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“Sorry,” he says, returning to the call. “I just wanted to let you know that Harrison’s drafting the separation agreement. It’ll just need our signatures.”
What?I stagger backward a little, closing my eyes, my hand gripping the counter. This iscrazy—what’s the damn rush? For God’s sake, he barely knows that girl, so how the fuck can he really believe he wants to marry her? They haven’t been together long enough for her to bore him. They haven’t been together long enough yet for him to start picturingmewhen she’s on top, but I guarantee it’ll happen. He isn’t the sort to like vanilla for long.
“Since we’ve already spent a year apart,” Caleb continues, “Harrison thinks we can get a court date in a few months, maybe sooner.”
I slump over the kitchen counter, my eyes squeezed tight.God, it already sounds like a done deal.“I didn’t realize we’d be going to court.”
“It’s just a formality. I’m not going to fight you over anything. Just tell me what you want.”
I swallow. It’s too early to lay all my cards on the table. I wanted him to come to me willingly, but now it feels as if there isn’t time. “I want another chance, Caleb,” I whisper. “I know I don’t deserve one, but I want one anyway.”
A door shuts and his side of the line is quiet at last.
“Kate...” he says, and I can imagine him so clearly, the way he’s pinching the bridge of his nose with his right hand, wanting to do this in a way that won’t cause pain. He’s good like that—the opposite of me. “We weren’t happy together.”
He’s revising the past to justify moving in a new direction, nothing more, but it still hurts.
“Yes, we were. Until things went wrong, we were very, very happy.” I’m desperate to convince him, and I want to weep at my inability to do so. “Don’t you remember how it was when we first got married? It was perfect.”
He hesitates. “I think that’s how a lot of people feel at that time in their lives.”
“And I guess your girlfriend is a proven commodity for the rest of it, right?” I ask with a bitter laugh. “She has twins. Doesn’t get much better than that.”
So much for the new, improved Kate.
“That has nothing to do with it.” His voice is far gentler than I deserve. “You can’t see it now, but someday, you’ll look back and realize this was the right decision.”
I force down the lump in my throat. I’m not giving up, but fighting with him won’t get me anywhere. I tell him to let me know when the paperwork is ready, and then I sink into a chair at the kitchen table with my fingers pressed to my temples. I clearly cannot just sit around waiting for Lucie to fuck up.
I’m going to have to give her a little nudge.
* * *
A successful project,of any kind, begins with research.
My forte is the ability to look at numbers and make predictions based on them. I won’t have numbers, in this case, but I’m nothing if not adaptable. I’ll gather the information I need and find the pattern, no matter what form it comes in.
Ideally, I’ll find some dirt on Lucie, something I can leverage against her. But barring that, it might be enough to know what she wants and fears, then persuade her Caleb is a move in the wrong direction.
Beck, obviously, will tell me none of this, but Wyatt will.
Wyatt’s a senior manager at Caleb’s firm, one with the absurd overconfidence of a completely average man who doesn’t realize he’s average, and when Caleb and I were together, he had a crush on me that very nearly got his ass kicked at a holiday party. And he’s apparently left Caleb’s company, which might work to my favor.
I track him down on Instagram. When I message him about getting together, he immediately responds suggesting coffee on Friday down in Santa Cruz,“so that we don’t run into anyone from TSG,”he says.
My guess is that it has more to do with not running into the girl all over his profile page. Whatever.
On Friday, I show up at the place he suggested, dying a little when I walk in and am faced with Wyatt’s smarmy smile.
I’d forgotten just how much I loathed him. I’d also forgotten the way he’d hit on me the last time I saw him. I was out with my dealer and high as fuck, barely capable of remaining on my feet, and he kept trying to get me to go home with him. Even high, I found the idea repulsive.“Let me go down on you under the table,”he then suggested.“You don’t even have to reciprocate.”
How did I forget all that? I don’t know. But I wish I could continue to.
“Damn, girl,” he says, looking me over. “Only you could come out of rehab lookingbetter.”
I manage not to gag as I ask how he’s been. This leads to a solid five minutes of him describing the ever-so-exciting world of accountability software, interrupted only by the delivery of my latte, which is when he finally remembers conversations are supposed to be two-sided.
“I heard you and Caleb split up,” he says at last.
