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“Well then, let’s hear what happened,” Ziggy demands, grabbing a veggie stick to gnaw on. “And remember—don’t lie to me. I’m a psychic. A good one, too.”
I sigh, collecting myself. “We had sex. Multiple times.”
“How many times is ‘multiple times’?” Nadia asks. “The lawyer in me is gonna need all the pertinent facts.”
“Uh…” I turn my eyes up to the ceiling, trying to tally up the number of orgasms in my head.One…two…three…four…Oh, boy.
“Damn, girl.That manytimes?” Nadia asks, her eyes going wide as the girls wait for my response.
“It was…a lot,” I confess, blushing.
“Was it any good?” Nadia asks.
“It was…ah-mazing.” I blush harder.
Emma squeals so loud that heads turn our way. Meghan bounces in her seat and begs for more specifics.
She fills my glass to the brim and sets it in my hand. “Here, honey. Keep drinking. Keep talking.”
I want to glare at her. But I’m also aware that this is the first time I’ve seen her smile since I got here.
So I open my mouth—and my heart—and spill every little detail to my friends. Starting from when we arrived at Rainbow and Jimmy’s house and had to pretend to be a married couple. Ziggy earns a pointed glare for that one. Then they hear about the waterfall, the rough tree sex, the arguments, and our passionate final roll between the sheets last night.
“I tried to resist him,” I say pathetically as I stab my fork into a sugar-frosted pile ofsomethingon my plate. “But everywhere I turned, he was there. Tempting me. Like a double chocolate fudge brownie when you’re trying to watch your diet.”
Emma grabs my wrist, putting a stop to my rambling. “So am I totally missing the mark thinking that you guys have a real shot at getting back together? I feel like we should be celebrating right now.”
Meghan angles her half-empty tequila bottle over my glass again. “Well wedohave an open bar tonight. We might as well find something to celebrate.”
I shake my head, twirling my fork around between my fingers. “Sorry. Totally missing the mark, guys. It’s not the start of anything new. Just the end of something old.”
“What…?” Nadia asks, her jaw dropping in disappointment.
“The past three nights together gave Davis and me the closure we needed to finally move on,” I say, basically paraphrasing what my ex said to me in the car earlier. Although I sure don’tfeelany better, and I assume that’s what closure typically does.
“But is that what you really want? Closure?” Ziggy questions as she continues to pick food off my plate. “Because from the look on your face, the door to your story with Davis doesn’t seem closed at all.”
“What do you mean, Zig?” My shoulders droop.
I’m just so tired. So tired of all of it. I’m already starting to miss the mundane misery I was living before I got a fresh taste of my ex-husband. I’d sort of made peace with the end of our relationship. I’d accepted it. But now that we’ve spent time together again, my craving for him is active and dangerous like a bubbling volcano.
“It looks like the universe just swung the door wide open for you two to walk through it and patch things up,” my wise friend says sagely. “It’s up to you to decide whether to pass through that door.”
“No, Zig,” I shake my head ruefully. My stomach twists.
My girlfriends make it sound so easy, but it’s not. I can’t walk through that door. Even if I wanted to, Davis just slammed it shut in my face. As he had every right to.
“Last night was that final punctuation mark at the end of our relationship,” I tell the girls. “Me and Davis are over.”I can’t let my friends get my hopes up. At this point, I’m too fragile for that.
“But look at Noelle and Luther.” Meghan gestures to the cozy table where the Westbrook parents are sitting together, foreheads nearly touching as they whisper back and forth. “They’ve been divorced for how many years now?Thatshould have been the punctuation mark at the end of their relationship. But look at those two. Do they seem over to you?”
“They have children together. That’s different.”I shake my head, lips pursed.
Suddenly, I can’t help but imagine what things would have been like if Davis and I would have had kids together. Would I have made different choices in the end? Would we have been able to make it work? Or, would our fictional kids just be casualties in the demise of our doomed relationship?
Ugh. Depressing.
“Maybe,” Emma hedges. “But don’t forget that the Westbrook kids are all grown up. Whatever relationship that’s between those two now…it’s not because they need to be together for the children.” She squeezes my hand. “I think sometimes, love is enough.”
