Chapter 5
Now
There’s nothing quite as humbling as inviting your ex to meet you for coffee so you can ask (beg) for a favor. Move over, braces and blue eye shadow phase, we have a new personal low.
My knees jostle under the table as I weigh the wisdom of getting another coffee. Do I want to maintain this jitter, or go for a full-blown panic attack? Though it’s hard to tell if the jitters are from the two iced coffees I’ve already had, or because I’m nervous to see Liam.
Every time the door to the coffee shop opens, my heart gives a little spasm.
Is that him?
Nope. Just another lady in yoga pants.
I sigh and sit back in my seat as the whiz of the espresso machine cuts through the chorus of the third Sabrina Carpenter song they’ve played in the last thirty minutes.
This place used to be our thing. Sunday mornings spent in search of caffeine and greasy breakfast sandwiches after drinking too much the night before, and rainy afternoons when we just needed a reason to get out of the house.
A second living room, we used to call it.
But now, not only have I lost the person I’d planned to spend forever with, even my local coffee shop has lost its appeal.
I check our text thread to see if he’s sent an ETA, but all that’s there are our last messages from three days ago.
Me: Hey, can we meet? I need to talk to you about something.
Liam: Sure.
Me: How about 4 p.m. on Saturday at the coffee shop by the house?
Liam: Sure.
Me: Great! See you then!!!!
I wince at my overzealous use of punctuation.
Liam probably thinks I’m nuts. And maybe I am, but after my conversation with Abby, I couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d suggested.
As much as I hate having to ask Liam for anything, she’s right.
This could benefit both of us, and it’s at least worth a conversation.
I take another sip of my mostly ice iced coffee and return to watching the door with almost feverish anticipation.
After getting desperate enough to check both Yahoo Answers and Quora to see if someone in 2005 also wasn’t sure what to wear to see their estranged husband for the first time in months, I’d landed on the only pair of jeans that still fit me and an oversized cable-knit sweater that hopefully reads comfy, chill, and totally not freaking out.
The last time I saw him—the night of the nightmare—I’d been a mess, so today I want to at least look like I’ve been moisturizing and drinking celery juice. And not like I’ve been chugging wine straight from the bottle while the stack of dirty dishes in the sink climbs to mountainous heights.
But now, as I sit here, tapping my foot impatiently, eyes pinned to the door, I’m feeling increasingly silly for bothering with my appearance when it seems unlikely that he’s even going to show.
I check the time. He’s now twenty minutes late. Liam’s not the vindictive type, so it’s much more likely that he simply forgot, which hurts much, much worse.
I’m about to give up and call it a day, when the little bell over the door jingles and I look up just in time to see Liam pushing three fingers through rain-damp hair.
I’m not exactly sure what I was expecting. Maybe bags under the eyes or wrinkled clothes or a distinct air of depression. At the very least some kind of indicator that Liam’s not doing well. Certainly not…well, this.
Liam’s dirty blond hair is a tad longer than normal, and he’s wearing expensive-cut jeans and a tight white T-shirt that’s practically straining to break free from his chest. He’s also grown a beard, which I imagine is supposed to be the male equivalent of breakup bangs, but instead of looking like a mistake that will take six to nine months to grow out, it looks painfully sexy. And it’s really pissing me off.
How many times had I asked him to grow a beard? How many times had I gone full Regina George and brushed his hair out of his eyes, telling him he looked sexy when he didn’t shave for a few days? But now, when we’re broken up, is the time he decides to try facial hair?
Annoyance bubbles inside me like a chemistry experiment gone wrong. But this isn’t the time to be annoyed with him, I remind myself. I have to play nice.
I give a little wave to draw his attention. His eyes land on me, and he gives a curt nod of recognition.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says, sliding into the seat opposite me. “I just finished a twenty-four-hour shift at the hospital.”
“Oh, no worries.” It is most certainly yes worries, but I don’t want to get us off on the wrong foot. “I got your favorite, caramel macchiato with extra whip.” I gesture to the whip cream monstrosity in front of him, now mostly melted.
He barely looks at it before saying, “I’ve been cutting out sugar.”
“Oh.” My eyes dart toward the chalkboard menu behind the register. “Do you want something else? I can—”
“It’s fine.” He waves the suggestion away. “I can’t stay long anyways.”
“Do you have plans tonight? Another party at Kevin’s?” I can’t help but ask.
His gaze narrows as though he’s trying to determine which question I’m really trying to ask before finally saying, “I’ve got lab reports to go over before tomorrow morning.”
He checks the time—like he’s already eager to leave—and the movement draws my attention to his left hand. His noticeably bare left hand.
The axis under my feet shifts as a series of questions I’m not brave enough to ask surface.
Where is the ring now? A sock drawer? Landfill? The bottom of the ocean next to Titanic?
When did he take it off?
I search his expression as though the answers might be hidden somewhere behind his new, sexy beard, but his face remains staunchly impassive.
I clear my throat, right hand instinctively flying to my left, covering the spot where my own wedding ring still sits. “Well, uh, thanks for meeting me,” I tell him. “You look good.”
“Thanks.”
I notice he doesn’t say it back, which irritates me, but I’m trying to take the high road, so I say, “I’m glad you’re doing well.”
Liam crosses his arms over his noticeably firm chest. “Why did you want to meet, Roslyn?”
All righty, then. Just getting to it, I see.
I take a far too long sip of my now-coffee-flavored-water, trying to buy myself a few seconds more, but his eyes narrow. He can tell I’m stalling.
“Well…”
You can do this. Just spit it out.
“You know how the family vacation is next week?” I begin tentatively.
He lifts one skeptical eyebrow. “Yes.”
“And how neither of us is exactly thrilled to tell my family about…” I look over my shoulder, paranoid someone might be listening. “The divorce?”
Liam just blinks at me, and I can tell he’s losing patience. Better get on with it.
“What if…” I pause, swallowing. “We didn’t tell my family we’re getting divorced.”
His brows draw together. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” I release a heavy sigh, searching for the right words. “What if we pretended to, you know, still be together. Just for the trip.”
As soon as I say it, I hear how ridiculous it sounds. And so does Liam.
“You’re joking, right?”
“I get that this is…unconventional, but—”
“ ‘Unconventional’?” he repeats. “You can’t be serious, Roslyn. You’re the one who asked for the divorce, and now you want to lie to your family?”
“We’ve already been lying,” I remind him. “Besides, this would allow us to wait until there’s a better time to tell them.”
“There’s no good time to tell them we’re ending our marriage.”
“I know, but…”
I think back to my conversation with Abby, and what she’d said about his relationship with my family.
“Do you really want to disappoint my grandparents by not officiating their vow renewal ceremony?” I ask. “Grammy will be heartbroken.”
Liam’s jaw twitches, and I can tell that strikes a chord with him.
“Besides,” I continue, my voice picking up steam, “this is already going to be a hard trip for everyone since…” I swallow hard, forcing myself to say it. “Since the accident. And while there might not be a good time to tell them, the first family trip without my mom isn’t the right time.”
Liam wets his lips but doesn’t say anything, and the longer the silence lasts, the more my heart rate ramps up.
I knew I shouldn’t have listened to Abby.
I shouldn’t even be here right now. I should start working on my epitaph.
Here Lies Roslyn, She Died Doing What She Was Best at: Disappointing Her Family.
Or maybe I should just move to Antarctica.
Somewhere without Wi-Fi or postal service. Maybe—
“Fine,” he says.
My eyes widen. “What?”
“I said fine. I’ll do it.”
Hope burns hot against my chest. “Really?”
He tenses and I hold my breath, waiting for him to reconsider, but he nods and relief balloons inside me.
“Ohmygod! Thank you!”
For a brief moment I think about flinging myself across the table and into his arms for a hug, but that would be weird, right? So I clear my throat, regaining control over my facial features before I ask, “What do you want?”
His brows draw together. “What do I want?”
“In return,” I clarify. “Majority equity of the house? The stainless steel pans from Williams Sonoma? I know a big favor like this doesn’t come cheap,” I say with a knowing look.
Twin divots form on either side of his mouth. “I don’t want anything, Roslyn.”
“Are you sure, because—”
“I don’t want anything,” he says again, his voice pulling low. “Grammy and Gramps have done a lot for me. I should be there. Besides, I already got approved for the time off, and I’ve always wanted to go to Hawaii.”
I snort. “You don’t know how to take a vacation. You’ll probably spend the whole time on your computer, as usual,” I say, thinking back to past family vacations spent huddled over a laptop, dealing with an ever-present work crisis.
His mouth tenses. “But maybe that’s for the best this time,” he offers. “Spend as little time together as possible, right?”
I nod in agreement, but my throat feels tight.