3. Chapter 3 #2
But Trey is past hearing warning signals. He leans across the table toward me, his tie dragging through a puddle of spilled alcohol.
“The best part, though,” he says, tapping the table for emphasis. “The best part is how you two actually ended up together. Jules meant to text Carmella for coffee, but he hadn’t saved either of your numbers, and guess what? He texted the wrong one!”
I still remember the text where he asked me out.
It arrived a month after our chance meeting at Red Fox Grocery.
He’d been standing in the frozen food aisle, glaring at a handle coated in a sticky smear of spilled milk.
I offered to grab a carton for him, since I was reaching for one, anyway.
Afterward, I spritzed my hands with strawberry sanitizer.
This seemed to intrigue him, sparking a conversation.
We exchanged numbers, though I never expected to hear from him.
Even so, he messaged a week later, and we had a friendly back-and-forth.
Until he asked me out for coffee. That one accidental text was the beginning of everything.
Only, it turns out that text was never meant for me.
Gage winces. Someone mutters something about getting another round. Meanwhile, the muscles in my shoulders knot tightly.
“And when Ellie showed up instead,” Trey continues, “he was too stubborn to say anything! Isn’t that fucking hilarious?”
“That’s not—” Julian starts, but Trey is on a roll now.
“And then you kept showing up!” Trey laughs, gesturing wildly. “And Jules kept thinking, ‘Well, she’s organized, she’s reliable, she’d make a decent mother’.”
Each word stings: organized, reliable, decent. Nothing about being beautiful or exciting. He didn’t choose me. He chose her.
The room tilts. I take a careful breath, trying to steady myself without anyone noticing. We have a life built on a text message sent to the wrong person.
“So our boy did the practical thing,” Trey says, raising his glass in a mock toast. “He went with the safe option. And now look at you two! Perfect little family and everything.”
“Maybe we should call it a night,” someone suggests.
Too late. The words are already loose, bouncing around the table, seeping into my skin. I take a long sip of water, trying to cool the burning in my throat.
“Alright, enough ancient history,” Julian says with forced lightness. “Who’s up for a nightcap at Carmody’s?”
But Trey’s eyes are still gleaming with that dangerous light, and I know there’s more to come.
“Carmella was the clear winner on paper,” Trey continues, swirling his drink like he’s at a tasting rather than dismantling my life.
“Wealthy family, killer connections, stunning looks.” He raises his glass toward Carmella, who accepts the compliment with a slight tilt of her perfect chin.
“And then there’s Ellie…with her ‘weird button nose.’”
I audibly gasp, unable to help it. Weird nose. I touch my face automatically, then force my hand back down to my wineglass, gripping so tight I’m afraid the stem might snap between my fingers. My eyes burn as I blink back tears.
Julian shifts beside me, his body rigid. “Trey,” he says, his voice dangerously low, “that’s enough.”
Trey hasn’t listened all night, and he’s not about to stop now. “The spreadsheet had actual weighted scores. Remember that, Jules? You had those little formulas calculating the results and everything.”
Carmella takes a sip of wine while her eyes flicker between Julian and me. There’s something satisfied in her gaze, like she’s finally seeing confirmation of a long-held suspicion.
“Carmella had the higher score,” Trey announces to the table. “By, like, fifteen points or something, wasn’t it, Jules?”
Wow. I wonder what metrics my husband used to calculate my worth against Carmella’s. More importantly, I wonder how many points my nose had cost me.
“He told me he was planning to let you down gently after the second time that happened,” Trey says.
“But then he saw how you were so just damn efficient about everything.” He mimics taking notes.
“You had his coffee order memorized by the second meeting. Started organizing his calendar. And Jules here thought, ‘Well, maybe the practical choice isn’t so bad’. ”
“Trey, seriously, shut up,” Gage hisses, finally intervening.
I look at Julian, searching his face for denial. His eyes meet mine for a moment before sliding away. In that brief connection, I see the frustration, but there’s no denial.
“Luckily, it worked out,” Trey continues, oblivious to the devastation he’s causing me. “I mean, you guys have been married for what, eight years? Nice house, cute kids.”
The mention of our children sends a fresh wave of pain through me. Leo, with his curious eyes. We had him shortly before we got married. Meredith, with her stubborn chin. They both have my nose, the “weird button nose” that apparently factored into their father’s calculations.
“The kids look just like Ellie,” someone offers, clearly trying to salvage something from this wreckage.
Trey laughs. “That was Julian’s biggest concern back then! Remember, Jules? You were so worried any kids would inherit Ellie’s piggy nose and need plastic surgery!”
Oh my God.
I recoil, my body jerking away from Julian.
Leo’s face flashes in my mind. His little button nose, so like mine, scrunches when he laughs.
Meredith’s perfect little profile that I’ve kissed a thousand times has the same feature.
The idea that their father once considered their nose a liability hits me like physical pain.
Julian’s hand clamps on my wrist under the table, but I know it’s not a supportive gesture. He’s restraining me. Don’t embarrass me. Don’t be dramatic. Let it go.
“Wow, so if I had known his coffee order, it would have been me?” Carmella asks.
Julian says, “That’s absolutely enough.”
But the damage is already done. The words hang in the air, suffocating me from within. I think of our wedding day, when I thought his tears were from joy. Our children’s births, when I believed he saw perfection in their tiny faces. Every compliment, every touch, every moment is suddenly suspect.
Around the table, discomfort has reached critical mass. “Well,” Gage says, standing abruptly, “this has been something.” He tosses cash onto the table. “I should get going. Early client meeting.”
Others follow his lead, making hasty excuses. Only Carmella lingers, gathering her designer purse with deliberate slowness.
“Always good to see you, Ellie,” she says, her voice honey-smooth. Her eyes flick to Julian. Then she’s gone too, leaving the three of us.
Trey blinks, suddenly aware of the exodus he’s caused. “Did I say something wrong?” he asks, genuinely confused.
Julian’s laugh sounds like glass breaking. “Just the usual Trey charm,” he says, leaning across the table to clap his friend’s shoulder with his long arms. “We should get going, too. Got a babysitter at home.”
I nod and smile, though inside, I’m breaking.
“Great seeing you,” I hear myself say, the words automatic and disconnected.
Julian’s hand finds the small of my back as we stand to leave. The same possessive gesture from earlier, but now it feels like he’s steering me so I don’t veer off course.
“Sorry if I said too much,” Trey calls after us, finally registering the tension. “Jules knows I’m only messing around!”
But was the story true? I want to ask but can’t seem to push the words out. I already know the answer, anyway. That was a play-by-play. A factual account of what happened. There was no dramatic rendition needed.
Julian raises a hand in acknowledgment without turning back. “It’s all good, man. Call you tomorrow.”
We walk toward the exit, the vintage beer signs blurring into smears of neon while the exposed brick walls pulse with my heartbeat. Julian guides me through the door and into the night air, but the cool breeze does nothing to clear my head.