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“Or we could skip the retreat part,” I say. “If we stay in the room, who’s going to know we’re even here?”
“You checked in at the front desk last night. If the organizers ask about no-shows, they’ll know we’re not one of them,” she says, motioning toward the retreat literature on the table beside the door. “And everyone in the hotel is supposed to be participating in at least one session per day or they’ll be asked to leave. This is supposed to be a ‘safe space for searching.’ Remember?”
I heave a sigh. “I do. Just not looking forward to searching for a way to convince my fake wife I’m not a repulsive goblin.”
She rests a hand on my arm. “I get it. Don’t worry. I’ve thought of another trauma for us to tackle in small group.”
“What’s that?” I ask as she gathers her purse and steps into the purple pumps that she bought on sale last night. Against my expectations, they do in fact look amazing with her yellow skirt and rainbow-colored sweater.
“Just let me take point when we start, okay? I won’t steer you wrong.” She turns, wiggling fingers at Clyde, who’s looking sleepy on top of one of the couch cushions. “Bye, sweet kitty friend. You were a great bed buddy last night.” She shifts her attention back to me with a grin. “See? Good things are coming out of this, too. I slept with a creature who could poke holes in my face at any second with his deathly sharp claws, and I wasn’t scared at all. And you’re starting to relax your walls and let people in.” She pats my chest. “We just need to stay focused on staying positive and manifesting more good fortune.”
I grunt. “Christian would flip if he heard you say that. He hates the ‘manifesting’ trend with a white-hot passion.”
“How sad for him,” she says, adjusting the collar of my button-down shirt, making me want to pull her into my arms again. “I don’t hate anything with a white-hot passion. Hate is a toxic emotion.”
“I hate that I’ve made such a mess of all this,” I say softly.
Nora’s expression softens. “You didn’t. At least not all by yourself. I stuck my nose into your private business, remember? And Wimpy acted like an asshole and then invited this Rex guy to the asshole party. None of that’s your fault. It’s just bad luck. But we’re going to make better luck now.”
I arch a brow. “Make better luck. How do we do that?”
“First, we have a good breakfast. Days that start with a complete breakfast are sixty percent less likely to end in despair. I’m pretty sure that’s been proven by science. And then, we move forth into our day, presuming success. The more you expect success, the harder it tries to make its way to you. For real. That’sactuallybeen proven by science.” She drops her voice as she mutters, “I’m honestly not sure about the breakfast part, I just really like breakfast.”
I frown, not completely sold, but willing to give her perspective consideration. “I can see that. You’re more likely to find what you’re looking for if you’re keeping an eye out for it.”
“Exactly,” she says, beaming.
“But what happens when the expected good fortune never arrives? What if it’s still puking cats, pushy bad guys, and shitty timing all around?”
She tips her head to one side, considering me. “Well, then you look for the silver lining and try to be grateful for the gifts you’ve received, even if there weren’t exactly what you asked for.”
Gifts like how good it feels to head toward the elevator with her arm looped through mine, pretending she’s mine for keeps…
Chapter Fifteen
NORA
Maybe it’s the pep talk I gave Matty on our way out the door.
Maybe it’s the way he looked at me after—like maybeIwas his silver lining.
Or maybe it’s just the fact that I had an excellent night’s sleep with an adorable furry friend and feel cute in the fashion-forward Target outfit I pulled together in less than twenty-minutes. That included the time it took to pick out the lemon earrings I’ve been complimented on no less than five times before we even make it through the buffet line.
Wherever the credit lies, I’m feeling good.
Excited, even.
Matty’s going to let me help him, I just know it. I have presumed success. I’ll help him soothe the Sweetwater feathers, prove I’m worth taking a chance on, even if he is leaving soon, and start looking for a kitten to adopt as soon as life returns to normal. (The kitten is a must. I can’t lie, returning Clyde to his rightful owner is going to hurt. I’ll need to fill that hole with something sweet and fluffy, who likes to purr on my lap—STAT.)
I’m even excited about the retreat. The other couples actually seem really nice, so far. And strangely…upbeat.
Leaning over to Matty at our circular table at the edge of the main ballroom, I whisper, “Are you sure we’re in the right place? These people look happy to me. I’d never think they were in troubled marriages.”
“They’re on their best meeting-new-people behavior right now,” he murmurs behind the rim of his coffee cup. “By this afternoon, everyone will be in tears.”
I frown and poke his ribs with my elbow. “Don’t be so negative.”
“Apologies,” he says. “By this afternoonhalfthese people will be in tears. Fifty percent of first marriages end in divorce these days, right? Is that still accurate? And something like seventy or eighty percent of second ones?”
