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I try to smile, though I can feel it's not reaching my eyes. "Just work stuff.”
She narrows her eyes, apparently not buying my feeble attempt at evasion. "Lil, it's me. Don't play coy." Taking a sip, she leans back and waits.
I swear, that discerning stare is a tool she received from Mom.
Trying hard not to squirm under her scrutiny, I shake my head and shrug. I don’t trust myself enough to not voice what’s been really going on.
“Fine, don’t talk. But let me give you a little piece of advice,” she responds, setting down her cup and leaning in closer. “Whatever has you so twisted up in knots … You’re going to want to get it out.”
“What are you talking about?” I breathe. It’s like she can read minds.
She shrugs. “I’ve counseled enough people to know when a secret is eating a person up. Don’t let it fester, Lil.”
My mouth gapes open.
“How’s it been having Seth back?” she prods gently, taking a demure sip.
Oh, she’s good.
Suddenly parched, I reach out and grab the fresh macchiato she brought for me.
“That bad, huh?” she asks, tilting her head to the side.
I blink feverishly. “How’d—”
“Other than a decade working with marriages?” She shoots me a ‘give me a break’ kind of expression. “Lily, things haven’t been going well with you and Seth for years. I thought you’d come to me sooner or later. But man, you’re one stubborn lady.” She chuckles under her breath.
“I mean, I—” I shake my head, trying to rattle loose the revelation that Angie’s known my marriage has been slowly falling apart.
"Remember when we were kids, and we would play house?” she cuts in, catching me off guard yet again.
“That was a long time ago,” I whisper, unsure where she’s taking this.
She levels me with a stare, then shrugs. “Eh, maybe, but you haven’t changed a whole lot.”
“What does that mean?” I question, my eyebrows tugging in of their own accord.
She surveys me again before continuing, “Lily, you always wanted an equally matched partnership. Someone who would share your passions and at the very least, be there to talk to about all the crazy deep thoughts in your head. Someone who gets you and shares who he is with you. Seth’s never been that guy. He’s a gypsy at heart and he’s not going to change.”
I suck in a breath. “He wasn’t always like that.”
I’m not sure why I feel the need to defend him, but I do.
A memory sneaks its way to the forefront of my mind. It was our second anniversary, and we didn’t have the money or the time to plan anything elaborate. Honestly, I had braced myself for a quiet night in—perhaps with some takeout and a movie.
But Seth had other plans.
I remember stepping into our apartment to find every single light turned off. The only illumination came from a pathway of tea-light candles leading from the entrance to our balcony. I followed it, my heart in my throat, trying to guess what awaited me at the end.
As I stepped out onto the balcony, I was absolutely shocked. Seth had transformed it into a makeshift rooftop diner.
There was a small table set up with a checkered tablecloth, a vase with a single rose, and our best set of plates and glasses. Jazz music floated up from a small radio, and in the middle of it all stood Seth, wearing the most ridiculous waiter's outfit. I have no idea how he put it together.
"Bienvenue, mademoiselle," he had said with an exaggerated French accent, pulling out a chair for me.
That night, we dined on microwaved TV dinners, but it felt like the most exquisite five-star meal, simply because of the effort he had put in.
I remember laughing so hard that night, our shared jokes and banter lighting up the tiny space more than any candle ever could. It was a night where our love felt boundless, where every little imperfection added to the beauty of our relationship.
