She walks into the office. Marshall glances up from his desk, as she walks by. She drops her bag, by her desk. As she sits down, he looks up, from his computer.
"What?" she raises her eyebrow, not looking at him.
"Nothing," he lies, returning his glance to his computer.
"Marshall? Can I ask you something?"
"Have I ever been able to stop you?"
"I haven't heard you mention anything about Abigail, in weeks, since you watched Norah."
"Abigail, and I... we're done."
"I told you, we had a blowout."
"It can't be that bad."
"Tell me about it."
"Tell me about your secret, and I'll tell you mine."
"I don't have a secret."
"Who was it."
"Why does it matter?"
"I just want to know. You said that it was someone we know."
"I did, I don't think that now is the time to talk about it."
"Why? Was it Stan?"
"No, of course not."
"Then why won't you tell me?"
"Later," she promises.
Hours later, they're in the car, on the way to the airport, to go retrieve a witness. Marshall remains unusually quiet, as they drive.
"Marshall, what's on your mind?"
"Nothing, I don't want to talk about it."
"That's my line," she replies.
"Mary you don't have to know about everything that goes on in my life."
"I slept with Bobby," she makes a sudden revelation.
"What?" He turns his attention from the road, to her.
"I ran into him at the grocery store."
"I didn't know that he was back."
"He's not. He was just here, for a few days."
"Oh," he refocuses his attention on the road, as he grips the steering wheel.
"Clearly, I do not make the best choices, when it comes to men."
"He's not a bad guy."
"No," she shakes her head, "he's not. He's just the wrong guy."
"What's that mean?"
"I always choose the wrong guy. You know that."
"So how did you end up in bed with him?"
"We both had a lot to drink."
"You had drinks with him.""Dinner, and drinks."
"You made it through an entire dinner with him?"
"We had a good time. We actually had a decent conversation."
"And, so then you took him home, and slept with him?"
"Why are you being so hostile?"
"I'm trying not to be."
"But you are."
"Mary, you can't have random flings..."
She cuts him off, "Don't you think that I know that? I have a child, and it was stupid. I made a stupid decision. I know that things a different now..."
"I still have a hard time, sometimes."
"With not repeating the same mistakes. I'm not perfect, I'm only human."
"That's all any of us are," he reminds her.
She turns off the radio. She stares at him, as he drives.
"So now are you going to tell me, what happened with Abigail?"
"We decided that we shouldn't be together."
"And the dog?"
"We continue to share custody."
"I'm ok with it."
"For the dog," Mary clarifies.
"Can we talk about something else?"
"Sure. Like what?"
"Maybe we should just try to enjoy the drive," he suggests.
She nods, and zips her lip. She stares out the window, as he drives. Buildings, and billboards whirr past.
He focuses on the road, avoiding her glance. He feels the tension between them building. He turns the radio back on.
She fidgets in her seat, as they near the airport. She adjusts her seatbelt, as they near the airport entrance.
The silence between them is unbroken, until they are in the air. Mary sits next to the window. She stares out the window, avoiding Marshall's glance, like the plague. He picks up on her nervous energy. Something she's said plays in his subconscious.
As she reaches for the skymall catalogue, in front of her, he replays the statement, in his head. He hears the words over, and over again. She flips through the well worn pages of the catalogue.
"What did you mean earlier?"
"When you said the thing about not repeating the same mistakes."
"I always go for the wrong guy, that's what I meant."
"No," he shakes his head.
She still refuses to look at him, "That is what I meant."
"I don't buy it. And, why are you just coming clean, now? I mean that was a month ago."
"Five weeks," she corrects.
"You're keeping track?" he raises an eyebrow.
She doesn't answer, she returns to her reading.
"You're repeating the same mistake?"
Mary continues to ignore him.
"Your keeping track tells me something."
She puts the magazine back into the pocket on the back of the seat. She stares at him, with a stern look on her face. "And what, exactly does it tell you?"
"Don't make me say it."
"I am not going to ask. I do not want to know."
"Then why are you still talking?"