Is he serious?
My brain blanks. Words refuse to form.
“I’m sorry, what do you mean?” I ask, needing him to expound.
“I mean, there’s an office party. And I’d like you to go,” he reiterates with an eyebrow raised.
I scoff incredulously.
“You,” I point at him. “Want me,” I point at myself. “To go to your,” another point at him, “office party?” I ask.
Lincoln nods slowly, his gaze flicking away before settling back on me. He must genuinely not understand why I’m stunned. Well… maybe he reallydoesneed a reminder.
“Interesting,” I say.
“What kind of answer is that?” Lincoln asks.
“Well, I mean, you’re just the kind of person that, you know, when I was yourwife, you didn’t want me going anywhere where you knew your side piece was going to be. So it’s just astonishing that all of a sudden now you want me to go to a party with you. Or at all with you.”
The laundry smells so good right now. There’s something nice about fresh, clean clothes. I remove them from the dryer.
“That should have never been an issue between us,” Lincoln says. “I do want you to go with me,” he repeats, softer.
I refuse to look at him as I start folding the clothes.
“I mean, if you really want me to go, then maybe I’ll consider it,” I say.
“I do really want you to go,” he admits.
“You really sure?” I ask, fully aware of how snarky I’m being.
“Yes, I’m sure,” Lincoln says, chuckling a little, sounding tired as he steps closer to me.
“Just to remind you, you’re not really getting anything out of this,” I say, looking over to my left at him.
“You saved my life,” he says with a croak in his voice, revealing just how tired he must be. “I want you there with me,” he assures.
We hold eye contact before I nod in acquiescence.
I already had clothes picked out for some occasion. After all, I like to go places and I’ve learned to have fun without him. But just to prove a point that I’m okay, and to allow him this, I decide to go.
When we reach the party, at first it’s not a big deal. People are talking, lazing around in this little ballroom area; though it’snot really a ballroom. It’s more like a very esoteric venue where events get hosted.
“So all these people are from your office?” I ask.
“A lot of them, yes,” Lincoln answers.
People’s eyes are on me, looking at me funny. It becomes so obvious that I literally have to address it.
Time to come out of my shell.
“Yes, I’m the crazy ex-wife,” I say. “But,” I add emphatically, everyone quiet and staring, “Lincoln fixed my aggression settings and toned them way down, so we’re all good.”
I immediately cringe at myself, until I hear a few people laughing in what sounds like relief. Almost like everyone was holding their breath waiting to see how I’d act.
I honestly didn’t think that would make people laugh.
So I start grabbing some pastry, trying to work off the cringe crawling up my neck. The moment I take a crunch out of it, people start cracking up again. For a split second, I’m not sure if they’re laughing at me, but reading the room confirms it: I broke the tension we were all feeling.
