“You’re not going to have much toast left at this rate,” I remark as she continues to attack the slice like it insulted her.
With a pointed look, she violently bites off one corner.
“I’m glad you aren’t thinking of me.”
Her throat moves with a deep swallow as she sets it back to her plate. “Mitch can’t eat peanut butter,” she announces, seemingly out of nowhere. At his invasion, an iron fist tightens around my entrails. “He’s allergic.”
“Very badly?”
She flicks a shoulder. “He carries an EpiPen with him wherever he goes.”
“What a shame.”As in, what a shame I hadn’t known this earlier.
“The shame is I gave up more than peanut butter for him. I like peanut butter. I hate my ex.”
“That’s understandable.” This is a first, the mention of hate. And a first for me, as I realize I’ve been unfair to her, simply because she hasn’t been angry enough for my liking.
“I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone before,” she says with a brittle smile. “But here I am, eating peanut butter while imagining him suffering a painful death.”
I laugh, though turn it into a cough. I don’t want her to think I’m laughing at her. I think it might be relief. It isn’t all me—it might not even be half my fault.
Except, I’ve treated her little better than the arsehole did.
“That’s bad, isn’t it?” Her expression twists comically.
“No worse than death by cab.”
“I love peanut butter, but not for the taste. I love it because of what it might do to him.” She examines her toast, then slides me a provocative glance. “Aren’t you going to ask why today?”
“I’m almost frightened to.”
“Liar.” Now satisfaction flickers across her face. “He cheated on me. Humiliated me. Wasted my time and my energy.”No mention of love.“But it’s only this morning that I feel like I could watch him choke.”
“Delayed grief?” I hedge.
“Oh, I’m not grieving,” she says. “I’m pissed.” Reaching for her phone, she slides her thumb across the screen. She offers it to me. “This is the same gossip column you showed me.”
“Yes, I know.” No need to mention I’ve been keeping an eye on it.
A Little Bird Told Us ...
Mitch Atherton, property developer and cheating Pulse Tok groom, suggests he might not have been the only one in the relationship up to no good.
“Remember the first day you turned up at the clinic? There was a woman there. A journalist.” I nod, and Eve carries on. “Una Smith. I guess she decided, when I wouldn’t speak to her, she’d get her scoop from another horse’s mouth.”
“Or in this case, a horse’s arse,” I murmur, returning to scanning the text, the crux of which is:
Mitchell admits he cheated.
He agrees he deserved being abandoned at the altar.
Very big of him, especially when:
