Page 49 of All Our Nevers

“Oh, Himari, let me introduce you to my… girlfriend, Amelia.” There’s only a slight pause before the word and Himari doesn’t seem to notice.

She extends a hand. “Lovely to meet you, Amelia. Himari.”

I don’t miss a beat in this little improv sketch. I shake Himari’s hand warmly with both of mine as I say, “So great to meet you. I’ve been dying to meet Owen’s colleagues for the longest time.”

“Did you relocate here with him from New York?”

“Oh no,” I reply, because the best lies are close to the truth. “We met in Boston. I’m friends with his brother, actually. Between you and me I thought he was a real jerk when we first met.”

“Okay, honey,” Owen grits through his teeth, giving my ribs a squeeze as he questions my methods. “Don’t joke.”

But Himari is laughing with me, camaraderie already sparking. “I felt similarly about my wife when we were first introduced. I thought she would be too highbrow for me, but she turned out to be just what I needed.”

“Is your wife here tonight?” Owen asks. “I’ve been meaning to thank her for recommending the ICA membership. I’ve been four times already.”

“You have? Oh, that’s wonderful. She’ll be so glad to hear it. No, unfortunately Suzanna had to fly out to Ohio for family this week, but I’ll extend your gratitude to her.”

“Oh, what a shame,” I say from Owen’s side as I death-grip his arm. “I would’ve loved to meet her.”

“Yes, please do thank her for me,” Owen says with another squeeze to my side. I’m not sure if he means to anchor me or reprimand me. “And I hope I’ll see her at one of these events again soon.”

“Absolutely. You two have a wonderful night.” She smiles as she waves us off, onto her next group, blissfully unaware that she’s left a spiraling woman in her wake.

I can’t seem to tear my eyes from the back of her head—my perfect plan, the entire point of this hollow charade, my only lead in my grand career pivot on the road to financial stability—slipping further away with each black kitten-heeled step.

Owen breaks into my trance, wrapping a boyfriend-ly arm around my waist and hissing, “Darling, shall we go to the bar and debrief?”

“Yes please, dearest,” I bite back and let him pull me towards the edge of the room.

We shuffle sideways through clusters of reluctant minglers, their hands occupied by stemmed wine glasses and tiny hors d'oeuvre plates. The chatter is loud and the music is louder, and by the time we reach the corner of the room it feels safe to speak candidly—although we are still visible to the crowd.

I spin to face Owen, taking his hands in mine. “Look at me like you’re happy while we have this conversation.” I’m sure the smile on my face is uncanny, but it’s the best I can do.

“That would be easier if you weren’t breaking every bone in my fingers,” he says through clenched teeth.

I loosen my hold, but only slightly. “I thought Suzanna was going to be here.” My tone is strained pleasantry, barely passable.

“How was I supposed to know?” His tone is much more natural than mine—asking the question with the cadence of someone wondering whether you need anything from the grocery store. “Himari and I aren’t exactly peers. I couldn’t send her a text and say hey for absolutely no reason at all, is your wife coming on Friday?”

I take a long, deep breath, trying to undo the knot of tension in my chest. “You’re right. I know you’re right. But I’m still pissed. I really needed this.”

“What about this,” he offers, placing one hand on my waist, then the other, drawing me closer. “There are plenty of other attorneys here with more money than they know what to do with. Even if it’s not Suzanna, you could still meet some prospective clients. Do you call them clients? Buyers? Whatever.”

I glance past him into the crowded room. The alcohol is flowing, and a few of them are farther along than they should be. With inhibitions slightly lowered, there is a chance his idea could work.

“Okay,” I say finally. “But don’t force it. It has to come up in conversation naturally. I don’t want to seem like I’m doing a sales pitch or something.”

“Fine, here.” He turns to the side, coaxing me towards the center of the room with a hand on my lower back. “I know exactly who we should start with.”

“Wait, what are their names? I just need a minute step out to the ladies room and do a quick search—”

“No, Commander Mercado, you don’t have to be in control of everything about this situation. Guy is one of the new transfers and he’ll be glad to have someone to talk to. Guy!” Owen calls over to the man at a high top a few feet away. He’s around our age, with dark brown skin and dark brown eyes and a well-fitted navy blue suit. “Good to see you.”

“Owen,” he replies, putting a slight emphasis on the second syllable that gives away his French accent. “Thank God. I just spent fifteen minutes talking to Maureen about her sister’s back pain. I was about to lose my mind.”

“Good to see you too.” Owen claps him on the back, then gestures to me. “This is—” He buffers for a split second, clearly debating whether to keep up our facade with someone he considers a friend. “—my girlfriend, Amelia. Amelia, this is Guy, one of the only sane people at the office.”

Then Guy does something that he can absolutely only get away with by being so obviously French, and so handsome. He takes my hand, not to shake it but to cradle it, and pulls me towards him for a kiss on each cheek.