She takes another slow, steady drink, shifting in her chair as she sits back. “Touché.”
But her words still bother me. Does she really think that I’m old? I’m not, but I have lived a whole life bigger than she ever has. I’ve had an entire career already, and she’s just now finding her footing, or at least trying to. I was married, for fuck’s sake.
“Does it weird you out? The age difference?”
She shakes her head before I even finish asking the question. “Not at all. You?”
I scratch at my chin, thinking about it. I’m sure it should, since I’ve technically known her since she was a teen, but I definitely wasn’t thinking about an underage Odette in any sort of way other than sisterly back then. I barely even knew her, having only met her a handful of times in the summers.
It’s a different story now, though. I don’t think of her as sisterly at all. Far from it.
“No.”
“Good.” She nods. “Besides, if you did, I would just tell you all about how my nonna’s third marriage was to a guy fifteen years her senior, so twelve years is nothing.”
“And gay, if I recall correctly.”
She laughs. “Yeah, that too. Maybe not the best example, huh?”
“Not really.” I slide my bottle back and forth between my hands. “So, come here often?”
She rolls her eyes. “Please, you have better lines than that, I’m sure.”
“Eh, you’d be surprised. I’ve been out of the casual hookup culture for a long time.”
“Ah, right. The marriage.”
The word doesn’t sound as unpleasant to my ears as it once did, but I’m sure that’s just because I’ve been tortured with wedding talk for the last few weeks.
The server sets our baskets in front of us, each overflowing with fries and a giant burger. We dive into our dinner, a comfortable silence falling between us.
When we’re halfway through, Odette’s the one to speak first.
“Can I ask you something?”
I nod. “Sure.”
“Why’d you get divorced?”
I swallow roughly, and I tell myself it’s because of the giant bite of food in my mouth.
But it’s not that. Not at all.
It’s the truth that’s tripping me up.
“I, uh, I’m not sure, really.”
She arches a brow at me. “You have to know. You didn’t just undo a marriage for funsies.”
No, I didn’t.
I sigh, then set my burger back in the basket. I pull in a steadying breath. I don’t talk about my ex-wife often, because it hurts. Not because I’m still hung up on the relationship or still have feelings for her, but because the reason we got divorced nearly four years ago isn’t an easy pill to swallow—me.
“Chelsea and I were ... we wanted different things. She wanted me to be someone I wasn’t, and I couldn’t make that happen for her. I tried. Fuck, did I try, but it wasn’t enough. I ...Iwasn’t enough for her. She told me this all the time. Sometimes in a subtle way and sometimes really fucking direct, but that was the issue. I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t winning enough. I wasn’t making enough. I wasn’t attending parties enough. I wasn’t around enough. I didn’t want a family enough. I didn’t try enough. I didn’t love her enough. It just ...” I exhale heavily. “I wasn’t what she wanted. The life we carved out together wasn’t what she planned for. So I ended it.”
“Youended it?”
I nod. “Yeah, and she was not happy about it, which is why the divorce took so long to settle. She kept dragging her feet and wantedmore and more money. I got tired of it, paid her what she wanted, walked away, and never looked back.”
