Meredith rubbed at her forehead, looked away. Regret crawled up Jordan’s throat. Jesus, she did not want to get into this. It was done, and rehashing it—particularly with Meredith herself—just made her feel like shit.
She was so tired of feeling like shit.
“I’m sorry,” Meredith said. “I’m sorry my decision hurt you.”
Jordan laughed mirthlessly. “That’s not an apology.”
“Then maybe I’m not really making one,” Meredith said, her voice rising. “Iamsorry I hurt you, but I’m not sorry I left. I had to. For both of us.”
“Both of us? Oh my god, so, what? You’re the magnanimous decision-maker in our fifteen-year-long relationship because poor Jordan doesn’t know what’s good for her?”
Meredith sighed but said nothing.
“That’s exactly what you think, isn’t it?” Jordan asked, realization dawning like a blood-red sunrise. “Holy shit.”
“Jordan.” Meredith said, her voice soft now. “I love you. I will always love you, but you know I’m right.”
Jordan shook her head. She put her hands on her hips, stared down at the plastic-covered floors, trying to get herself together without looking at the woman she once thought she’d be spending her entire life with.
There was no pull, no longing in her chest. She already knew she’d fallen out of love with her. Until recently, she’d thought anger had simply burned up every romantic emotion she’d once felt forMeredith, but lately, she had wondered. She and Meredith met in middle school. They’d been best friends who fell into being lovers in college, and when it came time to enter the adult world, it just felt natural to do so with her oldest friend, the person who knew her the best. The person she was most comfortable around. Their sex life was good. They had mutual friends. They built a life together.
But sometimes, Jordan wondered how they ended up with that life. Who made the decision. She couldn’t even remember which one of them brought up marriage, who asked who. She didn’t think either of them actually asked. Once the Supreme Court legalized same-sex marriage, getting married was simply the next step, something theyshoulddo, the American Dream. They didn’t even have a wedding. Not really. They got married at the courthouse on a Wednesday afternoon, had a small party for family and friends in their backyard a week later.
These thoughts were bitter, hard to swallow, but underneath all of that, there was this aftertaste of relief. Jordan didn’t fully understand it—she clearly had a lot to process, a lot of anger still clouding her feelings about Meredith and their life together. A phone call to her therapist was probably in order.
For now, though, Jordan wasn’t ready to talk about any of this with Meredith herself. No matter her reasons, no matter how right she thought she was, Jordan wasn’t sure she could ever forgive her.
“Okay, sure, fine,” Jordan said, tired of whatever this was and ready to be done with it. “I need to—”
“Tell me about this design of yours,” Meredith said, spreading her arms to indicate the kitchen.
Jordan froze. “What?”
“The design,” Meredith repeated, then walked around the room, sliding her hand over the new counters, running her fingertips over the edge of the mullioned glass in the cabinets.
“It’s... it’s for the reno,” Jordan said.
Meredith rounded the other side of the island and braced her palms on the butcher block. “And it’s yours.”
Jordan blinked at her. “It’s... yeah. I built the cabinets.”
Meredith sighed and shook her head. “See, when I arrived at your grandmother’s cottage, they couldn’t find you. You weren’t answering your phone, and the inn was empty.” Here she smirked at the still-open pantry door. “Well, we thought it was empty. I know your family isn’t exactly my biggest fan, so while we waited for you to call Simon back, it was really,reallyawkward. I asked about the reno that was clearly going on, and he told me. He also showed me the design plan on his laptop.”
Jordan crossed her arms. “Get to the point.” Except she wasn’t altogether sure she wanted to know the point. Or rather, she had a feeling she already did. Unease slid through her like oil through water.
“My point, Jo, is that this whole thing isyourdesign, but when Simon talked about it, he kept mentioning someone named Astrid Parker. The same Astrid, I’m assuming, I just met a few minutes ago.”
Jordan’s nostrils flared with the effort to keep her breathing even. “That’s not... the design isn’t—”
“I know you,” Meredith said. “I know your style and your work, and this is it.” She spread her arms again, letting them fall slowly back to her side. “My question is, why are you letting some blond bitch take the credit?”
“Hey,” Jordan said sharply. “Don’t you dare call her that.”
Meredith pressed her eyes closed. “Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry. But Simon seemed to think she was the designer. The lead designer.”
“She is.”
“Jo.”
