The room blurs slightly at the edges of my vision. Skyler’s past relationship literally framed and honored while I sit here, the interloper.
“Skyler had never shown any interest in anything requiring manual labor,” Elaine tells the rapt committee, her voice warm with motherly pride. “But Amanda somehow convinced him to restore that old boathouse by hand. They spent weeks working together, planning every detail.”
“It was hardly that dramatic,” Amanda interjects. “Skyler did the real work. I just held the ladder and brought lemonade.”
“Nonsense. You designed the entire interior. That reading nook with the window seat was entirely your vision.”
This is brutal. It’s me against several women, most of whom don’t even know me. What am I even supposed to do in this situation? If I get up and leave, I’m weak. If I say something, I’m insecure. If I clear my throat, I’m a bitch.
So I do something I hate: I sit and take it. Because the best option, from what I can see, is to just observe. Don’tlook bothered or insecure. Let them have their little moment. Because at the end of the day, Skyler loves me.
“I still have the blueprints you drew,” Elaine continues, then turns her attention to the rest of the women. “Skyler told me just last month that no one has ever understood his vision for the property like Amanda did.”
Last month. The words hit like tiny darts. What else has Skyler told his mother about Amanda recently?
I sit perfectly still, my face arranged into what I hope passes for polite interest rather than mounting horror.
“Do you remember that night with the thunderstorm?” Elaine asks Amanda, her eyes twinkling with shared secrets. “When you two got stranded in the boathouse?”
Amanda’s cheeks flush delicately. “Elaine, really. That’s ancient history.”
“But such charming history! The power went out, and you two lit candles and drank that bottle of Bordeaux Richard and I had been saving.” Elaine laughs lightly. “Skyler told us later it was one of the happiest nights of his life.”
“I think we’ve embarrassed Harley,” Amanda says, offering me a sympathetic smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “I’m sure you and Skyler have your own special memories.”
In a flat tone, I say, “We’re making new ones every day.”
“How lovely,” Elaine responds. “Though there’s something to be said for shared history, isn’t there, Amanda? The foundation of truly understanding someone.”
“There is a certain comfort in it,” Amanda agrees, twisting that gold necklace again—Skyler’s gift, I’m certain now. “Knowing someone’s past helps you support their future.”
“Amanda was the only one who ever got Skyler to attend the symphony regularly,” Elaine continues, apparently unable to stop now that she’s on a roll. “They had season tickets.”
Symphony tickets. Boathouse renovations. Saved wine. Each detail is another bullet point on the “Why Amanda Is Perfect For Skyler” presentation Elaine is currently giving.
Amanda catches my eye across the table and offers another sympathetic smile—this one with just a hint of triumph underneath. She knows exactly what Elaine is doing. And she’s not just allowing it; she’s participating.
Team Amanda is fully operational. And here I am, sitting right in their war room, watching them strategize.
Finally, Skyler appears holding his phone. He’s tall, handsome, and completely oblivious to the matrimonial coup being orchestrated around his family’s antique mahogany. His eyes find mine immediately, a flash of concern crossing his features. He can read me well enough to know I’m uncomfortable, but not well enough to understand that his mother and ex-fiancée are essentially planning their reconciliation wedding right in front of me.
“Ladies,” he greets the room, his thumb flying across the screen of his phone as he finishes a message. He doesn’t look up until he’s right next to me.
The device is still glowing in his left hand, the screen cluttered with a long thread of emails, as he places his right hand on my shoulder. The touch is warm, grounding, but the blue light remains a distraction. I need him fully present right now.
“Sorry to interrupt. Just wanted to check how things are going,” he says, though his gaze flickers down to a new notification before returning to my face.
I don’t answer right away. Instead, I tilt my head back, my gaze dropping pointedly to the device in his hand. I catch his eye and hold it, giving a small, sharp nod toward the screen before looking back at him with a flat, expectant stare. Please, Sky, put the phone away and help me.
Skyler’s throat bobs as he swallows, and for a second, he looks like he might actually shove it into his pocket. But that’s before Elaine’s voice cuts through the air.
“Skyler!” Her voice shifts into a register I’ve never heard before. “Perfect timing. Amanda was just telling us about her recent promotion.”
No, she wasn’t. Elaine was.
“Congratulations, Amanda.” Skyler’s smile is polite but distant. Professional. Not the smile of a man pining for his ex. “That’s wonderful news.”
His phone buzzes. He doesn’t check it, but I see the muscle in his jaw tighten as he resists the urge. He’s here, but he isn’t. He’s tethered to the office by an invisible cord that seems to be pulling tighter every day.
