“An eighteen-year-old who’s been pretty interested in Corrine Johnson and her love life and you for some time. He was really keeping tabs on her, which seems pretty strange. Would make more sense if a jealous lover put him up to it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” I ask. I know why. Nathan probably waited until the last minute to tell his mother he knew Corrine was still seeing us. He probably waited ’til the last minute to tell the cops Shaw and I existed.
“We didn’t know about you, Mr. Coleman. We just discovered the emails ourselves. Did you get any suspicious emails about you and Miss Johnson?”
I wrack my brain, trying to think of anything, but nothing comes to mind. “No.”
“Well, we might have some more questions for you. What’s the best way for us to contact you?”
“Just reaching for my business card,” I tell them before I even slip my hand into my breast pocket. “Do you mind telling me your names?” I ask. Wouldn’t hurt to look into these two jerk-offs myself.
“Where are our manners? I’m Detective Catan and this is Detective Jansen,” the short one says, as Jansen studies my business card.
“What kind of mother wouldn’t want her daughter to date a… patent attorney? Sounds fancy. Explains the car.”
I take my keys out of my pocket, ready to end this fucking conversation already.
“We’ll be in touch,” Catan says with a nod of his head. I just nod and climb into my car. I slowly pull away from the curb as they step back, watching me like I’m the killer they’ve been looking for this whole time. I catch Security-guard Cousin watching me in my mirror as I turn down the street. When they are out of sight, I realize how fucking hard my heart is beating.
I pull into the first Dunkins I see and try to calm the hell down. It doesn’t work. Who the fuck is Ryan Morgan? Who the fuck is Josh Delinksy? And why…
I stop myself from asking that question. There’s nothing I can do about this now. My phone chiming in my pocket snaps me out of it. I check it and see a text from Nathan.
I told you not to come.
I know. I’m sorry.
Let’s talk soon.
Just not now.
Okay, man.
Sorry.
I toss my phone on the passenger seat and slam my head against the headrest. This is all too fucking much. My girl is dead. My girl was cheating on me and Shaw. She had a stalker that she never mentioned to me or Shaw. An eighteen year old stalker who was the one to pull the trigger and her mother thinks this is all my fault. I open my eyes, trying to blink back rage-filled tears. I don’t blame her. I would have married Corrine. I would have given her children. I would have done anything for her. And I knew down to the bottom of my soul that Shaw would have done the same. We checked in with her constantly. She was the center of our world.
Clearly Mrs. Johnson was right about something. Clearly I dropped the ball somewhere. I fucked something up, did something to make my Corrine turn to this Josh Delinksy dude. I did something that made her feel like she couldn’t tell us she had a damn stalker. Whatever fantasy world Shaw and I were living in, Corrine wasn’t there with us. How the hell do I explain any of this to Shaw? How do I tell him that we were somehow the last to know?
I know I need to take a step back and process this new information without the what ifs. I need to grieve. I need to take care of Shaw. I need to let Shaw take care of me in the way only he can. I need to work through more than one level of heartbreak. I need to chill the fuck out before the detectives start to think I really did have something to do with this. Or worse.
But first I need more information. I need to know more about Ryan Morgan and those emails. And I need to know everything about Josh Delinsky.
Two
Brooklyn
I should have stayed my ass at home.
When they found my fiancé's body—and the body of the woman he was fucking while he was supposed to be on a snowboarding trip to Vermont—I had about twenty minutes to process the news before I had to decide whether or not I was going to nope the fuck out of this whole situation. I saw it, the complete nervous breakdown that’s still waiting for me. I saw the moment Josh and I met at a birthday party in Brooklyn. The moment he asked me out. The moment I decided to give this cute white boy who seemed to be the only decent human working on Wall Street a chance.
That moment. That stupid moment, I actually worried what his family would think of me as we drove up to New Hampshire. Would they want their son with an orphan-turned-special-victims A.D.A. from the Bronx? What would they think of their son wanting to make a life and possibly have children with a Black woman? I had my come-to-Jesus moment. Talked to my sister about her own husband and the trauma of not having a father to walk us down the aisle. Or a mother to become a full pain in the ass while shopping for dresses.
I saw the moment when I realized it was going to be okay because his parents are cool. Total hippie, sci-fi geeks who just want to nerd out and have a good time. One sister, Kelsey, is an Instagram model, who is even more beautiful in person. The other, Meredith, is a tree-hugging, animal rights activist that just wants to know that I care about climate change. I do. I’m more confused about how their financial analyst brother came from such earthy folk. They are proud of Josh. They love him and in nearly no time, they loved me too.
Pattie started to call me her daughter as we were getting closer to the big day. George asked for my opinions for proper Thanksgiving sides. Kelsey and Meredith added me to our own group chat. They are actually pretty good with the memes. None of it is what teen me pictured for in-laws, mostly because I’m not on a yacht being fed grapes by Omar Epps, but I saw that moment. I took a step back, let that deep breath in and accepted the fact that Josh loved me. We were going to get married in the late Spring on my sister’s farm and eventually we were going to have kids. And maybe a cute dog.
But none of that is going to happen ’cause as it turns out this motherfucker was cheating on me. Me. Brooklyn Lewis. The baddest bitch from the Boogie Down Bronx and I can’t even take this giant diamond ring off my finger and throw it in his face, because he’s dead.
