2. Mabel #2
"Were you?" Aidan asks quietly.
"I don't know anymore." I stare into my glass like it might hold answers. "I got everything I wanted professionally. But sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I'd stayed that one year. If his dad recovered. If we could have made it work."
"You can't live in what-ifs, Mabel."
"I don't. I live in concrete reality. Contracts, evidence, precedent." I straighten my shoulders. "And the reality is, relationships end. Marriages fail. I see it every day."
"You see people at their worst," Aidan corrects. "Nobody comes to you when their marriage is thriving."
"Fair point," I concede. "But it doesn't change the fact that Cole and I were fundamentally incompatible. He wanted small-town life. I wanted?—"
"The corner office, which you now have," Aidan finishes. "But are you happy, Mabel? Really happy?"
The question hangs between us. Before I can formulate a deflection, my phone buzzes. I glance down, grateful for the interruption.
Until I see the name on the screen.
"Mabel?" Aidan prompts. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
I stare at the message, unable to process the six words glowing on my screen.
Mom: I have news.
"Not a ghost," I whisper, turning the phone so Aidan can see. "My mother."
Aidan squints at the name. "Marjorie Maxwell? What's the emergency?"
I shake my head, already typing a response. "With my mother, it could be anything from a genuine crisis to a sale at Nordstrom." I hit send.
Me: What's wrong? Are you okay?
The reply comes instantly: Rowan is getting married next week. You need to come home for it. There will be no excuses this time.
My blood runs cold. "Oh no."
"What?" Aidan leans across the table, trying to read my screen.
"My cousin is getting married," I say numbly. "And he’s one of Cole’s best friends."
Aidan's eyes widen. "Cole as in?—"
"As in the man we've spent the last hour dissecting, yes." I drain my whiskey in one desperate gulp. "And my mother insists I come home for the wedding.”
"This is..." Aidan searches for words. "Cosmic. The universe is literally forcing you to confront your past."
"The universe can go fuck itself," I mutter, signaling for another drink. "I'm not ready for this."
I type furiously.
Me: He didn’t invite me. Why would I go?
Mom: Sorry, honey. He didn’t know your address, so he sent us the invitation. I’ve been so busy helping your aunt plan the event I forgot to tell you. But you have to come. Please don’t make me look bad!
Aidan reaches across the table and takes my hand. "Maybe that's exactly why it's happening. When was the last time you went home to Cedar Bay?"
"Four Christmases ago," I say automatically. "For two days. In and out, minimal interaction with anyone outside my immediate family."
"And Cole?"
"Haven't seen him in twelve years, and that was an accident.” My new whiskey arrives, and I take a fortifying sip. "What if he's married, Aidan? What if he has kids? What if he hates me?"
"What if he doesn't?" Aidan counters softly. "What if this is your chance to finally get closure—real closure, not the kind where you run away and pretend the past doesn't exist?"
I close my eyes, feeling the room spin slightly. "I can't do this.
"You can," Aidan says firmly. "You're Mabel Maxwell. You make grown men cry in depositions. You can handle seeing your ex-boyfriend."
"Former love of my life," I correct without thinking, then clap a hand over my mouth. "I did not just say that."
Aidan's smile is gentle. "You did. And it's okay to admit it." He raises his glass. "To facing the past, so you can finally move forward."
I clink my glass against his reluctantly. "To cosmic jokes at my expense."
As I sip my whiskey, I can't help but wonder what Cole Bennett looks like now. Are his eyes still that impossible shade of blue? Are his hands still calloused from work? Does he ever think about the girl who left him thirteen years ago?
I guess, I'm about to find out.
I wake up the next morning with a whiskey headache and six missed calls from my mother. The universe isn't just pushing me toward my past; it's shoving me with both hands.
"You're going," Aidan announces when I trudge into the office, sunglasses still on, clutching my extra-large coffee like it contains the elixir of life.
"I haven't decided," I lie, slumping into my chair.
"Your flight's booked." He slides a printed itinerary across my desk. "Next Thursday. I cleared our schedule with Margaret. I’m going as your plus one. A part of me wants to see this train wreck unfold, and the other part just likes weddings.”
I peek over my sunglasses at him. "You went to the managing partner?"
"I told her you had a family emergency." He shrugs. "Which isn't entirely untrue. Your emotional well-being is at stake."
"This is kidnapping," I mutter, but I take the itinerary. “A week? Aidan, I can't be away from the office for an entire week."
"You haven't taken a vacation in three years. The firm legally has to let you go." He perches on the edge of my desk. "Besides, you need to arrive in time for the rehearsal dinner, and I figured you'd need a day to acclimate to your surroundings.”
I roll my eyes, instantly regretting the movement as pain shoots through my temples. "Christmas is a horrible time to dig up the past."
"That’s where you’re wrong. The holidays make everything lighter and happier." Aidan's smile fades into something more serious. "Besides, when was the last time you did something that scared you?"
"Yesterday, when I let you order me that third whiskey."
"I mean really scared you. The kind of fear that means you're growing."
I stare at the itinerary, at the neat columns of flight times and confirmation numbers. Cedar Bay, Oregon. Population: too small. Current weather: probably raining. Likelihood of awkward encounters: one hundred percent.
"Fine," I say finally. "But when I come back emotionally devastated, I’m going nag incessantly for weeks.”
"Deal." Aidan looks far too pleased with himself. "I’m used to your constant complaining. And If you rekindle your romance, I will repeat the words I told you so until you until you hire someone to kill me."
"Don’t be so flip. I spent a year as a public defender and have connections," I warn him, only half-joking. "And there will be no rekindling. That fire went out a long time ago."
Even as I say the words, I'm not sure I believe them.