PRIM: Full of chicken and sweet potato fries, all on the gallery’s expenses. We’re buying movie tickets now.
ME: Have fun. Text Leo the time the movie ends, and he’ll pick you both up.
PRIM: Who says I have his number?
ME: Because you’re not slow.
ME: Ask Leo to call before he gets to the house.
PRIM: Fine, I’ll make sure Leo doesn’t walk Daisy in on you and your hubby and any kinky stuff.
ME:
I can’t think of anything else to say, so I slot my phone away.
Home. What a joke.
I’ve never driven through these gates without Raif or one of his men. I don’t even know the code, so I pay the cab fare and climb out. I hit the buzzer on the intercom but don’t speak because the gate is already trundling open.
The gravel crunches underfoot as I trudge up the driveway.
Why do things never turn out like you want them to? The world never turns to set things right, just to turn you over, or turn you upside down and inside out.
I’m numb as I find the door open. Queasy as I close it behind me. I make for the stairs without looking for him.
In the closet, I pull my suitcase down from the top shelf and begin to fill it with random bits.
Devastation. It’s such a divisive word. Maybe there should be a sliding scale of what it covers because that’s not what I’m experiencing right now. My emotions feel tied up in neat little knots. Something I suppose I’ll have to unravel later.
“Lavender.”
I’m on my knees when he finds me, his tone telling me all I need to know. Regret. Sorrow. I suppose Brin must’ve called ahead.
Maybe he warned him to hide the appliances.
“Lavender, I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me, too.” I chuck a pair of ballet flats into the case, then hold up a sandal to examine it. “I wonder where the right foot is?”
“Would you look at me? Please?”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to.” Hoarse, aching words, the numbness receding as emotion creeps up and out via my throat.
“Sweetheart.” On his knees behind me, his arms banding my shoulders, his embrace solid. Strong. But my arms don’t want to participate, falling lifeless by my sides.
Hugs are funny things. They come in all strengths and sizes and combinations. Some offer solace, some seek to fortify. Some are lukewarm and perfunctory, offered as convention only. They can be greetings, filled with affection and warmth. Sometimes they offer support and understanding. They’re also grief, and sadness, apologies for promises not met or kept.
This hug. What does this hug mean?
Regret. And nothing at all. Regret he got caught.
“Tell me what I can do,” he whispers.
“Rewind time to before you caught Brin with your fiancée. Walk into the gallery and just choose me.”
“I know it might be hard to believe right now, but that’s what happened.”
“No. You came in to make a fool of me.”
