The ping on my phone shoves me back to reality.
I groan at the email preview on my screen reading:URGENT! RESPOND ASAP!!!1!My eyes scan the body of the email. Then I unbuckle my seat belt and climb into the cabin. “Sorry, I need to handle this.”
“Beekman!” He micro-swerves, elbowing my butt out of his eye line. “What the hell? I’m on the highway!”
“Huh?” I blurt unconsciously, stalling to close some mental browser tabs before I can begin to process language. “Oh, uh, Bob forgot a filing deadline, but he’s ‘on the boat,’ which means he’s already drunk, and I need to drop everything and e-sign a petition to revive a patent application. And I’m guessing that’s what Stacy’s spamming me on Teams about, but I can’t open the app on my stupid phone.”
He taps the brakes, sending me sideways into a mini Target haul, barefoot toe shoes, and a bulky camera bag. I recover quickly and steady myself on Ethan’s headrest so I can grab my laptop.
“Seriously, Charley. Sit down. I’m not kidding. You can’t wander around the place while I’m driving. Jesus.”
“Okay. Okay.” I sit back down.
“You’re going to give me a heart attack.” He clenches the wheel. “Why are you working? It’s the weekend.”
“Weekends and vacations aren’t really a thing for me.” I open my laptop and connect to the van hot spot.
“Don’t throw up,” he demands.
“I don’t do that anymore…in cars,” I add, because Ididthrow up this morning from alcohol. Completely different.
“I have a hard time believing you’ve cured yourself of your crippling motion sickness. Please wait fifteen minutes until I can get off the highway.”
“I swear I’m fine.”
But when I open Teams, the message waiting for me momentarily halts the flow of blood through my body.
Stacy Arroyo: Did you see Paul’s Insta Story? He was at Rich’s surprise engagement party last night. You didn’t tell me Rich was already ENGAGED. I would’ve given you more than an expired gift card.
Stacy Arroyo: The party game was guessing how much bitcoin the ring cost. *vomit emoji* Was Rich always so douchey? No wonder he and Paul hit it off.
Stacy Arroyo: Okay, now I’m looking at his sister’s stories. I’ve viewed this party from every angle. I’m addicted.
I want to grab something, anything, so I clench the laptop that’s already in my hands.
“You good?” Ethan asks, his normal crinkly-eyed resting happy expression sliding off his face.
I nod, frozen, adjusting to the reality that whileIam a divorcée, Rich…isn’t. There was comfort in the way his leaving me saddled him with the same fate. We were both failures. We’d both smugly announced to the world that we were ending the search for partnership only to take it back a year later. Butheisn’t divorced anymore. Not in the way I am. It’s no longerhis most current relationship status. He’s some woman’sfiancé. He left me and has already found someone better.
The shame hits me in the chest like a hot brick, and a familiar self-loathing burns into my skin.Of course he left, it says.How could you delude yourself into thinking he would stay?Rich couldn’t even stay divorced with me. He had to fully excise me from every corner of his life. It’s almost like being left all over again.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Ethan asks again.
I don’t look up. “Mm-hm.”
“You seem like you’re lying.”
“I’m not,” I respond through gritted teeth as Ethan’s fondness for saying the quiet part out loud grates against me.
But the longer I stare at Stacy’s screenshots of my ex’s engagement party, the more my insides sway, the images on my laptop shake, and copper-flavored nausea swims up my throat, settling behind my eye sockets.
Oh god.
“Ethan,” I eke out through clenched teeth.
His head swings toward me. My stomach launches its rebellion.
“Pull over?” I ask.
