Chapter Twenty
Before
When the children were in elementary school, Ali’s old JMU friend group managed to all be in the Washington area at the same time, so they arranged a mini reunion at a downtown bar.
My first inclination was to skip it. Old college friends form an impenetrable clique, having shared intimate formative experiences and frames of reference that outsiders can never truly understand. But Lizzie Martins was part of that friend group. If Ali’s ex was going to be there, then so was I.
I paid a lot of attention to my appearance that night. I’d put on a few pounds from my pregnancies, but when I made an effort, I received appreciative looks from men. I was still young, barely thirty, and, if our active sex life was any indication, Ali seemed to find me as attractive as ever.
We dropped the kids for a sleepover at my parents’ house before driving downtown. As soon as we walked into the bar, I automatically looked around for Lizzie Martins. I didn’t spot her right away, but Nasser was there, and he waved at us before refocusing on a dark-haired girl he was talking to.
“Hey, Abadi, you made it.” Ben Rodriguez came over to greet us.
Ben had shared a dorm with Ali and Nasser during their freshman year at JMU.
I first met him during our wedding weekend and remembered him as an outrageous but harmless flirt.
I’d seen very little of him, or any of Ali’s college friends, since our wedding.
Ali shook his hand. “Ben, you remember my wife, Amira.”
“Sure, how are you?” Ben gave me an appreciative once-over. Quick and not leering, but I caught it. And so, apparently, did Ali.
“Watch it,” he said genially. “I can still kick your ass.”
“Whoa.” Ben put up his hands like a surrendering prisoner of war. “Still jealous after, what is it? Ten years of marriage?”
“Eight and a half,” I corrected. “It’s good to see you again, Ben.”
“You too. I see you are as fine as ever. Poor Lizzie never had a chance once Ali hooked up with you.”
“Is Lizzie here?” The dark-haired girl who’d been with Nasser joined us.
“Hi, Sara.” Ali greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. I remembered hearing that Sara Carr and Lizzie were close friends.
“Hell, no, Lizzie’s not here,” Ben told Sara. “After Ali dumped her, she pretty much vanished. Abadi broke her heart.”
Sara shot me a sympathetic look. “Don’t pay any attention to Ben. He’s an asshole most of the time.”
“Do you keep in touch with Lizzie?” Ben asked Sara.
“From time to time,” she said. “Not that often.”
I watched Ali’s face. To my satisfaction, Ali barely reacted at the mention of his ex.
I relaxed once I realized Lizzie wasn’t at the gathering nor likely to show up later.
I wanted to have a good time. Ali and I didn’t get many nights out together now that we had kids.
Especially not downtown. We got some drinks and chatted with Ali’s friends.
Someone ordered appetizers, and there was lots of chatter, catching up, and good-natured ribbing.
At some point, we all ended up dancing to the music.
Ali and I took a break from the dance floor and sat at the bar. I was hot and thirsty and eagerly drank the cold water the bartender poured.
Nasser was dancing with Sara, his hands on her hips, which she moved in a sensual sway. “Did they hook up in college?” I asked.
Ali drank from his beer. “No idea.”
“Liar,” I said skeptically. “How many girls in your friend group has he slept with?”
Ali grinned. “No comment.” But the way he said it made me think the true answer was, “All of them.”
I rolled my eyes. “Your cousin really leaves no stone unturned.”
“He’s single. He likes to have a good time. The women are willing. He’s not hurting anyone.”
“I wonder if the women agree.” Nasser was handsome and a successful lawyer. Surely some of those women wanted more than a fling.
One of the guys from the dance floor approached us. I didn’t remember meeting him at the wedding. Ali introduced us.
“Amira, this is Ian Maxwell. He shared an apartment with me and Nasser during our senior year of college.”
“Ian.” We shook hands. “Nice to meet you.”
“So, you’re the girl who stole Ali away from us?” he said laughingly.
“I did?”
“Once our boy got married, we never saw him again.”
“Bull,” Ali interjected. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Once in ten years?” Ian said. “Is that the best we can expect?”
“With work and the kids, it’s not always easy to get away.”
“Do you hear much from Lizzie?” Ian asked.
“Nope.” Ali spoke in a decisive tone that warned against any follow-up questions. Ian got the hint, and he and Ali chatted for a little while before Ian wandered away.
“Does the group get together a lot?” I asked Ali once we were alone.
He shrugged. “Once or twice a year.”
“Really? How come they don’t invite you?”
“They do. I usually skip it.”
“Why? I thought you enjoy getting together with your college buddies.”
“Out of respect for you. There’s no reason to risk running into Lizzie. Seeing the old college gang is not worth upsetting you.”
I blinked. “You’ve skipped seeing your friends on my account?”
He shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” I protested, but pleasure rushed through me.
“I’m all about self-preservation,” he joked.
I should have felt a little guilty that my jealousy prompted Ali to distance himself from his old friends. Instead, I was thrilled. And turned on.
“I do think you deserve a nice reward for your loyalty and consideration,” I said very suggestively.
He looked surprised. And interested. “What do you have in mind?”
I licked my lips and shot him a meaningful look.
He understood instantly. “Are you being serious right now?”
I leaned forward, putting my lips near his ear, and whispered something about letting him do a certain something during sex that I’d never been up for previously.
I felt the energy shoot through his body. “That’s so effing hot.” Ali never uttered bad words in front of me, although I knew he cussed around other people.
“And there are no kids at home,” I reminded him. “Consider the possibilities.”
“That’s it.” He grabbed my hand, pulling me off the barstool. “Yalla, let’s go. We’re leaving now.”
Laughing, I protested, half stumbling off the stool. “But we haven’t been here that long.”
He made sure I was steady on my feet before practically dragging me toward the door. “Who cares?”
Certainly not me.
“Hey, Abadi,” Rodriguez called out. “Where’re you going?”
Ali didn’t bother to turn around. “Home.”
Several friends groaned. Another said, “We finally get you to come out and you’re already leaving?”
“Yeah.” Ali wasted no time pushing the door open. He motioned for me to go through, ladies first. “We’ve got better things to do tonight.”
“You guys are goals,” someone called after us. “Still hot for each other after all these years!”
Hooting and hollering followed as we spilled onto the busy city sidewalk. Just before the door closed behind us, I caught a fleeting glimpse of Nasser’s pensive face, a moment before he smiled and raised his beer.
Once outside, Ali and I huddled together against the cold, laughing and rubbing up against each other as we went to find our car. Later, at home, I very enthusiastically delivered on my promise.
And I’m pretty sure that Lizzie Martins was the very last thing on his mind.