he had said. And then Fiona had rushed over, all blustering morality.
    After, Ilsa had gone inside to the powder room, where she had stared at herself in the mirror and said, “You don’t really want to do this.” It was a line she was about to cross, and there would be no crossing to the other side of it again. She would become who she had never wanted to be. But she still crushed a mint between her molars, rinsed her mouth with water, and smoothed her hair and dress. She felt like a drug addict might feel. Sweaty, elated, ready for a fix. She said goodbye to Tim but ignored Fiona, whose face was white and angry and whose lips were pressed together like she was holding something in. You’re too boring to have feelings like this, to yearn for something more than your suburban lifestyle. It probably doesn’t bother you that Tim doesn’t kiss you properly anymore. Or maybe he does. At this thought, Ilsa felt a twinge. Maybe you’re one of the lucky ones.
    As Ilsa had walked toward Lincoln, she thought of her days in art school. In particular, she remembered one afternoonwhen he had guest-lectured for her landscape drawing class. As she had listened to him speak, she remembered thinking about who he might be as a person, behind the talk about art, beneath the layers of clothing. (Clothing: She even remembered what he had been wearing. A jacket and shirt, just like tonight. The shirt had been dark gray.) Now he turned, and in the streetlamp glow she thought, Maybe I always knew he would come back into my life at some point, even just to  . . . but she didn’t finish the thought because she wasn’t sure what his purpose was. As he advanced, he looked to her like a lion so pleased that the best part of the kill had been saved for him: the heart, the loin. Stop being so dramatic, she had said to herself. “Hello,” she had said to him. He had smiled, reached for her hand, pulled her to him until she was inches away (but neck craned, looking up because he was so tall, even with her in heels), and said, “Hello, gorgeous.” (Again, she had experienced disappointment in his words. “Hello, gorgeous”?It was predictable. She didn’t want predictable.) “Did you know,” she had said, playing the coquette, “that once you were my teacher?”
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    Ilsa was driving again. She turned onto an off-ramp. She was getting close. The crunch of gravel beneath her tires relaxed her. No more pavement. Trees on either