Chapter 11 #2
“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer. I’m not going to explain myself or try to convince you otherwise.”
His throat works, but I don’t let him speak.
“Just don’t compare me to you,” I continue, each word sharper than the last. “If you were the one inventing elaborate stories to cover your tracks, that’s on you. That’s who you chose to be.”
I shake my head, tired of this whole fiasco. “Don’t use the same measuring stick for the two of us.”
I turn my back to him, my conscience clear and at peace with who I am, and start walking toward the door.
He calls my name, but I don’t stop or look back.
When I walk inside, I find Ethan and Alicia talking in the kitchen. I force a smile, hug them both, and head upstairs for a quick shower.
When I’m done—hair damp, wrapped in a towel—I return to my bedroom and notice the notifications on my phone. Two missed calls and several messages. I almost ignore them.
Colin: Please forgive me. I didn’t mean any of what I said.
Colin: I know you’d never do anything like that.
Colin: I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.
Colin: Can I call you?
They were sent twenty-five minutes ago. And there are two more, sent less than five minutes ago.
Colin: I hated seeing you with him. The way he looks at you, how you let him touch you.
Colin: I can’t imagine you with anyone else. Especially not him. I can’t. I’m sorry.
A wave of exhaustion washes over me.
Part of me wants to block him. To do what so many divorced couples do: use a parenting app that keeps the communication strictly about the kids. It’s the cleaner and more distant solution.
But then I think of our children and type a quick text.
Me: Can you ask Oliver to call Colin? I think he might need it.
The typing dots appear.
Felicity: He left over ten minutes ago. I’m going to start charging Colin every time Oliver has to play therapist for him.
Me: Thank you.
Therapy... I’d bet Colin continues to think it’s a waste of his time. I set the phone aside and start getting ready for bed.
His jealousy isn’t new. But after all this time, I thought it was finally clear that the only place left for him in my life is the part that involves our kids. Nothing beyond that.
And if one day I decide to open my heart again... he can learn to handle it however he’s able.
Or he can choose to have no contact with me at all. Either way, my life is no longer his to step into.
I set the pen aside and look again at the list I made—inspired by what Alexander asked me two weeks ago—but now it’s grown far beyond just four items.
I’m staring at the pool, wondering if there’s anything else I should add, when a voice behind me starts reading my list out loud like he’s the world’s most insufferable audiobook narrator.
“Learn a new language,” Mark declares dramatically. “Italian, probably—for obvious reasons.”
He keeps going, fully committed to the performance.
“Try a new sport. Meditation? Ugh, boring. You’d be asleep in ninety seconds. Northern lights... too cliché, even for you.”
My hands go to the cover, but he stops me before I can close it.
“Oh wait... now we’re getting somewhere,” he continues, clearly delighted with himself. “A short tour through Europe... interesting. Very interesting.”
I snap my planner shut, and he takes his finger from the page just in time. Turning, I find him crouched behind the lounge chair I’m sitting on.
“Do I need to put a bell on you now?” I ask.
He laughs and drops onto the end of my chair. “And miss the chance to watch you turn red all the way to your ears after I snoop on your little secret list? No, thank you.”
I set the planner on the side table, trying not to smile.
“It’s not a secret list,” I say, lifting my chin and narrowing my eyes at him.
“It’s just things I want to do eventually.
And if anyone here is keeping secrets, it’s you.
You came back from New Jersey earlier than planned—completely out of nowhere, might I add—and don’t think I haven’t noticed the way your eyes go all distant when you think no one’s looking. ”
Mark exhales and runs a hand through his hair.
“I may or may not have gotten myself into a bit of a mess,” he murmurs, staring at the pool.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment. I wait, but when he finally turns back to me, he’s wearing that same big, beautiful smile. Except it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“But it doesn’t matter,” he says lightly. “Now hurry up and get ready, because if we’re late, Felicity is going to blame me, not you.”
I study him carefully. His social mask is firmly in place, but I know him too well.
“Even after all these years, you think you have to carry everyone’s burdens but refuse to share your own,” I say, placing my hand on his shoulder. “As always, I’ll wait until you’re ready to talk. But if you take too long, I’m going to be forced to use your own tactics on you.”
Mark laughs and wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into a half-hug.
“Let me understand it first,” he murmurs. “Then I’ll tell you.”
“I could help you understand,” I offer, looking up at him.
“Nice try,” he smirks. “But I’m not in the mood to unpack all that drama today. I’d rather drown myself in margaritas and mojitos. I even hired a driver so neither of us has to be responsible tonight.”
I stand and give him the space he needs, smiling despite the knot of worry forming inside me over all the possibilities.
But deep down, I know one thing for certain:
Whatever happened... it has everything to do with the mysterious woman from New Jersey.
Felicity throws her head back in laughter, her ponytail swinging with the movement.
A few people turn to look at our table, but she doesn’t care.
As she likes to say, “If I stop to worry about what other people think of me, I won’t live.”
And Felicity is a woman who commands attention the second she walks into a room. Mark and I arrived at the Mexican restaurant before her—she’d been stuck in a meeting—and when she finally walked in twenty minutes late, heads turned right away.
She looked like a runway model who accidentally wandered into the wrong setting. Wearing a perfectly tailored black pantsuit that hugged her body in all the right places. She’s already ditched the blazer, leaving her in a white blouse that gives her an off-duty glamour.
“I swear, Mark,” Felicity says between bursts of laughter, “when I turned that vibrator ring on in her hand, she dropped it like it was going to bite her—or explode.”
I roll my eyes, because it happened more than ten years ago, yet she’s resurrected the story and is telling it as if it happened yesterday.
To this day, I regret confessing to her that I had never been to a sex shop before. Because the next thing I knew, she invited me out to help her choose a new handbag. Which turned out to be nothing more than an excuse to drag me into a well-known sex shop.
Long story short, she embarrassed me in the most Felicity way possible... and then handpicked a few items she called a “beginner’s kit,” shoved them into a bag, and gifted them to me before I could even protest.
Which, of course, is exactly the part she’s finishing as she turns to look at me now with a wicked grin.
“And to this day, you’ve never told me if you used everything I put in that box.”
Mark covers his ears. “Nope, definitely not,” he says. “I do not want to know anything about Cecily’s sex life. No guy wants to think about his sister having sex.”
He shudders, as if the mere thought is traumatizing.
Felicity snorts. I take a sip of my margarita, cheeks warming. We all burst into laughter, and I pointedly ignore Felicity’s question.
She doesn’t need to know, and Mark definitely doesn’t need to hear. Because the truth is... I barely used anything from that box Felicity gave me. Colin, being more experienced than I was, almost always set the pace, and he was always a bit more... conventional.
At least with me he was.
The thought comes uninvited. Some things you don’t realize until after the relationship ends. Things you don’t question until you’re finally outside of them.
I pull myself back into the conversation just in time to hear Felicity propose a game.
“Seriously? How old are we?” I protest. “I’m out.”
It’s been ages since the three of us went out like this for a friends-only night. Harper rarely joined us, and when she did, she always left early. Before what she used to call “Felicity’s antics” began.
“Girl, I’m only in my early forties,” Felicity says with a smirk. “I’m going to have fun until the day I drop dead.”
Then she gives me a calculated look, raises her glass, and grins like the devil in lipstick.
“Never have I ever used a rabbit vibrator.”
I avert my eyes and bring the margarita to my lips.
“Knew it,” she cackles, her foot nudging mine under the table. “There’s a wild little thing hiding in you.”
We go through a few more rounds, thankfully only taking small sips instead of downing the whole glass each time. We’re laughing nonstop, in an easy, joyful mood that makes us forget real life exists.
Until it’s Mark’s turn again. “Never have I ever... been with a married woman.”
He lifts his mojito and drinks it to the bottom.
For a moment, it feels like even the restaurant falls silent. My heart tightens painfully. I look at him, and when he finally meets my eyes, the hurt on his face makes my stomach sink.
“Mark...”
He holds up a hand, stopping me.
“No,” he breathes. “Not today. I put it out there... now let it scatter. Don’t make me say more.”
Of all the things I could have guessed... this is worse. And now it all makes sense. What he meant when he said he needed to understand what happened first. He doesn’t have all the facts, and I know my friend would never have gotten involved with someone who was already in a relationship.
Mark signals to a passing waiter and orders another round for the table.
Felicity and I exchange a look, asking each other what to do.