The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo

I’M SORRY, EVELYN,” DON SAID when he sat down. I had already ordered an iced tea and eaten half of a sour pickle. I thought he was apologizing for being late.

“It’s only five past one,” I said. “It’s fine.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. He looked pale but also a bit thinner than some of his recent photos. The years we had been apart had not been good to Don. His face had bloated, and his waistline had widened. But he was still heads and tails more handsome than anyone else in the place. Don was the sort of man who was always going to be handsome, no matter what happened to him. His good looks were just that loyal.

“I’m sorry,” he said. The emphasis, the meaningfulness of it, hit me.

It caught me off guard. The waitress came by and asked for his drink order. He didn’t order a martini or a beer. He ordered a Coca-Cola. When she left, I found myself unsure what to say to him.

“I’m sober,” he said. “Have been for two hundred and fifty-six days.”

“That many, huh?” I said as I took a sip of my iced tea.

“I was a drunk, Evelyn. I know that now.”

“You were also a cheater and a pig,” I said.

Don nodded. “I know that, too. And I’m deeply sorry.”

I had flown all the way here to see if I could do a movie with him. I had not come to be apologized to. The thought had never occurred to me. I merely assumed I would use him this time the way I used him back then; his name near mine would get people talking.

But this repentant man in front of me was surprising and overwhelming.

“What am I supposed to do with that?” I asked him. “That you’re sorry? What is that supposed to mean to me?”

The waitress came and took our orders.

“A Reuben, please,” I said, handing her the menu. If I was going to have a real conversation about this, I needed a hearty meal.

“I’ll have the same,” Don said.

She knew who we were; I could see it in the way her lips kept trying to hold back a smile.

When she left, Don leaned in. “I know it doesn’t make up for what I did to you,” he said.

“Good,” I said. “Because it really doesn’t.”

“But I hope it might make you feel a little better,” he said, “to know that I know I was wrong, I know you deserved better, and I’m working every day to be a better man.”

“Well, it’s awfully late now,” I said. “You being a better man does nothing for me.”

“I won’t hurt anyone like I did then,” Don said. “To you, to Ruby.”

My heart of ice melted briefly, and I admitted that did make me feel better. “Still,” I said. “We all can’t go around treating people like dog shit and then expecting that a simple I’m sorry erases it.”

Don shook his head humbly. “Of course not,” he said. “No, I know that.”

“And if your movies hadn’t tanked and Ari Sullivan hadn’t dropped you like you got him to drop me, you’d probably still be living high on the hog, drunk as a skunk.”

Don nodded. “Probably. I’m sorry to say you are most likely right about that.”

I wanted more. Did I want him to grovel? To cry? I wasn’t sure. I just knew I wasn’t getting it.

“Let me just say this,” Don said. “I loved you from the moment I saw you. I loved you madly. And I ruined it because I turned into a man I’m not proud of. And because I ruined it the way I did, because I was awful at treating you the way you deserved to be treated, I am sorry. Sometimes I think about going back to our wedding day and wanting to do it all over again, wanting to fix my mistakes so that you never have to go through what I put you through. I know I can’t do that, but what I can do is look you in the eye and tell you from the very bottom of my heart that I know how incredible you are, I know how great we could have been together, I know that everything we both lost was my fault, I am dedicated to never behaving that poorly again, and I am truly, truly sorry.”

In all my years after Don, all my movies, all my marriages, I had never once wanted to go back in time in the hopes that Don and I could get it right. My life since Don had been a story of my own making, a mess and a joy of my own decisions, and a string of experiences that landed me with everything I ever wanted.

I was OK. I felt safe. I had a beautiful daughter, a devoted husband, and the love of a good woman. I had money and fame. I had a gorgeous house in a city I had reclaimed. What could Don Adler take from me?

If I had come to see if I could stand him, I found that I could. There was not a bone in my body that was afraid of him.

And then I realized: if that was true, what did I have to lose?

I did not say the words I forgive you to Don Adler. I simply took my wallet out of my purse and said, “Do you want to see a picture of Connor?”

He smiled and nodded, and when I showed him her photo, he laughed. “She looks just like you,” he said.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I don’t think there’s any other way to take it. I think every woman in this country would like to look like Evelyn Hugo.”

I threw my head back and laughed. When our Reubens were half eaten and taken away by the waitress, I told him I’d do the movie.

“That’s great,” he said. “Really great to hear. I think you and I could really . . . I think we can really give them a show.”

“We are not friends, Don,” I said. “I want to be clear on that.”

Don nodded. “OK,” he said. “I understand.”

“But I think we can be friendly.”

Don smiled. “I’d be honored by friendly.”