Knowing Harriet Pavo as intimately and for as many years as he has means being all too acquainted with her moods. It means always being able to tell when there is something weighing on her mind, picking up on those subtle tells she would like to think she hides so well and knowing what each of them mean, and how he is supposed to answer them in turn.
Zander knows better than to ask what is bothering her now, as he returns to his seat in the aftermath of stepping away momentarily to answer a sudden and urgent phone call. Whatever Harriet means to say to him, she will always say it — all he needs to do about it is to lean back upon his chair, an eyebrow absently raised in expectation, and wait.
When she finally does ask him what had been so visibly eating away at her in his absence, he almost smiles. Almost.
To him, the memory of their youth and of the relationship they had once had, if he can even call what they had a relationship at all, is colored by the perception he has of that time in his life — a time where he had been held back and constrained by his father’s authority, his wings clipped and the thought of his freedom still a distant ambition. It had always been their families’ intentions to set them up with one another as an advantageous match and, regardless of how they may have felt about one another in their hearts, it was one thing to choose to be together, and another thing entirely to have that choice foisted upon them.
In all honesty, when she had informed him of her decision to put an end to their relationship shortly after they had moved in pursuit of higher education, it had come to him as a relief, which is why he had accepted the break-up so readily. Why wouldn’t he? Their lives clearly appeared to be heading in opposing directions, and they were no longer beholden to the wishes and plans of their parents. By the time he heard, years later, that she had married someone else in sunny California, he was not surprised in the least to find how little the news bothered him, being already married himself at that point, with two young children of his own — the eldest of which had been conceived during the early years of his involvement with Harriet, with the woman who would go on to become his wife of more than a decade.
But had it been a relationship, really, or an obligation?
Slowly, he crosses one leg over the other as he thinks and reaches for his cup, bringing it to his lips and taking a long, deliberate sip.
Even if his wife had already moved back to New York City with their children by the time Harriet returned to his town, there was no doubt in his mind that she had heard much about them. They had been the ruling family of Godscobh for so many years, after all — The mayor, his first lady, and their four children. Surely she has done the math, by now, on their ages. Her question is, then, nothing more than an attempt to get him to admit it.
...Did she really think it was going to be that easy?
"Why ask me a question you already know the answer to?"
