“And it was the toughest decision I’ve ever made,” I admit.
James folds his hands, fingers laced tight enough to blanch the knuckles.“You know I support that,” he says, and I believe him. “I always have.”
I want to say more, but nothing I say will make this easier. I want to reach across the table and link my fingers with theirs, but I don’t.
Having nothing left to say, I push my chair back and stand.
“I’ll see you both at work.”
I leave them there, the two men I love, and step out into the cold of the morning.
I don’t look back, no matter how much I want to. It stings knowing there couldn’t be a happy ending for any of us. Maybe in another life, another universe, different versions of us are finding each other and falling into a love that lasts a lifetime. But not this one.
This one is finally just for me.
Epilogue
Fourteen Months Later
Just a few more emails, and then I’ll finally get out of here. I’ve been going nonstop all day, my calendar full of meetings and my to-do list full of motions to draft.
My stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t eaten anything since a banana at breakfast, so I weigh my options: fridge contents (which are minimal and mostly condiments), order food to be delivered to my apartment, or the Edison next door.
The Edison wins by proximity. They still serve that tortellini I like anyway.
It should only take about fifteen minutes to order, get my food, and then I’ll be on my way home.
So I gather my things and head next door.
The Edison lobby is mostly empty. A few tourists and some business types. I slip past, making my way to the bar.
It still looks the same.
As I enter, I can see there’s only one person seated.
It takes me no time at all to realize.
I would recognize him anywhere.
James.
I haven’t seen, or spoken, to him since he left the firm almost a year ago to work at the same public interest firm as Mina.
His departure caused quite the uproar, seeing as how he was, presumably, next in line to become partner at Bishop, Hollis, & Sterling.
For half a second, I consider leaving, pretending I was never here.
But I don’t.
I cross the floor to the bar, trying to keep my steps even and casual.
“Sterling,” I say as I approach him.
He turns to me, and the corners of his mouth tilt. “Anders.”
I glance at the seat beside him. “Is this seat taken?”
He shakes his head, gestures to the chair. “It’s yours if you want it.”
