Chapter Twenty-Five
There he is.
My stomach sinks like I’m falling from a great height.
Logan.
An icy grip seizes my insides.
Logan. Breaker of my heart and slayer of my confidence.
The cause of sleepless nights and buckets full of tears.
The cause of my insecurity. The cause of my low self-esteem.
I picture that younger me, sauntering past those white college gates in Inchicore, still wearing my Red Riding Hood cape.
And him, leg bent up against the gate, calling over to me in his brown leather jacket and hip-hugging jeans.
My legs turn to jelly and my mouth goes as dry as chipboard. My pulse rockets. I look away quickly, turn sideways. I can’t see a woman beside him. I try to remember to breathe. I try to remember that Donal is by my side. I look around.
‘Table!’ I say over my shoulder to Donal, pointing to it.
And we squeeze through the curling bar queue towards a tall, round, vacant table in the reserved corner.
I glance back. Logan hasn’t clocked me. He is deep in conversation with Gareth, his dad.
I chance another glance as I reach the table, and he’s now holding court with Gareth and another man.
He hasn’t changed. He has the same tousled blond hair, thick and healthy, and a deep tan.
He’s wearing a light-blue dress shirt with the top buttons wide open, and black jeans, holding a glass filled with red wine, and even from his profile, I see that cheeky smirk.
It’s like déjà vu.
‘Any sign?’ Donal folds himself onto the chair beside me.
‘He’s at the bar.’
‘I meant of Mia.’ He looks at me with what I think are sympathetic eyes, then casts them around the busy bar.
Embarrassed, I do the same. ‘Let me see.’ I can see the gold-lettered individual helium balloons Mia told me she’d bought, which spell out DIVORCEE. ‘Can’t spot her.’ I shove my hands under the table so he can’t see that they are shaking.
‘I’m really looking forward to meeting her.
You can tell a lot about a person by their friends, don’t you think?
Although, my pal Bernard is “an acquired taste”, as my sister puts it, along with “his ass must get jealous at the amount of shit that comes out of his mouth”, but he makes me laugh.
He’s a decent skin is Bernard. He’d give you his last penny. ’
I know Donal is trying to distract me to keep me sane.
‘Let’s just grab a drink and we’ll go and find her,’ he says, but I’m barely listening.
Like a meerkat, I’m up on my wedges, searching for a server working this reserved area.
I don’t want to have to go to the bar. Yet.
Because Logan is still right by it. I want to watch him for a while.
I need to settle. I want to share the same space with him, but hidden, for a while before we speak.
I feel acutely alive, but somehow absolutely disgusted with myself at the same time. What is going on?
‘Donal, why do I feel . . .?’ I turn to him.
‘Grace! Hello, my wee darling! It’s a long time no see.’ Trish, Logan and Mia’s mother, in a beautiful pink and purple floaty dress, steps in, champagne flute in hand.
‘Trish. Hi,’ I say quickly and we have a warm hug. ‘How are you?’ My heart’s pumping like I’ve just done a 20k. It’s like I’m having an out-of-body experience just knowing we are in the same room. My dress feels too tight.
‘All good, dear. I’m always saying to Mia, bring Grace around for Sunday dinner.’ Trish pinches my cheek gently, wobbling my skin in between her finger and thumb, makes a sad face. ‘We miss you, dear.’ Her eyes are warm and I know she means well. Logan’s parents were always very affectionate to me.
‘I miss your cooking, Trish,’ I say truthfully.
I can see nostalgia creep across her face. ‘I still do my prime-rib roast beef and goose-fat potatoes with all the trimmings every Sunday. I remember how much you loved my sage-and-onion stuffing, dear. You’re always welcome anytime.’
‘Oh, Trish, this is Donal.’ I point to Donal, who stands up, the table wobbling as his knees catch it underneath. He towers over Trish. Unable to help myself, I glance in Logan’s direction again, and now I see he’s staring over at me.
Our eyes meet for a split second, but enough for me to see his light up. His shoulders arch. I shift my eyeline rapidly.
‘It’s really nice to meet you, Trish,’ I hear Donal saying as I whip my head back.
‘A divorce party,’ she says. ‘Have you ever heard the like? Now, where on earth is this cake?’ She’s looking at the illuminated clock on the phone in her other hand.
I rummage in my silver bag because, from the corner of my eye, I see Logan is making his way across the floor.
Towards me.
I have heart palpitations.
My stomach is beyond queasy. It’s rolling like aeroplane turbulence.
KEEP CALM.
KEEP CALM.
KEEP CALM.
I perform a silent rallying mantra in my brain. I’m literally coaxing saliva back into my desert-like mouth. He’s only a few steps away.
I drag my phone out, stare at it as though I just missed a call or something. I look up and am relieved to see someone has stopped Logan to chat.
‘Okay?’ Donal puts his hand on my arm and I shake it free without thinking. My nerves are all over the place.
‘I-I-I just need to make a quick work call,’ I lie, and take a step back. ‘I’ve only one bar of service, so I’ll go outside.’ I eyeball Donal and take another step away.
Logan is on the move again, gaining ground.
‘You tell Mia to hurry up with that cake.’ Trish throws her eyes.
‘As soon as she’s ready, can we do the hip-hip-hoorays, dear?
I know Uncle Tom’s hip is acting up and he’s ready for home soon, we drove him here, we’ve to drop him all the way back to Malahide.
’ She sips her champagne, her eyes roving the room.
‘Yeah, I’ll sort that.’ I look up to see Logan’s proximity now, twist my head, stare at Donal.
‘It’s okay,’ he tells me.
‘I’m just gonna . . .’ I point to the smoking-area doors, wave the phone in my hand.
‘Go ahead. What can I get you to drink?’ Donal nods.
‘Red wine, please. Just grab one from the tray on the bar? It’ll be good stuff, trust me,’ I tell him. I dare not look up to see where Logan is now as I dart for the door to the smoking area.
Smokers sway and chat happily, elated in their shared nicotine passion, and I move past them.
It’s been ten years since I last smoked a cigarette, but right now I’d fight Katie Taylor for a long, soothing drag of that slim white stick.
The soft night air blows my hair momentarily and I realise my neck is sweating. I pat it. Then I hear it.
‘Gracie?’
And there he is.
The moment I’ve been waiting for.
The moment I’ve been dreaming of for over a year and a half.
Once again, we’re face-to-face.
I’m slightly taller than him in my wedges, just as I’d planned.
‘Hi, Logan.’ I surprise myself sounding utterly breezy and calm, when I’m anything but. I feel like I can’t breathe. Ironically Sabrina Carpenter’s ‘Please, Please, Please’ echoes through the outdoor speakers behind us from Mia’s meticulously planned playlist.
‘Sis said you were coming.’ Logan holds my gaze, his smirk curling at the sides of his mouth, the cheeky blue eyes dancing at this awkward scenario. His blue shirt is undone by two buttons too many, revealing his tanned, hairless chest.
‘I wouldn’t miss it. She deserves to be happy. Ha!’ But I laugh a little too manically. I’m clenching and unclenching my fingers around my phone and he notices.
‘Can I talk you for a second, Gracie?’ Logan says. It’s so disconcerting hearing his voice say my name like that again. No one has called me Gracie since we broke up.
‘Sure . . .’ I stop fidgeting. My head’s racing and I need to pull myself together. Fast.
‘You look sensational.’ Mission accomplished, I think, as Logan steps nearer to me, the smirk alive and kicking as he runs his hands through his hair, his eyes pouring into my soul. And he smells so familiar. I can hardly believe he’s standing beside me.
‘Oh, gosh. Thank you. I was out to dinner before here. Can’t wait to toast Mia’s freedom.’ I fumble the phone and drop it, but Logan’s fast, he moves and catches it with one hand.
‘Thank you.’ I try to take it back and our fingers brush off one another, Logan holding my hand for well over a moment too long.
But shockingly, nothing happens. The bolt of chemistry I’d expected from our first physical touch after all this time .
. . it’s not there. I pull my hand away.
I hold it out, look down at it expecting something.
I don’t know what. It’s like any frisson of attraction has vanished.
Suddenly, I realise I have no respect for myself.
I hate the fact that I’m all dressed up for him.
I hate the fact I wanted him back. I’m furious that he left me on our wedding day.
And just like that I know now that I can never forgive him for leaving me in that way.
It’s so shocking my words won’t form. My head is spinning. My breath is short.
He’s not the man I thought he was.
He’s not the man I want anymore.