Katrina sighs as she refills my mug, and I know she’s going to tell me her opinion again.
“Jade, I just don’t know how you’ll ever know if he’s telling you the truth.”
There it is.
What makes her opinion harder to swallow is that she’ssingle,happily so, and she doesn’t trust men as it is. She’s hardened to this shit, and I know I have to decide for myself how I feel.
But a nagging feeling in my gut tells me she’s right; how will I ever know? I’ll have to trust my husband, and that’s not something I feel I can do right now. How can I when hesleptinherhotel room?
My gut twists, an ache spreading through me until it reaches the bottom of my throat, threatening to spill from my lips in a deafening scream. The ache that tells you thatyou’re not good enoughor, worse still,thin enough.
I hate how my insecurity has flared since this happened. It’s never gone away, not really, but at least I thought I waspossiblygood enough for my husband. Even though everyone wanted him, he chose me.
I didn’t understand it at first. But he spentyearstelling me how perfect I was; lumps and bumps and all. He never once complained when I got out of breath on hikes, or when I resisted any form of exercise, hating how hot and sweaty I would get…
THEN
“The incredible sex is enough exercise,” Devon says, grinning at me with that cheeky glint in his eye. “This is easy.”
“Really?” I pant, my hands on my knees, the rucksack on my back feeling heavier than it did when we started this hike. “This isn’t a hike; it’s a slow death in the sun.”
“You burn more calories complaining than climbing, babe.”
I would roll my eyes, but they’re sweaty and stinging. Instead, I riseto my feet and survey my surroundings. We started off at Laurel Canyon Boulevard, a ‘short hike’ according to my husband, who hasn’t even broken a sweat. It’s so still and tranquil out here, making me feel so far from the city. The sun is already high, the air throbbing with heat. We’re surrounded by dry grass and twisted trees, with the sprawl of Los Angeles below us. Rooftops shimmer in the heat, a peek of the ocean on the horizon. Cicadas buzz all around us; the faint sound of traffic reminding us that although wefeelfar from the city, it’s not that far.
Not really.
But itisan escapism, like Devon said.
“Come on, we’re nearly at the top,” Devon encourages, stretching out his hand for me to take. Suddenly he stops and gazes at me, pulling me close.
I gasp, my brows crashing together as I stumble on the loose stones of the path.
“What are you doing?!”
“I just forgot how beautiful you are,” he remarks, brushing his lips against mine.
“Ew, gross, Devon. I’m all sweaty and—” I begin to protest, but he shakes his head, his hair flopping into his eyes.
“You know, Sweaty Jade is one of my favorites.” Devon cups my face in both hands, his thumbs swiping beneath my eyes. “Never doubt how perfect you are.”
NOW
“I feel sick,” I mumble, pushing the coffee away. Remembering that hike has put me off anything.
Because when we made it to the top, we celebrated. By getting even more hot and sweaty.
“Look, it’s your call,” Katrina says, flopping onto the couch opposite mine. “But you know what I would do.”
I avoid her eyes and glance around us, trying to ignore the emotion swelling in my throat. It’s so different to our home. Her condo is likesomething out of a magazine spread, all glass and soft lighting. The glass coffee table between us has a simple jasmine candle and a stack of PR trade magazines, not a single smudge in sight.
Floor-to-ceiling glass windows show West Hollywood in all its glamour: palm trees swaying in slow motion, sending burned shadows across the white sidewalks below, busy streets filled with Teslas and delivery bikes, people striding around with their phones glued to their ears, large sunglasses on their faces.
It makes me miss our neighborhood.
It makes me misshim.
“I think I’ll call him.” I reach for my phone and push the power button. My heart races when it lights up, slowly coming to life.
