“How?”
“Stuff.” She holds her coffee up to her mouth.
“What kind of stuff?”
“Work. Stress, that kind of thing.” She takes a sip, returning her attention to my phone. She taps the screen a couple more times, but I keep my eyes on her. I don’t know whatstuffmeans. I’m not sure we know each other well enough for me to press her, either. She smiles. “You got a couple more followers.”
All the times Kendra accused me of hating her body come bubbling to the surface. I was never turned off by my ex-wife physically, especially not post-pregnancy as she’d suspected. I’d found her even more beautiful. No, my disinterest in her all came down to her behavior. It was hard to get excited by someone I’d grown to resent. Kendra knew I was susceptible to guilt. Hell, I married her because of it. The longer we were together, the more she relied on that to get what she wanted. And the more I pulled away.
I give Halston the phone and pick up my coffee and pastry. If she re-opens the topic of weight, having food in my mouth will give me time to think of a potentially lifesaving response.
“I want you to post the second photo,” she says.
“Yeah?”
She nods.
I’m glad. Not only do I like seeing her on my account, but since she bruised my ego the other day by implying my earlier photos were boring, her stamp of approval means even more. I tear off some pastry and pop it into my mouth. “Then I’ll post it to—” I jerk forward and spit croissant onto the sidewalk. “Fuck. Is this . . . it’s—”
“Chocolate-pistachio,” she says. “Why?”
I widen my eyes and check the coffee cup in my hand. Quench Coffee is printed across the cardboard sleeve, and I can’t fucking believe I didn’t see it. I’ve been avoiding the place for over a year.
“You said Quench was your favorite spot,” she says hesitantly. “So I decided to surprise you.” She gasps. “Are you allergic to nuts?”
“Huh? Nuts? No.” I run my tongue over the roof of my mouth, trying to scrape away the taste of chocolate and coffee andher.
Sadie.
“The girl said this was their most popular pastry.” She takes the bag from me since I’m holding it out like a dirty diaper. “You don’t like chocolate?”
I like chocolate as much as the next person, I’d be a freak and a liar if I said I didn’t. But I still taste Sadie in it, the chocolate-pistachio croissant she fed me the first time I laid eyes on her and then again outside my apartment door before she went home to her husband. “I had an affair with a married woman while I was married,” I say. “I wasn’t trying to. It just happened.”
Halston pulls away, her eyes trained on my face. “You . . .” As my words process and her expression falls, I realize why she seems different today. She’s more expressive. Her eyes are brighter, less clouded. “You were married?” she asks.
I don’t think Quench’s excellent coffee was the reason for her good mood. I think it was me. I think it was finally freeing words she’s been bottling up for who knows how long. And now I’ve ruined the moment like a fucking asshole. But my relationship with Sadie was based on dishonesty and deception, and I’ve promised myself I wouldn’t go back down that path. “She lives in Connecticut,” I say. “My ex-wife.”
Halston scratches her eyebrow, leaving a red streak across her forehead. “Um, wow. Did you love her?”
“Kendra? Not how a husband should love a wife.”
“I meant the other woman.”
“Oh.”Sadie. She’s the physical opposite of Halston, tall and slender with black hair, blue eyes, sharp features. Sadie was confident, professional, unemotional. I think the one thing she had in common with Halston was that she was sad. When I met Sadie, there was pain in her eyes, and over the last year, that’s how I’ve imagined her withhim. Miserable.
Except that now, sitting next to Halston, I realize I didn’t think about Sadie at all yesterday, and I wonder if I still want her to feel those things—regret for the life she gave up with me, despair because she’d made the wrong choice. Maybe I don’t need to think of her that way anymore. Maybe I can hope she’s happy, even if it’s with him. Nathan, that fucker. He hit me, square in the jaw, and I deserved it, but he’s still unworthy of her.
“I wanted to love her,” I say. “I thought she was so many things, and she was . . . for a while. I was what she needed at the time too.”
Halston shifts away from me. “Are you actually divorced? Or ‘separated’?” she asks with air quotes.
I’d like to disappear now. I definitely didn’t see us having this conversation today, or maybe not ever. It’s too much for the little time we’ve known each other, and it’s only half the story. “We’re divorced.”
“If you didn’t love her like a husband, why’d you marry her?”
That question has the most straightforward and complicated answer possible. I got her pregnant. But Halston already looks skeptical. Telling her about Marissa might scare her off, and to be honest, it scares me too. Marissa was a mistake, and a blessing, and as my daughter, she’s my weakness. This past year, I haven’t been the father I want to be because my affair gave Kendra a reason to skewer me. I can’t be this vulnerable with someone who absolutely does not belong to me. “It gets into some personal stuff,” I say. “I don’t want to lie to you, so let’s not talk about it.”
“I understand. I have that stuff too.” She looks at her hands but nods. “So will it be weird for your ex, what we’re doing?”
