A frown slips past my lips as the thought crosses my mind that that’s how normal people connect. Over coffee and small talk and the day’s commiserations. I envy them; I do. The ease with which they play off each other, the language between them is easy and flows. I’ve never had that kind of friendship. I wonder briefly why that is and think that might be something to bring up in my next therapy session. I’m kind of missing Kelly Fraser, LLP. I wonder how the weekend with her sister went. I don’t know why I’m intrigued by them. Having a sister must be blessing and a curse. On the one hand, you have a built-in buddy—when you’re not dancing around emotional land mines,that is. Something about women in relationships makes me feel on edge, like I don’t quite belong.
My stomach chooses that moment to rumble a reminder that I haven’t eaten yet today. I did not get up for a morning hot yoga class, even though I know the fitness center in the Foundry offers one. Instead, I slept in and willed the flashbacks of Jesika and Dean’s window-bang session from the night before out of my mind. I figured some cool morning air would do me good and help me get the lay of the neighborhood.
As if on cue, a woman wearing stylish black Chelsea boots exits a limestone entryway with a chic black awning. A wave of metallic blond hair falls down her back, and a ripple of awareness shoots through me.
It’s her. I know it is.
I’ve found them. This must be their building. It seems farther away from the street than it did last night, watching them through the window.
Had they seen me watching?
Is there a chance she could recognize me?
Fear dampens my resolve, and I stumble a few steps, eyes watching as she speed walks down the sidewalk like she’s made this hike a hundred times. Maybe a thousand. She reaches the next street and continues to walk like she’s late for an appointment. I nearly lose her in the small crowd as we approach the start of Millennium Park on the east side of the street. Tourists jostle and move around us, but I stick with my target, her striking blond hair standing out in a crowd. I’m struggling to keep up with her, and I’m only wearing some old fur-and-leather-trimmed boots. She’s in low-heeled boots that would be pinching my feet in pain already. How does she make pain look so elegant? It must be a talent she was born with, I swallow down my growing sense of jealousy as the crowd thins and it’s mostly just her and me again.
By the time we reach Monroe Avenue and the end of the park, I’m struggling to catch my breath. Clearly, I’m out of shape, compared to this woman. No wonder she caught Dean’s eye. He’s banging the new-and-improved version of me. Something in me wants to tell her, make her see how he’s using her somehow. Maybe I could have something delivered to their apartment, an envelope with a USB thumb drive with a video of Dean and me being intimate. It’s then I realize that we never were kinky enough to turn on the camera. Dean likes rough sex, but it was often over fast. We never lingered long or spent time trying new things. I wish now we had. Although I would no doubt torture myself watching the videos on repeat.
I bet Jesika and Dean try new and kinky things all the time.
A tear catches me by surprise, and I wipe at it, feeling overwhelmed enough with emotion that I want to stop Jesika—explain everything woman-to-woman. Maybe she would understand; maybe she would admit that she didn’t even realize he was married. What an asshole! We could commiserate together over our morning coffee and be best friends. And then suddenly, as if she’s heard me, Jesika turns and glances behind her once and then ducks into a coffee shop with a red-checkered awning.
Without thinking, I dart in after her.
I don’t know what I’m going to say, but I have to say something to the woman who stole my husband.
Chapter Twelve
“Adouble chai oat milk latte, please.” The young woman standing in front of me at the Roastery has a lilt in her tone that’s jarring. Saccharine positivity bleeds from her words. I don’t think I’ve ever been as eager to order an overpriced latte as she sounds right now.
I force a smile on my face as I wait for her to pay. She’s digging through her leather shoulder bag, smile finally turning to a frown as she realizes she’s forgotten something.
“I must have left my wallet at home.” The saccharine positivity is traded for dejected worry. She turns, catches my eyes once, and mouths a soft apology.
I inwardly cringe and outwardly smile.
“Let me pay.” I move around her form and pass the barista my credit card. The line is long behind us, and I have little patience for forgetfulness. I’ve never forgotten my wallet anywhere, but I don’t mind paying it forward to a stranger.
Anyway, we’re not strangers. She just doesn’t know my face yet.
“Are you sure? I feel like such an idiot.”
“Don’t.”Do,I think.
I realized long ago that the happiness of life is made up of the smallest, soon-forgotten moments of kindness. A smile exchanged with a stranger, a heartfelt compliment, or, in this case, an overpriced oat milk latte. It’s not that I’m looking for a friend or that I’m even being sincere in my offering, but I find it easier to get what I want out of life if I’m willing to put some effort into the tiniest of pleasantries.
Jesika smiles sweetly, mouthing a thank-you and then moving away from the counter to wait for her latte. I order my almond milk cappuccino, pay for both of us, and then move down the counter to wait with her. I fumble with my wallet, trying to slip my credit card back in its correct slot, when, instead, it flings from my hand and skitters across the counter. My shiny black Amex with my real name, Shae Halston, lands directly in front of her.
I make an audibleoofnoise and reach for it, but she beats me to it, picking it up and holding it in the light that’s streaming through the window. “Cool card. It’s like a hologram. My fiancé has a credit card like this.” She passes it back to me with a friendly wink. “I’m Jesika.”
I know,I think.
“Maya.” The lie comes quickly as I shove my card back in the slot of my wallet.
“Nice to meet you. I’ve been coming here to work a little every morning. It’s the nearest coffee shop to our new apartment. I’ve never seen you, though.”
I only nod, not expecting how open she is. No wonder Dean likes her. Where I am reticent, she is an open book.
“You’re new to the city?” I speak like I’ve been living in Chicago all my life. In reality, I’m just as new as they are.
