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“And how do you know,” I ask, finishing with air quotes, “that I’m ‘ambivalent’?”
“Because you called me.”
Chapter Eighteen
He can hear their squeals of delight through the open windows. He can smell the bacon frying. He can hear the eggs cracking. He is that close. But not close enough. He imagines himself at the breakfast table, listening to their giggles, saying, “pass the salt, please.” It’s Thanksgiving, and Thanksgiving should be spent with people you care about.
Their mother left early this morning, before the sun was up. He wondered if that’s what she was doing, so he decided to follow her. He wasn’t happy with what he saw. Not at all. She may not have undressed and made love with her male friend, but sometimes you can accomplish the same thing in a single look, and that is exactly what she did.
He followed her back home. And now he is torn. She’s all smiles, which makes him conflicted and confused about what to do next. The situation should give him leverage, but it does not make him happy, and he cannot for the life of him figure out why.
Chapter Nineteen
I run the race, and fueled by adrenaline and rage, I do surprisingly well. I cross the finish line wet, cold, and shaking all over. Dana finishes with me, if not a little ahead, but the rest of our team is still a ways back. She and I stand there trying to catch our breath. I rub my hands together, trying to warm them, but nothing helps. She asks me to lean in and smile big. She snaps a selfie.
She posts it to social media and tags me. When the notification lights up my screen, I see the text from Alex. Looking like a gazelle out there.
Fuck you, I start to type but then think better of it. He’s been through a lot, and I know it’s just a harmless jab. So I let it be. Silence is as good a response as any. He’s trying to draw me into old patterns, and I refuse to take the bait.
Once the rest of the team meets us at the finish line and we take selfies, we stand around chatting about work and our upcoming plans for the day.
“I heard you,” I say, turning to Sarah, although my eyes eventually land on everyone in our circle. “And I think it’s bullshit—that after everything, you’d speak about me that way behind my back.”
I point at her, and somehow the words flow effortlessly out of my mouth. “I babysat for you—every day—for an entire week when Michael was in the hospital.” Favors I’d done, things that happened years ago, come dancing into the forefront of my mind. They spring off the tip of my tongue.
“And you—” I spit at Joan. “I’ve thrown you so many bones. I’ve spent hours helping you—training you.”
Then, facing Emma, I shake my head. “I held your hand as you gave birth. When Richard couldn’t fly home in time, I dropped everything so I could be there.”
“Amy.” Dana clears her throat and steps in. “I know—we’re sorry.” Our eyes meet. I knew she’d be the one to take the lead. “I mean—I’m sorry. You’re right. And I should have put a stop to the gossip sooner. The rest of them—” she says, with the flick of her dainty little wrist, “they were drunk.”
“That’s no excuse,” I hiss. “You guys were supposed to be my friends. But it turns out—no. It’s me who was wrong. You’re no more than petty high school girls walking around in grown women’s bodies.” I glance at each of them. “And you know what else? I feel sorry f
or you. I’m sorry that your lives are so unhappy that you have to try to shit all over mine.”
“Ah, come on,” Dana calls after me as I stride off. “No one meant any harm, Aim. Really. It was all in good fun.”
Her words hit like a knife in my back, causing me to halt. Sucking in a deep breath, I pivot on my heel. Then I take three steps toward her, meeting her face to face, eye to eye. “Not for me it wasn’t.”
Add to the problems of my life: find a new broker. Find new friends. Preferably real ones. Over breakfast, which Greg and the girls make while I kick back and pretend to supervise, I tell him about the confrontation after the race. As I give Greg the run down, he assures me it will all blow over. He’s right about that. It would, if I let it. But that’s not what I want. I’m ready to move on.
With Blair’s help, I set the table as Naomi and Greg load up our plates. I do not talk about Alex, or his loss, or what happened at the park, and we do not talk about Jack Mooney or failing businesses. Breakfast is amazing and for the rest of the day, everything feels almost normal.
The turkey turns out a little dry, and the girls bicker incessantly, but the wine makes up for it.
After dinner, Greg falls asleep on the couch. The girls and I settle in to watch a movie. Well, they watch, and I respond to emails from my phone.
In between work, I take breaks to search the internet for puppies. Thanksgiving has not been the same without Rocky. I keep thinking of saving things for him, or making him a plate, and then it hits me that he’s gone. It was the first Turkey Trot I have run without him, and his absence has been heavy on my heart all day. The girls too. With Christmas coming, I am thinking a surprise puppy may just be what we all need. That, or the last thing. Depending. It will be a lot of work. I know what Greg will surely say.
Interrupting my search, a slew of texts come in. The first is a name and a phone number. From Alex. Ben Dugan. He can help you, he writes. Let me know if you want me to set something up.
Before I change my mind, I text back. Yes, please do.
I watch as the three little bubbles dance across my screen, eagerly awaiting his reply. And then, finally, K. I’ll let you know when he can meet. I’m sorry about today. Hope you’re not mad. It was a joke. Oh, and if you could pay me back for my efforts by finding me a house, that’d be great. xo
I sit astride him and kiss him on the mouth. My hair is still wet. He leans forward, inhaling the scent of my shampoo. He wraps a strand of hair around his finger, pulls tightly and then lets go.
I raise my brows suggestively, and he fumbles with the buttons on my worn night shirt. Greg has undone these buttons countless times, an infinite number of times over the years. He doesn’t have to fumble. He acts surprised when he sees that I am not wearing a bra, although I hardly doubt he is. I press against him as he inhales and then devours the rest of me.
