57
Chris
Grace and her stuff were out of my penthouse when I returned later that evening. My mother was drunk on the couch.
“Why are you still here?”
She looked up blearily from her phone.
“I was waiting to see you,” she slurred. “I know you had a hard day.”
“If you want to keep getting handouts from me, then stay out of my business,” I snapped at her.
“But darling,” she said, “it’s all over the internet.”
“What the—”
My mom held out her tablet to me. On the screen was an article titled, “Married in a Minute to a Moron.”
Byline—Grace Fulton.
“Shit.” I speed-read through the article. Grace had written abouteverything—from our first meeting to the blow-up this morning. She recounted in biting detail the fake-out about not having my wallet at our first date and the fact that I strung her along and blew an annulment so that I could collect my inheritance. She wrote that I had pretended to be in love with her so she wouldn’t engage in an acrimonious divorce.
“All my clients are going to see this,” I said in disbelief. “I look like a psychopath, even though she’s the one who was manipulating me. I need to have that article taken down.”
Chris:Can’t you guys do anything?!? What do I even pay you for?!
Josh:And a good evening to you too.
Eric:For the record, we did tell you to leave her alone.
Chris:I’m going to be ruined!
Josh:We’re working on it.
Eric:Just stay away from Grace.
Josh:Take a bubble bath. Look at pictures of puppies.
Eric:Have a drink and something carb heavy so you go to sleep. We should have some answers for you in the morning.
Fuck.
I wished I’d never met Grace.
“I told you not to trust her,” my mother said, punctuating her words with her glass of gin.
I closed my eyes. “I know.”
“Why don’t you come watch a movie with me, baby?” my mother said, head lolling. “I never see you anymore.”
I needed to get out of here.
I grabbed my coat and headed to Antonio’s restaurant. Then I decided I didn’t have it in me to deal with the restaurant owner’s commentary about how I had failed yet again to choose a decent woman.
“Besides, it’s probably better not to eat your favorite food on the worst day of your life,” I decided. Instead I walked to the bodega a few blocks over and bought a single-serve container of Stouffer’s frozen lasagna. At the cash register, I grabbed a beer to go along with my heartbreak meal.
The ache settled around my chest on the walk home.
