“No it won’t,” she said. To Mal, brightly, “Much better. Let’s go.”
Then she set off, stepping around Ezra like he was a fallen log in her path.
And, despite the uncertainty that churned like a whirlpool in his stomach, Mal had no choice but to follow.
“So they’re definitely fucking,” Kieran said, when two days after the party, Mal showed up at his place to return his borrowed suit.
“Were, maybe,” Mal said, keeping his voice low. Harvey, their two-year-old, was fast asleep in the room next door. He didn’twant to consider the possibility that the so-called Virgin Sex Doc had been lying about her lack of experience, not because he cared much about Jo’s sexual history, but because it would mean that she had lied to him. Which, he supposed, was only marginally worse than using him to make Ezra Adelman jealous.
“Sound a little less excited about the idea, babe. Mal’s clearly disappointed,” Kelechi said from the couch where she lay, phone balanced on top of her pregnant belly, a candy-striped pink sock over her left residual leg. “Also, I’m, like, a thousand percent sure they are not.”
“Kind of cocky, for someone with no evidence,” Kieran said.
Kelechi grinned. In college, she’d earned the nickname FBI for her ability to track down the names of her friends’ missed connections based on astonishingly limited information. She’d once hunted down a guy her friend had danced with in a club based on the clue “Chris from Canada.” Finding info on an influencer and a guy who was actually famous was a piece of cake. With a flourish, Kelechi turned over her phone to reveal a photograph of Ezra Adelman, a few years and twenty pounds (lighter) ago, dressed in a crisp black tuxedo and escorting a smiling Jo on a red carpet. She looked incredible in a turquoise floor-length gown and a slicked-back high ponytail, and Mal felt his stomach clench at the sight of them together.
“Not sure if this helps, K,” he said.
Kelechi rolled her eyes.
“Did you read the article?” she said. She cleared her throat, then started, “‘Jo’s my closest friend in the entire world. There’s no one else I’d rather be here with tonight.’”
Kieran nodded sagely, rubbing his chin.
“Intimate, but heavy on the platonic vibes. He’s definitely notclaiming her,” he observed. He nudged Mal, just a bit too hard, in the ribs. “I stand corrected. Maybe you do have a shot.”
Mal wasn’t so sure. The way Ezra had looked at him, like he wanted to drive an ice pick into his chest, was not how one generally looked at a man who was cavorting with his entirely platonic friend.
And then there was Jo. She’d shone blindingly bright for the hour or so they’d had together, but the second Ezra appeared, it was like a curtain in her eyes had snapped closed. Suddenly she was curt, her smiles unnaturally tight at the corners. They’d found Renata at the end of the hall shortly afterward, and she’d excused herself after introducing them with a quick “I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about,” disappearing like a sullen Cinderella at the stroke of midnight.
Mal knew a breakup when he saw one; after all, he’d been involved in several himself. And what he had witnessed between Jo Boateng and Ezra Adelman was most certainly its aftermath.
He’d heard neither hide nor hair from Jo since. This, Mal knew, was for the best. It had been two and a half years since he’d last seen Portia, and while he’d licked most of his wounds clean, he was still wary of the sort of all-consuming, whirlwind infatuation that he’d felt with her, that he’d immediately sensed forming with Jo. The next time Mal fell for someone, he would do it slowly, ease himself in, get to know them before they surprised him with red flags he’d ignored among the sea of green.
But then, just as he gathered his resolve, his phone buzzed.
It was a notification from Instagram.Drjojobee has sent you a message.
Mal choked on his spit, and Kieran and Kelechi looked at him in alarm.
“You okay there?” Kieran said hesitantly.
Mal coughed, beating at his chest as he read the message on his screen. Then read it again.
Hey,it said.You seem to have forgotten to ask for my number. Would you like me to give it to you? Maybe over dinner?
“I think...” he said, clearing his throat. “She might have just asked me out.”
Chapter Five
Jo
This one is for my independent girls. You’ve been through it. You’ve been gaslit, you’ve been drained dry, you’ve been told what you can and can’t achieve, and you’ve proven everyone wrong along the way. And because you’ve endured, you’ve decided that you are strong. And I’m here to say: enough of that. Strong isn’t a personality trait. It’s a sign that you’re neglected and not protected. It’s just as much evidence of your trauma as it is of your triumph. So this year, I say, enough with strength. I’m entering my damsel era. I’m eating cake and being pretty and crying when I’m hurt, and apologizing for none of it. Won’t you join me?
“Two weeks,” Denise said, her voice mosquito shrill through my earbuds. “You have screened my calls for two weeks, Josephine. How am I supposed to make us money if you can’t be reached?”
I rubbed my temples, flinching when I caught the edge of the motion reflected in my monitor. Respectfully, I looked like shit. It was a small mercy Denise had accepted a phone call rather than the video she typically insisted on in order to keep me honest.
“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry. How mad is Tanaka?”
