“No! He’s thirty-eight.”
“And you’re twenty-six, so he’s basically fifty.”
“Your math is terrible.”
“Whatever.” She grins, snacking on another fry. “So… is the kiss why you feel guilty?”
“No, I…” The words fail me so Stacey continues.
“Is it because he cheated with you on his wife? It’s the same guy, right, from the conference?”
“Yeah, but he didn’t cheat. He was never married.”
“And you fell for that?”
Over slow bites of cheeseburger and fries drenched in too much sauce, I fill Stacey in on every detail Elijah gave me about the woman who was around him at the time and the choices he made to keep his mom happy, including his current, rather overbearing, ex.
“Wow,” Stacey breathes as I finish. “That’s kind of really sad.”
“Right?”
“I mean… giving up your entire romantic life just to make your mom happy, your mom who is literally on her deathbed more worried about her son being lonely than her own life. And they say rich people have no heart.”
“Stacey!”
“I’m joking. I’m joking.” She chases her words with a mouthful of wine. “So… how does it make you feel?”
“Confused. I was angry with him for so long, y’know? I thought I’d done a horrible thing with him and then it was just… a misunderstanding. And I like him. And that scares me because… well, there’s more.”
Stacey leans forward, her eyes glinting. “Spill.”
“We met at that conference, right?”
“Mmhmm.”
My heart begins to race. “And we talked and fell for each other instantly and then slept together.”
“Mmhmm. The wild sex that broke the lamp and nearly broke your hip because you’d never been fucked that way before.”
My cheeks flush and I groan. “I really gave you all the details, huh?”
“Drunk Calliope is an open book.” Stacey chuckles.
“Well… that conference was seven years ago in June.”
“And?”
Silence falls as I wait for Stacey to connect the dots, but she stares at me like a deer, waiting for the next juicy piece of information to slip out of me. After a beat, I lift my cup and drain the remainder of my wine in three gulps.
“You’re killing me here,” Stacey says, eating her last fry.
“Okay. Nick is about to turn six.”
“Mmhmm.”
“So he’s five right now.”
“Honey, if you don’t just tell me, then I— Oh!” It clicks a second later and she reaches across the table, grabbing my hand. “Oh!”
