I bite my lip. Her words comfort and unsettle me in equal measure.
“You’re allowed to want him back,” she adds. “Ornot. Either way, I’m with you.”
Cristiano raises his glass of wine. “To fresh starts.”
We clink glasses, and for a while, we eat and talk about things that aren’t painful.
I fill them in on one of my students who tried to eat glue for lunch.
Katya talks about a horrendous divorce she’s working on, which makes me realize that mine is a walk in the proverbial park.
Cristiano, who specializes in non-profit law, talks about a homeless shelter he’s advising.
“Wait, wait…this shelter whose manager you are….” Katya makes a heart with her fingers.
He chuckles, sheepish.
“What?”I look at him and then at Katya. “What’s going on?”
He lets out a sigh. “It’s a first date…in more ways than one. First date withherand first date since….”
I clap, delighted. “Oh my God! That’s big news. When is this date? What’s her name? Tell us everything.”
Now, he laughs. Clean. It feels good to hear that.
“Her name is Lucia. And the date is this Saturday. We’re going to the Shelburne Museum to see a new art exhibit, and then see if we want to have dinner.”
“That’sverygrown up,” Katya muses. “I think I want to do that next time I meet someone, thanks to Bumble. ‘Let’s go for a walk and see if we can even stand each other for five minutes, and then we can contemplate coffee.’”
I chuckle.
Katya’s had a string of lousy first dates for the past couple of years, ever since she and her boyfriend of three years called it quits. It hadn’t been dramatic or cruel—just a slow drifting apart. Less heartbreak, more the quiet sadness of something that simply didn’t work out.
“How do you feel about it?” Katya asks Cristiano.
He shrugs, the grief flashing in his eyes but not overwhelming him. “Good…weird.”
“She’d want you to be happy,” I remark gently.
I never met his fiancée, but the way he talks about her makes it clear—she had a big heart. The kind of woman who would want Cristiano to find joy again, not grieve andbe alone forever.
He smiles like it hurts a little. “You’re right. She would.”
After dinner, Cristiano leaves, since he’s driving to the farmhouse, while Katya and I decide a walk will help our curry bellies.
The air is cool, crisp with spring’s early promise, and there’s a little pep to my step.
I’m happy that Cristiano is going on a date. And I’m relieved that the divorce papers are signed, and soon, I will,officially, be a single woman. Whatever that means when I’ve legally agreed to eight dates with my very-soon-to-be ex-husband.
We’re strolling past Bistro de Margot on College Street when a sharp, familiar voice slices through the night.
“Well, if it isn’t Burlington’s new little celebrity.”
“Christ on a crutch,” I mutter under my breath before I turn, already bracing myself. “Good evening, Edith.”
Katya rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t get stuck.
Edith Winter is sneering at me.
