“Come with me?”
Cecily
A hostess walks me toward the reserved table, and I thank her before she returns to the reception area.
When I turn and keep walking, I catch her gazing absently at her glass of water. Her fingers move in small circles along the rim, her brows drawn together, until she looks up and her expression softens with relief.
She stands and pulls me into a tight hug the moment I reach her. “I thought you weren’t coming,” Felicity says, her voice trembling.
I hug her back before letting go and taking my seat at the table.
“Sorry. My phone died, and I didn’t realize I’d forgotten the power bank. I couldn’t let you know I’d be late.”
She smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m just really glad you came. That you said yes.”
The waiter arrives, and we order wine first while we decide what to eat.
“Sorry for being such an awful friend,” Felicity blurts out once the waiter leaves with our order.
I smile at her. She’s always been like this. Honest, unfiltered. When I got her call yesterday, inviting me to lunch, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief, and was genuinely happy she reached out.
“It’s okay,” I say, more gently. “Once things settled down a little, I figured it must’ve brought back some... bad memories for you.”
She takes a sip of her white wine. “It did—full force. Things were... tense at home for a few days, to put it mildly. I kind of lost it when Oliver told me what happened. For a moment, I thought he knew before you did, and helped Colin cover it up. Anyway, we needed to find our balance again.”
I notice how her fingers absentmindedly twist her wedding ring. “It happening with you and Colin, of all people... it made me question if it could ever happen to us again. Made me question choices I made long ago. Choices that shouldn’t bring doubt after all this time.”
I reach across the table and take her hand. “Do you... regret your choice?”
She turns her hand to squeeze mine back. “Sometimes,” she admits. “But it’s not regret. It’s just... thewhat ifs. I let them circle my mind for a bit. But then I look at our family, at everything we survived, and I know it was worth it.”
There’s a faraway look in her eyes and a soft smile that tells me she’s replaying good memories.
Then she looks back at me. “But I’m not saying you should do the same. That’s something only you can decide. Harper told me what happened the other day, and I told her to go to hell for being such a patronizing bitch.”
“Felicity!” I say, covering my mouth to muffle the laugh that slips out.
She shrugs. “What? It’s true. She can be too much sometimes. That’s why I only deal with her in small doses.”
We laugh, and for the first time in weeks, it’s real. It comes easily, like a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
I say goodbye to Felicity and start walking toward a store she mentioned earlier, after I told her what I wanted to get for my mother’s gift. She couldn’t come with me, she had a meeting in a few hours.
Spending time with her was good. So good it almost made me forget, for a little while, that my world is falling apart.
After we, as Felicity put it, “got the heavy stuff out of the way,” the conversation drifted to lighter topics. Our work, our kids, and Christmas plans.
My parents are thinking about renting a cabin to spend the last days of the year. My mother wanted to go to Montauk, but my father dismissed the idea, calling it too boring a place to ring in the new year. She only watched him then, letting him pull her into an embrace, kiss her forehead, and begin suggesting other places.
Seeing my parents together hurts a little now. I used to believe Colin and I had a marriage like theirs, strong, safe, built on love and trust.
I haven’t given them an answer yet, because I need to talk to Colin. To figure out what we’re going to do about the kids now, during the holidays.
My chest tightens at the thought that this is how it’ll be from now on. No more holidays as a family. It’ll be the kids with him... or the kids with me.
“I’m telling you, man—it’s her. That’s his wife. Look it up. I’m sure. Same woman from that piece today and the USA Today column.”
A voice comes from somewhere close behind me and startles me. Before I can even process it, it calls out again.
