Chapter 3
Three
What the hell was that?
I drop his hand, pulling mine to my chest and stumble into a chair. Mason and Tom join, easing into seats, and chatter fills the stark air.
“Ives, what’s up with the clothes? Are you heading to the boardroom?” Jules enters interrogation mode.
“At some point, I had to get serious and think about the future.” Ivy sits a little taller.
Her smile falters as she looks to James for backup, but he sits stiffly not listening. His eyes are cast toward the mountains. That grin is tucked away behind a pensive line set to his mouth, as if he were caught off guard by something.
“Hey, how’s photography going?” I ask, jumping to save her from Jules’s inquisition.
“I don’t get out to shoot much anymore, with work and everything.” She smooths down nonexistent flyaways. “It’s a hobby. Growing up and everything.”
“You’re incredible, though. We could go hiking while you’re here.”
“I didn’t bring my camera with me.” Ivy’s sparkle from a minute ago is replaced with a fake smile. The same kind of plastered-on look I use when someone asks about my marriage.
Mason rests one ankle across the other knee and jumps in to say, “I think it’s admirable you’re focused on your career, Ivy. Marketing’s tough. You need every edge if you want to move up.”
“Absolutely,” Tom agrees, reaching over to grab Jules’s hand. “But balance is important. Jules kicks ass at work and still makes time for what she loves. You’ll never see her give up her reading time.”
Jules leans in to whisper something in his ear. It’s hard to make Tom blush, but his toffee-colored skin flushes a burgundy red. He leans back and winks at his wife. Even after fifteen years together, and two kids, they flirt with the giddy ease of first love.
“Well,” Mason continues his lecture, ignoring Jules and Tom, “I think you need to get your master’s. It’s a shame you didn’t do it directly after undergrad. It gets harder each year to go back.”
“I’m looking into it, Mase. I’ve heard your thoughts on it. Extensively. And I’ve stopped focusing on my photography as you suggested to give more to work.” Ivy sighs and looks over at James again. He’s at least looking back at her this time, and she leans against his shoulder.
He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t reach out to touch her. Rather, his eyes cut to mine, but when he sees me watching, his gaze shoots to the mountains.
“Ivy, life is more than a series of responsibilities. You can have fun, have hobbies, and still keep those things that make you smile. Don’t give up things you love,” I say, offering a gentle smile.
While I might not have hope to cling to, she’s too young for this kind of resignation or listening to her brother’s misguided advice.
Mason works fourteen-hour days and fills most evenings with networking events.
Beyond watching sports, not much else holds his attention.
Not exactly the epitome of work-life balance.
“Oh yes, Syd can tell you all about her fun hobbies. Reading. Running. Ice-skating. All sorts of thrills.” Mason sips his whiskey, a shit-eating grin on his face. So pleased with how clever he is.
“And what do you do for fun, Mason?” a calm, deep voice asks.
Firelight flickers as James’s voice comes out of nowhere. His face is pensive and serious as he studies Mason, clearly catching the sarcasm in my husband’s words, and from the look in his eyes, he isn’t impressed.
“You know,” Mason replies, trying to keep it light, “guy stuff. Watching sports. Going out.” He lifts a hand toward James for a high five.
James doesn’t move.
Mason’s smile fades, saving face by running his hand through his hair, playing off the dismissal. His eyes narrow to a glare that gives him away.
When I look at James, he doesn’t look away. He returns my stare and gives the slightest nod. This time I’m the one who breaks, searching the mountainside.
“As much fun as this has been,” Jules says, “who’s up for a game? Monopoly?”
I’m quick to rise, eager to escape. “I’m always game to win.”
Ivy bows out, claiming she wants to catch up with her mom. Mason, unsurprisingly, mumbles something about a basketball game and disappears. But James joins, jumping in next to me as we dig through the cabinet for the game.
“Prepare yourself,” I say. “These two don’t play Monopoly. They go to war.”
Something sly curls on his lips. “I can handle some competition. Don’t underestimate me. I play to win.”
Oh fuck. That smirk. That’s going to be a problem.
Mason and Ivy cross my mind, but I shove it aside. This is nothing. Harmless. A crush.
“Tom, get your hands off the money. I’m the banker,” Jules says, slapping his hand away and whipping my attention back to the game board.
“Okay, because there are children present,” Tom coughs dramatically and throws Jules a look. “We’re going to draw game pieces from the bag. That way it’s fair and no one fights over the coveted car.” He holds out the little velvet pouch. “James, you pick first.”
James dips in, his expression comically serious until he pulls out the car and grins, a dimple flashing crooked and unfair. “Hope you’re ready to get your asses handed to you. I’m the king of Monopoly.”
“I knew I liked you.” Jules winks and picks her piece. “But don’t you dare touch Park Place. It’s mine.”
The game escalates quickly. Within the hour, Tom’s hoarding railroads, Jules has a death grip on Boardwalk and Park Place, while James and I methodically sweep up mid-tier properties. I haven’t had this much fun in… a long time.
I need to roll a... “Six! Hell yes. Come here, baby, you are mine. Get ready to weep, everyone.”
“You seem pretty confident, Sydney,” James murmurs as he picks up the dice and passes them to Jules. “I play the long game, so you might want to settle in and get comfortable because I can go all night.”
Jules chokes on her wine. “You did not say that.”
Laughter erupts around the table. James smiles shyly, and my cheeks flush the color of my wine—Cabernet red—as I desperately try to shove the idea of “all night long” out of my head.
Jules surveys the board, glances up with a grin that promises trouble. “With that icebreaker, I think it’s time to up the ante. Let James get to know us better.”
“Please tell me you’re not dragging out those damn questions.” Tom groans theatrically, watching Jules take her turn and then he follows.
“Absolutely. If James is meeting the family, he needs the full Jules experience.”
“That usually happens through normal conversation,” Tom teases, shaking his head with a smile that’s fully besotted.
“What questions?” James asks, picking up the dice and rolling.
“I'm so glad you asked,” Jules says, sticking her tongue out at Tom.
“Thirty-six questions designed by a psychologist to build intimacy. The New York Times wrote about it, claiming some people believe it helps you fall in love.” She eyes James with mock severity.
“That's not my objective, but they're great for getting to know people.”
“Or… we could stick to Monopoly?” I offer, raising my brows.
“Where’s the fun in that? Here’s my pitch: every time someone lands on a property owned by another player, we answer a question.”
“I’m game,” James says with a boyish smile. “But I’m not up first. Sydney, it’s your turn.”
“Fine. I’ll play,” I mutter and roll the dice. Of course, I land on Jules’s North Carolina Avenue. “Give me your worst.”
Jules clears her throat and pulls up her phone. “Okay, Syd. Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?”
“Off the top of my head, I would say Queen Elizabeth.”
“Why her?” James asks.
I’m caught off guard by the question. He’s asking for more information. Asking why.
“Think about everything she’s lived through. Almost a century of incredible global change. Wars, world leaders, technological advances, not to mention the royal scandals. I think she’d have a fascinating, unfiltered view of the world.”
James nods. “Strong pick. I’d go with Anthony Hopkins.”
“Because of Hannibal Lecter? That’s one of my favorite movies.”
“Exactly. How do you even become that?”
“God,” Jules groans. “Why can’t people enjoy emotionally healthy characters? Syd is a glutton for morally gray men.”
She winks, rolls, and lands safely. Tom does the same. James lands on Tom’s railroad.
“Alright. Lay it on me,” he says with a laugh, leaning back and bracing for impact.
Tom pulls on his reading glasses, taking a minute to inspect the list. “I’m going rogue and skipping ahead. What would constitute a perfect day for you?”
Before James can answer, Ivy breezes in and claims the spot beside him. “What are you guys up to?”
“Monopoly,” Jules replies. “And some bonding questions. We asked James to describe his perfect day.”
“Oh, mine’s easy,” Ivy chimes in without missing a beat. “Brunch at Café Luna, shopping on Newbury Street, and ending with wine on a rooftop bar overlooking the Harbor.”
I glance at James, waiting, something in me wants to know whether his answer will be as superficial as Ivy's. He sits back, expression unreadable, then swallows hard and runs a hand through his hair.
“MOOOOOM!” one of the twins shouts from upstairs.
“Ugh, kids. Good night, y’all,” Jules rises, half-waving her apologies.
Tom follows, saying, “I’m coming too, babe.” He leans down to whisper something that makes her swat his hand with a laugh.
Ivy settles deeper against James. That flicker of heat in my chest? It twists.
“Well,” I stand abruptly. “I guess that’s my cue for bed. Good night.”
And I leave without helping clean up the game or looking back. Twenty minutes later, when Mason comes out of the bathroom and slides into bed, his hands find my waist. The physical has never been our problem.
“Mase, hold on. I want us to do this question thing Jules shared. It’s supposed to help couples connect.”
“Syd,” he pulls me closer, “I know how we can connect.”
“Please.”
“I’m tired. I thought we could fool around and go to sleep. We’re married. That questionnaire is ridiculous.”
“Okay, fine.” I throw back the covers. “I’m not in the mood for sex. I’ll go read in the sunroom if you’re going to sleep.”
Outside in the hall, I lean against the wall, clutching my book to my chest. The worst part isn’t Mason’s disinterest in the questions.
It’s how unsurprised I am. Intimacy has always been reserved for below the waist rather than sharing what truly matters.
This has been our life for the past decade.
I know better than to even open that door. Let hope build that he’d want to talk. Hope is a luxury I stopped affording myself long ago. No expectations, no heartbreak.
Instead of the sunroom, I head downstairs. The house is still, quiet enough that my footsteps sound louder than they are. Moonlight streaks through in long, silvery lines.
From the kitchen, a golden light spills out. Someone else is there.