I respond after a beat, “She cheated.”
“Oh, James, I’m so?—”
I interrupt. “April, it’s fine. I’m fine,” I assure her. “I didn’t exactly find out the same way you did, but …” I look at her, wincing. She rolls her eyes, a slight smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
I hate revisiting this day, but I sense she craves someone who can empathise, someone willing to share their own story to help her feel less alone. Clearing my throat, I continue, “We were on our way to dinner. It was our anniversary, and I had planned the whole night. As you can probably tell, I’m not much of a romantic, but I wanted it to be perfect. I made reservations at our favourite Italian restaurant. I even had Oliver light tea candles in my flat while we were out.” I scoff, comprehending how foolish I was. “I had a ring …” I look up, trying to gauge her reaction. Her glassy eyes widen.
“What happened?” she whispers.
“She forgot her phone was connected to my Apple Play. A text message popped up on the dash … It read, ‘I can’t wait to taste you again.’”
April covers her mouth with her other hand. “Oh my God.”
I blow out a breath and nod. “She had been going out a lot, and I hadn’t seen much of her, but I assumed it was just due to her being busy. We all go through busy periods, right? Well, it turned out shewasbusy …” I shrug. “She was just busy fucking Matt from work.”
“I had no idea. Lucas never told me. I’m so sorry,” she says softly. Now, it’s her turn to rub her thumb over my knuckles. I look down at our joined hands.
How is it that this woman, despite being wholly broken, finds the strength to comfort me over something that happened years ago while I’m trying to ease her pain?
I open my mouth to respond when the driver cuts us off. Neither of us realised that the car has slowed to a stop.
“Number 85? We’re here.”
We thank the driver as April grabs her phone and we step out of the Uber.
April turns towards me on the sidewalk, surprised when I step around the retreating car. Her cheeks heat when it registers that I got out with her.
“Oh, you’re not … you’re not going home?” she questions, fingers fidgeting.
“I will. But I want to make sure you’re alright first. I’m not leaving you alone like this.”
With a sharp inhale, she says, “Okay.” Then, she turns and strides towards the front steps, fumbling around in her clutch for her key. Once she’s opened the door, I peel off my jacket and follow her inside.
The house looks the same as it did a few months ago. You wouldn’t know Lucas didn’t live here anymore. Photographs of their happiest memories together still fill the hall table in the foyer, and the same paintings hang on the wall. Although the plants have withered, everything remains the same. Blankets are strewn across the couch, and the wooden floors are littered with crumbs and miscellaneous debris. Old mugs, empty plates, and takeaway containers clutter the coffee table, left uncleaned.
I see the house didn’t stay tidy after my last visit.
April kicks off her heels, walking to the kitchen barefoot, and flips on the light.
My eyes are drawn to her hourglass silhouette and the way her hips move with every step.
I chastise myself. I’m not here for that.
I toss my jacket over the back of her sofa and follow her into the kitchen. I hear a scratchy crow-like sound before a furry dash of grey catches my attention in my periphery. Basil emerges from behind the kitchen counter and slinks past my feet, darting away before I get to greet him.
“He’s usually friendly,” I say, staring after him.
“You won’t get any love out of him at the moment unless you have chicken,” April says. I casually rest my forearms on the island counter.
“Hmmph,” I grunt.
“He’s fifteen. Leave him alone,” she teases. “Would you like a drink?”
“Sure.”
She fetches a bottle of red and two glasses, setting them on the island before rummaging through the top drawer, eventually locating a bottle opener. I approach her as she continues twisting the screw into the cork to pry open the bottle. Stepping closer, I gently place my hand over hers before the cork releases, pausing her. My pulse pounds and my skin heats where we touch, creating a spark that sends a fiery path up my arm.
She halts upon contact, tipping her head to meet my eyes. Her lips part.
