Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
“You look distinctly uncomfortable,” says Briar. She’s a short, curvy black woman with killer style and a law degree. “Is it physical or emotional?”
“Both.”
“Ah. Sit down and drink up then.”
“Good idea.”
We grab some chairs in the corner of the dining room, facing the table laden with tastefully wrapped gifts and small decorative plates of appetizers. Hummus on slices of cucumber, fruit and prosciutto bites, and a cheese board. Mom believes in healthy food to speed my recovery and protein to build up my muscle mass. To balance this, there’s also a beautiful cake with buttercream frosting surrounded by berries. When she passes by with a plate of goodies, I grab her spare hand. “Thanks for this.”
She delicately snorts in a ladylike manner. “Please, you hate it. But life goes on. I wasn’t going to just let you ignore your birthday. Happy twenty-seventh, sweetheart.”
“Thank you.”
And despite giving my shabby outfit a skeptical glance, she just nods. God bless Mom. She can’t help herself. We really are every bit as judgmental as Leif says. And there I go again, thinking about him. It’s not helpful. Though at least it doesn’t hurl me into a pit of despair like contemplating my husband does.
Interestingly, Dad isn’t here. But Dad hates any socializing that doesn’t take place on the golf course. Perhaps I’m more like my antisocial father these days. Though I’m never going to play golf.
At any rate, Leif was right: my mom in action is a beautiful thing. I have deep thoughts about Leif more often than I should. I’d been so embarrassed by Ryan showing up and trying to start a fight that I got out of there pronto after he left. No one needs that kind of drama in their life, or the person who invited it in.
On the other hand, knowing someone supportive who’d survived the same accident was nice. Comforting. Even if it was brief. Perhaps I’ll find the courage to see him again. Maybe. In the meantime, I’m going to stop thinking about him. Right now.
“I should go put on something more suitable,” I say, not moving an inch.
Briar crosses her legs. “Catch your breath first.”
“If I’d known this was happening I’d have at least shaved my legs.”
“Never mind. I hear the Viking look is in this season.”
“Nice.” I laugh. “Are you suggesting I could braid them?”
Her brows rise. “Now that would be something.”
Over by the front windows, the group from the inn is huddled together. Lots of side-eye going on. Lots of whispering. Ugh.
“Ignore them,” says my friend.
“Have you heard from her lately?” I ask.
Briar, Celine, and I met as neighboring dorm buddies and moved up to sharing an apartment in our senior year. Many a fun time was had. I met Ryan when we were freshmen. We’ve been together ever since. And it wasn’t perfect, but it was good. There were times we had to work at it. Times when we had to fight for it. But we always did and I thought we’d be together forever. Right up until we weren’t. Talk about life slapping you in the face.
“Not since I told her exactly what I thought of her so-called unfortunate lapse of judgment. If she expected me to be understanding, then she was severely disappointed.” Briar takes another sip of her drink. “I don’t care how scared and exhausted either of them were. You don’t open your legs to comfort your still very much alive friend’s husband.”
“Hmm.”
“What does hmm mean?”
I sigh. “She texted me again the other day. I didn’t respond. It was the usual, ‘We’re both so sorry. Neither of us meant to hurt you. Please try and understand. We still love you and care about you very much.’ I think it’s the ‘us’ and the ‘we’ that aggravates me. The continued implied coupledom. The unity. He’s my fucking husband. Or he was. I don’t know what he is now.”
Briar just shakes her head.
“He was so sorry, you know? He even cried,” I say. “I can’t remember the last time he cried. When his grandma died, maybe?”
“And?”
“I’ve tried to understand. I mean, it must have been hell for him, going through all of that.” My shoulders slump. “I’ve tried to put myself in his position and imagine if it was him on that bed and me not knowing if he’d ever wake up. And even if he did wake up, not knowing if he’d be the same person.”
She sighs.
“I still wouldn’t turn to his damn friend,” I add. “I wouldn’t disrespect him that way.”
“Exactly.” Briar tries for a smile, but it doesn’t quite work. “She always did use too many exclamation points when she messaged or texted.”
“Ugh. Yeah. Wait, are we being unnecessarily petty?”
“I debate your use of ‘unnecessary.’”
“Lady, you make me laugh. You know, he’s been pushing for me to move back home and do couple’s counseling,” I say, staring off at nothing. “But I’m not sure we can come back from this. How can I possibly trust him again?”