Chapter 2
Two
Ellie
“Sorry I’m late, babe.” Jack slides into the corner booth at our favorite restaurant that evening. “How was your day?” He
leans over and plants a quick kiss on my cheek before spreading the cloth napkin in his lap and then sending me a tense smile.
“My day was okay—I’m glad tax season is done and dusted.”
“I’m glad too, I think all that stress is exacerbating your . . .” he trails off, unwilling to say the words I know he’s thinking: mental illness. “Have you thought anymore about going part-time? With that raise your dad gave me in January you don’t even need to work.”
“I like to work,” I say, softly. Jack has been pressing this issue. I know he thinks the nightmares and sleepwalking are made worse
by my busy work schedule, but I have a feeling my anxiety would get worse if I didn’t have work to distract me.
“I know, baby, I know.” He pats my knee under the table and gives me a condescending smile. “You are your father’s daughter,
through and through.” He’s being kind, but I sense something unspoken simmering beneath his words.
I think back on the first time Jack and I met at Columbia, warmth curling through me at the sweet memory.
Books go flying.
One minute I’m rounding the corner of the library’s philosophy section, nose deep in a copy of Nietzsche for Beginners, and the next I’m tumbling into the stacks surrounded by a ridiculous explosion of notebooks and index cards.
“Oh—shit—I’m so sorry,” a voice says, deep and smooth and unmistakably male.
His hand at my elbow, the only thing preventing me from falling face first on the marble tile.
I look up and blink.
Because the guy crouching beside me—already scooping up my spiral notebooks carefully like they’re made of glass—is definitely
not some distracted freshman. He’s older. Confident. The kind of handsome that makes your brain short-circuit a little. Tousled
dark hair, warm brown eyes, strong jaw, expensive-looking watch peeking out from under a rolled-up sleeve.
He offers me a crooked smile. “Didn’t see you there.”
“That’s kind of obvious,” I say, wincing as I gather the last of my flash cards.
“Let me help—please,” he says, already doing it.
His fingers brush mine as we reach for the same book, and something sparks in my chest, uninvited and inconvenient.
He hands me the copy of Game Theory and the Human Condition like it’s a rare treasure, then stands, shooting me a sheepish smile.
“I’m Jack Taylor,” he says.
“Ellie Thomas.”
“Nice to meet you, Ellie.” His smile spreads, disarming and boyish. “I owe you an apology and maybe a new stack of index cards.
Let me walk you to your dorm?”
I hesitate, glancing down at the mess I’ve mostly gathered.
“I insist,” he adds, slinging his messenger bag across his shoulder. “You look like you carry the weight of five majors in
that backpack. It’s the least I can do.”
I find myself nodding before I’ve even decided.
We leave the library together, walking into the late afternoon glow, and just like that, I’m doing something I never do—chatting
with a stranger.
But Jack isn’t exactly a stranger anymore.
He asks what I’m studying. I tell him economics and statistics. He says that explains the flash cards. I admit I make one
for every lecture. He grins and calls it “charmingly obsessive.”
He’s in his final year of law school. Wants to go into property law, whatever that means. He’s from Boston, plays squash,
quotes Hemingway without sounding smug, and laughs when I confess that I still don’t fully understand compound interest despite
having aced the exam.
By the time we reach my dorm, fifteen minutes have passed like a second.
I stop at the front steps. He does too.
“Well,” I say, already fumbling for the keys in my pocket. “Thanks for not letting me eat concrete back there.”
He leans against the railing, eyes warm. “I should be thanking you. Best part of my day, bumping into you.”
I laugh, half-nervous. “You sure you’re not concussed?”
“No,” he says, eyes lingering. “Just stunned.”
Then, without missing a beat:”I’d like to see you again.”
My heart lurches.
“What?”
He smiles. “You’re smart, funny, and . . . probably the most beautiful girl on campus. I’d be an idiot not to ask.”
My cheeks flush. I nod, almost on autopilot. “Okay. Yeah. I’d like that.”
He pulls out his phone. We exchange numbers. He types mine in slowly, like he doesn’t want to forget it.
“I’ll text you,” he says.
“Looking forward to it.”
He gives me one last grin, then turns and walks away, hands in his pockets like it’s the most casual thing in the world.
I stand there for a long moment, clutching my books like they’re the only thing keeping me upright.
Jack.
What does someone like him see in someone like me? I don’t know. But I can’t stop smiling. Not even a little.
The waiter comes over and Jack orders a gin and tonic for each of us and then orders our food.
He doesn’t ask me what I want because I always get the same thing when we come here.
Grotta Palazzese is the only place we go for dinner because Northrup Thomas is a major investor and Jack is a firm believer in keeping things in the family.
“You’ll never guess whose background check landed on my desk today.” Jack’s eyes search the other tables in the dimly lit
dining room, as if he’s looking for someone.
“Whose?” I ask politely.
“Jason’s.”
My blood runs cold. I sip my gin and tonic because I’m not sure what else to do. “Jason?”
“You know—Jason Hartfield. Surely you haven’t forgotten him already? You said he had such a profound impact on your life—that’s
what you said, right? Profound.” Jack’s tone is suddenly scathing.
My heart hammers as I consider my next words carefully. “Did I say that?”
“I believe so. Right after you told me you wanted a divorce. And right before Jason told you he’d met someone and was moving in with her. That’s how the timeline went, right?” Jack’s eyes finally land
on mine. His normally warm brown irises are icy enough to make me shiver.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Jack sends a tight smile my way, adjusting his tie and then replying in a clipped tone, “Of course.” The waiter arrives then, depositing another round of gin and tonics on the table.
Jack swirls the alcohol in his tumbler, then takes a long sip.
“I still wonder if Jason hadn’t told you he’d met someone else if you’d have gone through with it—if you’d have divorced me and stayed with him. ”
I sip my drink, looking anywhere but at my husband. “I told you—we weren’t . . . it wasn’t an affair, Jack. Stop treating
it like it was.”
“It was an affair though—an emotional one. You said it yourself.”
“It was only a few months—we went to lunch a few times.”
“And talked on the phone and you considered leaving me for him,” he says.
I don’t reply because there’s nothing to say. We’ve gone over this a hundred times in the year since it happened. Replying
would only add fuel to his fire, and Jack always wins. That’s what makes him a great lawyer and a less than stellar husband, if I’m being honest. But we’re still a good fit—I’m
the yin to his yang, and even though I was wrapped up in Jason for a few months, I believe now that it was only out of loneliness
and that my life has worked out just the way it was meant to. I wouldn’t change a thing—even if losing Jason’s friendship
for the sake of my marriage was the collateral damage.
“I’m not hiring him—if you were wondering. Surprised he had the balls to even apply for the position after your dad transferred
him to the Jersey office.”
I still don’t reply. If I leave Jack to his own devices, he’ll lose steam. I’m starting to regret meeting him for a quick
dinner before I head home and Jack goes back to the office for another late night.
We sit in silence for a few long minutes. The waiter arrives then with Jack’s filet and my salmon. Jack nods once and then
picks up his steak knife and begins to cut.
I shift topics. “Oh—I almost forgot to tell you—I got an invitation today from a women’s group called The Society. Have you heard of them?”
Jack takes his first bite of filet and chews, shaking his head in silent response to my question.
“I haven’t either. I’m not even sure why I’m on their radar—maybe it’s something my dad set up. The party is in Westchester.”
Jack’s eyebrows raise. “Sounds like an interesting opportunity. When is it?”
“This weekend.”
Jack swallows. Bites. Chews.
“They do a lot of charity work around the city,” I offer.
He nods. “You spend a lot of time alone. Might be a good chance to meet some new friends.”
“That’s what I thought. They’re sending a car service to pick me up Friday night.” I take my first bite of salmon. “Although
the idea of spending the weekend with a group of women I’ve never met before seems kind of weird.”
Jack swallows, sips his drink, then nods. “I think it will be good for you. Get out of the city for a while.” Jack bends,
pulling something out of his laptop bag and setting it on the table.
“I have something special for you.” His eyes sparkle with excitement, the anger over Jason apparently gone as quickly as it
appeared. “Happy birthday, baby.”
“Oh—I thought maybe you forgot.”
“How could I? You’re my favorite person in the world—if I could buy you the biggest diamond on the island of Manhattan I’d
do it. I’d spend every day celebrating my favorite girl.”
I nod but don’t reply. His words don’t ring as true as they used to, mostly because he spends all of his waking hours working,
sacrificing us for his job.
“Thank you,” I finally say, smiling.
“Open it,” he urges.
I push aside the tissue paper in the gift bag, finding an envelope and a rectangular velvet box. I move to open the envelope
first but his anticipation gets the better of him and he interjects, “That’s a gift card for a weekend upstate at a juicing
retreat. A guy at the office sent his wife up and she loved it. They have goat yoga, El, doesn’t that sound fun? You’re such
an animal lover.”
“Yeah . . .” I suppress a frown as I think about goats and downward dogs. I open the velvet box and my heart leaps when I
find a pearl and diamond necklace with a dainty pave-encrusted cross. “Wow, this is stunning.”
“I thought you’d love it.” He stands and comes around the table, moving my hair to the side and fastening the necklace around
my neck. “There—picture perfect.” He dots a kiss on the top of my head. “I love you, El. My world would crumble if you weren’t
in it.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” I quip, my heart heavy. I can’t put my finger on it, but something about his words doesn’t
feel quite right. They’re too manufactured, too perfect, too . . . something, and I can’t help the sense of unease that bubbles through my system.
My father always told me if something feels too good, that’s because it is.
I suddenly find myself waiting for the other shoe to drop.