Chapter 17
Seventeen
You know what’s hard to swallow?
Knowing what it’s like to have someone help you, care for you, see you. Then losing it. Going back to loneliness. Constantly having to take care of yourself with no one to lean on.
It never occurred to me that I wouldn’t be able to slip back into the mask of indifference I’d worn for thirty-eight years. That James had dug his way so deep into my heart, it would be impossible to ignore everything I was missing.
Now I know something better exists. And I can’t pretend I’m fine anymore.
I stare at the cabin, shadows gliding through the windows. Outside, the wind whips off the mountains, rattling the evergreen branches. The midday sun bounces off the snow-dusted peaks, scattering diamonds of light across a washed-out blue sky.
It’s been three hundred and seventy days since I ran from his confessions.
When I left, a small, foolish part of me expected to fall back into life with Mason.
I thought time and distance might mend the widening rift between us.
But as days bled into weeks, weeks into months, the void never changed.
Margaret and Gary flew down regularly to spend weekends with us, and I soaked up Margaret’s presence, yet it never closed the ache in my heart.
And no matter how hard I try, the old numbness I used to rely on for survival won’t surface.
Cold wind lashes my face as Anna buries hers against my chest. Snowflakes kiss my cheeks, melt against my lashes. I let myself feel it all and summon the courage to step inside because I know who will be there.
James.
The man who has haunted every quiet hour of the night. The reason I haven’t slept in weeks, every restless hour leading up to this trip filled with thoughts of him.
This past summer, when the family got together for the Fourth at the cabin, he didn’t come.
A work conflict, supposedly. Ivy, though, glowed.
She couldn’t stop gushing about their romantic vacation to the south of France: beaches, tiny villages, and romantic dinners all painting a picture of a deepening connection.
I walked away when she started giving Jules the sordid details.
Jules watched me closely every time Ivy brought him up, but she never asked more about what happened that day last winter.
No matter how hard I’ve tried to bury the ache, seeing him again feels like standing at the edge of a cliff, waiting for a gust of wind strong enough to finally push me over.
The door swings shut behind me, and my steps falter.
The first person I see is him.
His gaze meets mine, sweeps over me from head to toe.
The air crackles. I bite my lip, waiting for his dimple, for a smile, any sign.
But his mouth hardens, the corners turn down.
He gives a slight shake of his head and turns away.
He dismisses me as if I’m nothing and places his hand at the small of Ivy’s back.
And Ivy—she’s glowing. Her fingers flutter as she raises her hand. A sparkle on her finger catches the light.
A goddamn diamond ring.
He fucking proposed.
My lungs forget how to function. My brain stutters, stunned by the realization, even as the room erupts around me. Ivy’s delighted laugh rings out as she extends her hand for everyone to admire.
A small, involuntary sound escapes me as I try to suck in air.
Everyone turns. The laughter stops. All eyes land on me.
“Sydney? Are you alright?” Margaret’s gentle voice breaks through my haze.
I force a smile onto my face, praying it appears genuine. “Of course, something caught in my throat. Congratulations. That’s… that’s wonderful news.”
Even as I say it, a hollowness spreads beneath my ribs where something vital used to be.
I glance at James, helplessly drawn to him like a moth too dumb to know better. Our eyes meet for the briefest of seconds. While his face remains carefully composed, indifferent even, his eyes tell another story. Sadness flashes before he looks away, out the windows.
But maybe it’s only my desperation reflected at me.
Jules wraps an arm around my back and leans her head on my shoulder. Her solid strength keeps me upright. I stand there staring at him, at Ivy, until my eyes sting with tears.
“I need to change Anna.”
Once safely upstairs, hidden in the quiet sanctuary of our room, I hold Anna close, pressing my lips against her soft curls. I flip the lock on the door, sealing myself away from the world and Mason.
Great, gasping sobs shudder through me, filling the room, filtering out to the bright sky. Anna looks up, her small hand brushing my cheek.
“It’s okay. I’m okay, Bug.”
Every day since I made the choice I did last year, I’ve wondered if it was the right one.
Every time I swallowed a retort to one of Mason’s sharp comments.
Every time he asked me to put on a pretty dress and play the role of the perfect D.C.
wife. Every time I said staying was what was best for Anna.
Every night I dreamed of something else.
And now, James has made his choice too.
***
I take my time dressing for dinner.
Because now my despair is wrapped in anger—simmering low and sharp, waiting for a target.
And tonight, I know exactly where to aim.
Standing before the mirror, I smooth my hands over the short black skirt hugging my hips and the oversized sweater that drapes just so. Knee-high boots complete the look.
The moment my boots hit the stairs, I feel him watching. A pull as strong as gravity. I don't falter or show an ounce of emotion. My chin stays high, smile wide, and eyes crisp as the thick line of eyeliner.
Reaching for Mason, I let my hand trail along his arm, resting it lightly on his leg. If he’s surprised by the sudden intimacy, he doesn’t let it show. His eyes stay on his phone, thumb continuing to scroll.
I smile—soft and practiced—as I greet everyone, deliberately avoiding James, who sits beside Ivy, her hand absentmindedly stroking the back of his neck.
But I feel his attention like a touch, tracking my every move.
When I finally let myself acknowledge him with a curt hello, his eyes drop to his plate, and he shrugs Ivy’s hand off his neck.
My hand drifts higher on Mason’s thigh, pressing a kiss to his cheek. His eyes finally lift from his phone. Leaning in, he asks, “Is that skirt appropriate for dinner?”
I close my eyes, summoning every last reserve I have, and let the performance continue.
Ivy is deep in conversation with Margaret, but her gaze drifts to the ring.
She lifts her hand, caught in its shine.
I know they’re talking about the wedding.
James stares at his plate, his fork pushing food around without actually eating.
Ivy places a hand on his arm, trying to draw him back in. He mumbles a reply I can’t hear.
Whatever it is, he’s not the excited fiancé you’d expect to find, and—horrible as it is—that makes me smile.
“Syd.” Jules watches me, one brow arched. “You’re setting the bar pretty high for casual cabin dinners.”
“Oh, this old thing?”
The words fall out light and playful, part of the character I’ve slipped into tonight: the glowing, unbothered wife, a woman so thoroughly satisfied in her marriage, she couldn’t possibly be coveting her sister-in-law’s fiancé.
“What’s that old saying? Pride goes before the fall?” Jules leans back, eyes narrowing.
A hush falls as the others watch with rapt attention, trying to decode what she means. Heat prickles at the back of my neck, but I hold my smile.
“Actually, Jules, you’re the one who said I didn’t need anyone else to make me feel good.” My smile sharpens. “And I feel so damn good right now.”
She scoffs and whispers something to Tom.
Mason leans in, his voice intimate yet loud enough for the others to hear. “You do look beautiful tonight, Syd. Should we blow off dinner and head upstairs?”
A chair scrapes against the hardwood.
I glance up in time to see James rise abruptly and disappear into the kitchen without a word. Satisfaction twists through me. So. He’s not as indifferent as he pretends.
As dinner winds down, Margaret offers to put Anna to bed, her eyes shining with the kind of tenderness only a grandmother can give. “Let me have some time with this little one. You young people go enjoy yourselves.”
Anna giggles and smooshes her face against Margaret’s neck. Bell comes to check for food.
Gary perks up, pushing back from the table. “Have you guys checked out the new pool table in the basement? Got it delivered last month.”
“Mom, okay if we go up and play our Switches?” Leo glances between his brother and Jules. At breakneck speed, the boys take off, not giving her a chance to reconsider.
That leaves Jules, Tom, Mason, Ivy, James, and me drifting toward the basement.
The space has been transformed. A sleek bar is tucked into the corner, and pendant lights glow over the emerald felt of the new pool table.
A high-top table and stools sit near the bar, inviting and casual.
My mother-in-law’s touch is everywhere. Pillows are tossed artfully over the leather couches, thick blankets folded across chairs, bold abstract art warming the space.
The guys gravitate to the pool table while Jules, Ivy, and I circle the bar. I close my eyes and try to let my simmering rage settle enough to catch up with Jules and keep her from digging beneath my mask.
“What are you reading these days?” I ask.
"I started a new series. It involves a dominatrix, a priest, a book editor, and a retired French spy,” Jules says, winding a strawberry blonde curl around her finger. She twirls it absentmindedly before flashing a sly smile.
“So your standard beach read?”
Jules’s grin widens. “I mean, it’s erotica. But it’s high-brow erotica.”
“Oh, the best kind,” Ivy jumps in. “Where you feel morally compromised and somehow smarter by page three hundred.”