41
Cara was headed back to the shop when her cell phone rang.
“Hi Brooke. Did you have a chance to look at the seating chart this quickly?”
“Sorry, not yet. Cara?”
“Yes?”
“About what I said. Earlier, in the restaurant. About me and Pete. You probably think I’m awful. A total slut.”
“I don’t think that,” Cara said. “Anyway, it was a long time ago. You said yourself, until today you hadn’t seen the guy in years.”
“It’s been five years. I’m not trying to excuse what I did, but you have to understand. That summer? Before I moved to Atlanta and started law school, it was like I was in this little bubble, and the only reality was me and Pete. I still can’t explain it. I loved Harris, and I knew we would get married eventually. But he was in Atlanta, and I was in DC. And Pete was right there. And we had so much fun together, it was like we were kids back in high school again.”
“Brooke. Why are you telling me all this? I’m not judging you.”
“I know,” Brooke said, sighing. “Maybe I’m trying to explain it to myself. The thing is, at the time, it didn’t seem wrong. As long as Harris didn’t know about Pete, and Pete didn’t know about Harris, I thought nobody could get hurt. And they didn’t. It was just that one summer.”
“Five years ago,” Cara said.
“And it’s over,” Brooke said. “Okay. This was weird. Forget I called. Forget I told you any of it.”
“Any of what?”
“Thanks, Cara,” Brooke said.