Chapter 17 Tom
Tom
Tom sat in his car outside Muse Magazine, watching the glass facade for any sign of Lauren. He should probably be at his own job, but he couldn’t concentrate on anything but his wife right now.
A delivery van pulled up, and Tom straightened in his seat. The guy who got out was carrying a bouquet—Tom's roses.
Any minute now, she'd call. Or text. Thank him for the flowers, maybe suggest they meet for coffee to talk things through.
Tom adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. How long did it take to get to her office?
The delivery guy emerged from the building, hands empty, mission accomplished. Tom watched him drive away, already picturing Lauren's face when she'd seen the arrangement.
Why wasn’t she calling him?
Tom pulled up Lauren's number, thumb hovering over the call button. He'd give her a few more minutes. Let her process the gesture. Maybe she was showing them off to her colleagues first, taking a picture to send to him.
Tom was still holding his phone when the building’s glass doors swung open, and a group of women emerged onto the sidewalk. His breath caught.
Lauren.
She was in the center of the group, surrounded by the women—each one model-tall and editorial-perfect. But Tom's eyes were only on his wife.
God, she was beautiful. Even from this distance, even bundled in her old wool coat, she took his breath away. The way she moved, the tilt of her head as she listened to something one of the women was saying—everything about her was achingly precious.
One of them had an arm around her shoulders, another was gesturing emphatically as she spoke. They were all clustered around Lauren like a protective barrier. He watched as she smiled.
Tom's chest tightened with jealousy so sharp it was almost painful. He wanted to be the one with his arm around her shoulders, offering comfort and support. He wanted to be close enough to smell her perfume, to brush that strand of hair away from her face. He wanted to be the one making her smile.
But even through the jealousy, relief flooded through him. Someone was taking care of her. These women—with their sharp hairstyles and designer coats—were surrounding his wife with a kind of fierce female solidarity. If he couldn't be the one comforting her right now, at least she wasn't alone.
The group moved down the sidewalk.
Watching his wife walk away from him made Tom's heart ache with longing and confusion.
Did she like the bouquet? Why hadn’t she texted him?
Tom watched until they disappeared around the corner, then sat in his car for a long moment, trying to process what he'd just witnessed.
Lauren, surrounded by women who clearly adored her.
Lauren, without his flowers.
Lauren who didn’t need him.
Tom’s hands were tight on the wheel as he merged onto the nearly empty road. Christmas displays were still strung up, icicles, reindeer, inflatable Santas slumped over in the cold. Lauren would have cooed at every single one of them.
His mother’s name flashed across the center console.
Tom sighed and tapped the steering wheel button.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Tom,” Judith said briskly, “I’m finalizing the menu for New Year’s Eve, and I need your confirmation for the head count.”
Of course. The party.
The annual minimalist, elegant gathering where everyone sipped champagne and pretended to like each other.
Tom shifted in his seat. “I… don’t think we’ll make it.”
A pause. “What does that mean?” Judith asked, though not with concern. With irritation.
Tom exhaled slowly, watching the empty lanes stretch ahead.
A flicker of something twisted in his chest—anger or shame or maybe both. He didn't want to say it. Didn't want to hear the words spoken out loud.
He gripped the wheel tighter, bracing himself.
“Lauren left me,” he said.
He waited for shock. Or sympathy.
Instead: “Well, we won’t expect her then,” Judith said easily. “But that’s no reason for you to miss the party.”
He blinked hard at the road. A string of multicolored lights twinkled at the edge of his vision.
“Did you hear me? Lauren has left me.”
Judith’s voice softened. “Tom—darling—don’t let her dramatics ruin the holiday for us. Come to the party. Everyone’s expecting you.”
His wife had left him. And his mother was concerned about, what? Networking?
He hated it. He didn’t want to be talking about holiday parties right now. He didn’t want to hear his mother’s unconcerned tone.
But the path of least resistance had always been easier with his parents. Agreeing now meant he could end this call.
And right now, he needed this conversation to be over. He could still hear the echo of his own voice announcing the failure of his marriage.
“I’ll be there,” he said, voice tight.
“Excellent.” Judith's tone brightened immediately. “Talk to you later, darling.”
She didn’t care. Not about his world imploding. Not about Lauren.
The turnoff to the office was coming up.
His father’s company. The family job that gave him a good paycheck. The salary that meant he could take care of his wife.
Understated projects, “tasteful” palettes, buildings designed to look like every other new build in the county. Quiet, safe work that had long since stopped feeling like anything at all.
He signaled without even thinking.