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She gives us a smile and walks away, and I pull out my chair and sit down with a huff.
“What about you?” she asks before she reaches for a napkin and settles it over her lap.
“Oh, no,” I start with a shake of my head. “We’ll need a glass of wine before we approach anything that isn’t work-related.” I try to say it with a chuckle but the acute pain in my chest has me rubbing at my collarbone, and I pretend I’m fiddling with my necklace to cover the gesture from her watchful eyes.
We run through the rigamarole of business updates, comparing notes and clients, discussing projects and making little jokes at some of the trials and tribulations of being at the mercy of other people’s tastes…or lack thereof.
A half-empty bottle of wine sits between us when she circles back to the deigned topic of my personal life.
“How’s the divorce going?” she asks, her mouth full of pasta.
“Your mother woulddieif she saw you speaking with your mouth full,” I admonish, gesturing toward her with my fork, my own gnocchi growing cold from my lack of appetite.
“Don’t threaten me with her,” she cries out. “I’ve already had to endure several dinners with her and Sam and I’m almost certain he’s going to leave me for her.”
She pats at the corners of her mouth, a sparkle in her eyes.
“You guys are so weird. As far as my divorce, I’m sure it’s going better than his did,” I offer, hoping to get the topic off me again.
Miley rolls her eyes at the mention of her boyfriend’s difficult divorce. His ex-wife had been a client of ours and…things got pretty fucking messy.
“He finally told her to sign the fucking papers.”
“Oh?” I don’t prod much, knowing that for a while, he couldn’t even find her to serve her the papers.
“She’s getting the house.” She pauses. “Honestly, she’s getting pretty much everything. But that’s Sam for you.”
I groan. “The divvying up of property and assets. Be thankful they didn’t have children.”
“Every single day,” she mutters as she raises her wine glass before taking a hefty gulp.
The mention of children has me quiet as I stare at my glass, turning it with my fingertips on the stem.
“How are the girls taking it?” Her question is quiet and I almost want to pretend I hadn’t heard it. But the moments where I’m able to be vulnerable are so few and far between that I snatch this one up before it disappears.
“I’m sure you can guess.”
“Penny is sulking, and Jilly is oblivious?”
“Optimistically so. I worry that I’m fucking them up,” I say, looking up at her. Because as much as I try not to be like my mother, I’m worried that I’ve let things slip through the cracks. Like, sure, I wasn’t a drunk who physically abused my children in my alcohol-induced rage. But was my desire for a great love going to hinder them in an emotional way that would ruin them forever?
“It’s okay to be selfish,” Miley says, interrupting my internal conundrum.
“Says the woman who’s been selfish her whole life.”
“Exactly. I’m the happiest person you know.”
It all sounds so simple. But I’ve always envied Miley’s easygoing nature. Even back when she was eighteen.
“Do you ever miss college?” I ask, taking the conversation into a territory we hadn’t reflected on in so long.
“I barely remember any of it,” she confesses with a snort. “Hey! Remember that hot professor I saw a few months ago?”
My heart jumps in my chest at the vague mention of Abraham.
“I think so,” I tell her, reaching for glass of wine to take a sip, trying to ignore the way my hand shakes.
“What was the story again? I know you had a class with him. Did you ever find out what happened to him?”
