I stood very still, my stare darting from the drawing of Kai to my husband's face. "I asked you not to look at that," I finally managed to say. My voice sounded weak and pathetic.
A bitter smile pulled at Brandon's lips. "Yes, well, I can see why." Gently, he closed the sketchbook and set it aside. "I wasn't trying to pry, but you'd left it open on the table."
Thinking back to earlier that afternoon, I realized he was right. I'd been working on a simple sketch, little more than a doodle, when Brandon arrived home. I must have forgotten to put the sketchbook away.
"I was admiring your work in progress," he went on, "the oak tree you sketched, and I couldn't help but take a look at your other drawings." As he stared down at his now-empty hands, I saw his jaw tighten. "You're very talented, although I must say, your work could use a little variety. Almost all of your other drawings are of the same man." He looked up, giving me a measured stare. "Now tell me who he is."
I squirmed beneath his scrutiny. "You know who he is."
Brandon stood but didn't approach me. "No. I want to hear you say it, Alissa."
Folding my arms over my chest, I grew more defensive by the second. "He's my former boyfriend. I've mentioned him to you before."
"The one you're still in love with."
I opened my mouth to reply but found I didn't even know how to begin. Did I still love Kai? My feelings for Brandon had grown so strong, so quickly, that I now discovered my longing for Kai had diminished.
I wanted to explain that to Brandon, but he held up a hand to stop me. Suddenly, he looked exhausted. "Sometimes," he said, "I wish you and I had never met."
I pressed a hand to my face as if I'd been slapped. Hot tears burned my eyes. "Why would you say that to me?"
"Because I've loved you from the very beginning, but I realize you'll never feel the same about me." His stare grew colder as he spoke.
"That's not true!" I cried. "We've only been together a month, and..."
"And during that entire time, you've clearly been obsessing over your ex-boyfriend." Brandon cast a contemptuous glance at my sketchbook.
I took a tentative step toward him. "But things have changed. I've changed." My gaze grew pleading. "Think about what we did tonight, Brandon. Do you honestly believe I could have done that with someone I didn't care about?"
He was silent a long moment, considering my words. Finally, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Let's go to bed." His tone was quiet, almost resigned. "We can talk about this later."
"I think we should—"
"I'm tired," he said, far more firmly this time, "and I'm going to bed."
I swore I could feel the chill from him as he strode past me.
A little later, we lay in the darkness of our bedroom, the silence heavy between us. I realized this was far worse than when we were living like roommates. At least then, Brandon had made an effort to reach me.
He lay with his back to me, and I resisted the urge to touch him. As unshed tears formed like a thick clot in my throat, I experienced the same grief that had overwhelmed me when I said goodbye to Kai.
Closing my eyes, I remembered the first words Brandon had spoken to me: I've been waiting for you for so long. How bitterly disappointed he must be that it wasn't love at first sight for us both.
Somehow, I finally managed to fall asleep. When I woke the next morning, I quickly left the bed in search of Brandon. He must have gotten up even earlier than usual, for he'd already showered and was about to leave for work.
I couldn't stop myself from rushing to him. Placing a hand on his arm, I blurted out, "I'm sorry, Brandon. I did miss Kai, terribly at first, and drawing was my way of dealing with that heartbreak. But I'll get rid of the sketchbook. It means nothing to me."
He shook his head. "I won't ask you to do that." Avoiding my eyes, he continued in a gentler tone. "I overreacted about the drawings, but I think you and I need to have an honest talk about all of this tonight."
I readily nodded, feeling a rush of relief when he pulled me into a quick embrace and kissed the top of my head.
Then he was gone.
I spent my day at work in a daze; it was a struggle to focus on teaching when I could think only of what I might say to Brandon in order to make things right. I understood his hurt and frustration, and even his anger. He'd been so patient, and he'd tried so hard to nurture our relationship. Until very recently, I'd made no effort at all. And just when I started to reciprocate his feelings, he found a sketchbook filled with countless drawings of my former boyfriend.
If I hadn't been so preoccupied that day, I might have paid closer attention to my coworkers. I vaguely noticed the hum of anxious energy passing between them like a current. They spoke in whispers, their eyes wide. I hadn't known them long enough to be taken into their confidence, so I chalked it all up to some kind of workplace drama. Putting it out of my mind, I tried to concentrate on doing my job.
It was only after I got home that I learned the reason for the charged atmosphere among my colleagues. I let myself into a quiet apartment, as Brandon wouldn't be home for at least another hour. I was setting out ingredients to make dinner when an urgent knock sounded at the door. A slight frown pulled at my lips as I hurried to answer it.
Whitney stood before me, her eyes swollen from crying. Immediately, I reached for her hand and drew her inside. "Whitney, what's wrong?"
She gave me an incredulous stare. "Haven't you heard? It's been all over the news."
"What has?" Even as I asked, a sense of almost palpable dread settled over me.
Whitney guided me to the couch, as if this were her apartment and I was a guest she'd invited. After we sat down, she again grasped my hand. My alarm ratcheted up another few levels when I saw her blink back fresh tears.
"The government's matchmaking project," she began in a quavering voice, "is complete bullshit."
I stared at her in bewilderment, trying to make sense of what she'd said. "What are you talking about?" I finally demanded.
"It turns out all those studies and experiments they relied on to pair everyone up with their perfect match? It's nothing but junk science!" Her cheeks reddened with barely contained fury. "We've all been manipulated into thinking we've met our ideal mate, but there's no real evidence to support that. Even the news isn't toeing the line of censorship anymore; if you turn on the television, you'll hear them announcing that we're all victims of a lie."
While I struggled to form a response, my words were like ribbons twisting around my tongue. I could barely get them past my lips. "Wait—you're saying all that talk of compatible microbiomes... it's garbage?"
Whitney nodded vigorously. "Banks called me a little earlier, after he'd spoken with his father. Since they both work for the government, they have inside knowledge about what's going on. Banks told me protests are erupting everywhere; people are demanding more transparency and accountability from government officials." Her voice broke, and she had to clear her throat before continuing. "He also told me... there's a line half a mile long outside the courthouse. Couples are showing up there in droves to get divorced."
I cupped a hand over my mouth, trying to hide my own distress. "Oh, my God."
"Apparently, a lot of us who've been matched up have only been pretending to be happy with our new spouses." Her face crumpled from another onslaught of tears. "What if Banks was only pretending because he felt he had no other choice? What if he doesn't really love me?"
Drawing Whitney into an embrace, I strove to comfort her. "There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that Banks loves you. Anyone can see that." I smoothed her hair back from her damp face and smiled. "I promise this won't change anything between you two."
Whitney looked like she desperately wanted to believe my words. Hugging me tight, she whispered, "I know the same is true for you and Brandon."
I managed to keep my smile in place, but inside, my heart was furiously pounding. Somehow, I hid my growing panic while walking Whitney to the door. "Everything's going to be fine," I told her in a surprisingly steady voice.
After she was gone, I felt weak-kneed and lightheaded. Stumbling toward the couch, I collapsed upon it with a thud. Though I tried to process the news Whitney had shared, I couldn't hold on to my train of thought. My mind was all over the place. One question surfaced above all my worry and fear: now that Brandon could be free of me, would he give up on our relationship altogether?
Looking down at my hands, I noticed they were shaking violently. I took a few deep breaths to calm my nerves, and when I felt like I could safely stand, I considered turning on the television and listening to the news.
Before I had a chance to do so, the apartment door opened. Brandon stepped inside the living room, his stare meeting mine. I could see the question in his eyes, the same as Whitney's: Have you heard?