The list for happiness is a little more complicated. There’s the basics: connection, purpose, security, identity. And then there’s the bigger stuff, things that bring each person joy.
If I had to make a list of those things, I could fill a page, easily. Vacations. Sun. Coffee. Friends.
But the first thing on that list?
Jensen.
And that’s the problem. Jensen doesn’t just top the list—he makes everything on it better. What’s a vacation without him there to share it? How do I enjoy a warm, sunny day without him? Coffee and quiet chats on Saturday mornings? Gone. And hanging out with friends, like I am now?
It’s not the same. Not as meaningful as it used to be. I can’t go home and tell him about it. I can’t share the laughter or the little moments. Every joy feels half-formed now, like a joke, but no one’s there to laugh with.
I look down at my drink—the one I’ve been nursing all night. It’s my second, and it’s nearly gone. I’m really trying not to go over my two-drink max again. I’m not my father. I’m not Jensen. I don’t need alcohol to have a good time.
But somewhere along the way, the line started to blur.
For so long, I had to be strong—for me and for Jensen, trying to help him while not falling apart myself. When I finally left, it was like everything I’d been carrying for two years came crashing down, and I just completely lost who I was. The rule that used to be concrete, non-negotiable, suddenly felt flexible.
Maybe it’s the looming divorce. Or the things I’ve seen that I can’t unsee. Maybe it’s the cold side of the bed. Or the hollow ache that comes from missing the only person who ever really saw me—the one person I care about more than anyone else.
I glance around the lounge at Tapped Out, a members-only club Leo co-owns with Matt. It’s classy—dim lighting, moody atmosphere, strict dress code. I’ve been to Matt’s club a few times in New York, but this is my first time here. It’s newer. Bigger. Impressive.
Leo and Vivian leave Monday to visit her family for the holidays, so tonight they’re hosting a small holiday get-together with close friends.
Usually, the drinks make me fun. I laugh, loosen up, have a decent time. My friends are great, and the buzz feels good. But tonight, it’s not working. Not after the text Jensen sent yesterday.
I let it get to me. What was the point of that message? To make me feel guilty? Like I’m the bad guy in all this?
It’s not like I don’t already feel those things.
I tip back the rest of my drink, letting it burn down the thoughts, and set the glass down harder than I mean to.
I cross my legs, bare thighs brushing together. I’m wearing a short black romper I bought last minute with sheer balloon sleeves and an open back. It’s wintery and flattering. My hair’s long now, curled in loose waves. I look good. And thanks to the two mojitos, I feel sexy.
There are good-looking men everywhere. And part of me wishes I could find one to take me home, get my mind off Jensen.
I lock eyes with a guy a few tables over, and a shiver runs down my spine. He’s tall, handsome, flashing a smile like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
He has no idea.
My eyes narrow as I try to picture it—him and me, somewhere private. His lips on mine, his hands on my body. But every time I blink, all I see is Jensen.
I scoff quietly to myself. If only it were that easy—for someone to fuck him right out of my mind.
Yeah… right.
It’s a war between my heart and my head. I know I should move on. I filed for divorce. I made that final call. But my heart still belongs to him. And even if I didn’t see Jensen in every stranger’s face, it’s pointless. I’m still married.
So here I am. Thinking about how this night should be fun. Picking at the cheese board. Drinking mojitos. Waiting for something to change.
Alone.
Okay—notalone. But everyone else is paired up. Michael and Stella. Leo and Vivian. Cooper and Ryan. Me, my sad thoughts, and my now-empty drink.
“Die Hardis not a Christmas movie!” Stella insists for the third time, as Michael and Ryan try to argue their case.
“If it’s not a Christmas movie, then why do we watch it every December?” Michael counters.
“Because you make me,” Stella shoots back.
