Chapter 22
Julian
Iarrive fifteen minutes early and request the corner table. It’s got not only a strategic view of both entrances but also a clear escape route if needed. I doubt I’ll need it though. Carmella is dignified.
The server brings water without asking. No matter. This isn’t a cause for celebration; it’s a graceful disconnection between two friends.
I silently rehearse my speech while I wait. Be direct, but not cruel. Firm but respectful. Final without being dramatic.
She appears exactly on time. Of course she does. Carmella enters like she’s stepping onto a runway. Her red dress hugs curves that have graced corporate magazine covers. Three men at the bar turn to watch her progress across the room. A server nearly collides with a busboy.
She sees me, and her face transforms with a smile that used to be a highlight reel in my indecisive moments in college.
“Julian, you look wonderful.”
I don’t return the compliment. Instead, I nod and wait for her to sit before retaking my own seat.
“Thank you for coming,” I say.
“I’d never miss a dinner invitation from you. Especially after all the drama over the past few months. I ran into your ex-wife, and—”
“Elowen is my wife,” I interrupt. “We’re not divorced or even legally separated.”
“Uh, okay,” she stammers. “Either way, she was quite inappropriate.”
Be direct, I remind myself. Don’t get pulled in or off topic. So I don’t let Carmella change the topic. I don’t care if Elowen was what Carmella deems ‘inappropriate.’
I simply say, “Leave my wife alone.”
The server materializes to take our drink orders. The water is fine for me, but Carmella requests a dirty martini with extra olives.
“No wine tonight?” she asks when the server departs. “That’s not like you. Do you have a board meeting tomorrow?”
“I need clarity for this conversation.”
“That sounds serious.”
“It is.” I straighten the knife beside my plate, aligning it perfectly parallel with the edge of the table. “I need to be direct about something, Carmella.”
She reaches across the table, her fingertips brushing my forearm. “You know you can tell me anything, Julian. That’s always been our strength, hasn’t it? Complete honesty.”
The irony almost makes me laugh. I subtly shift my forearm out of reach. “Our friendship needs to end.” I say it directly, without preamble or cushioning words.
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve been unfair to you, and to Elowen. Maintaining our connection all these years undermined my marriage in ways I’m only now beginning to understand.”
The server returns with our drinks, creating a momentary pause in the conversation. Carmella’s smile for him is automatic. When he leaves, that smile vanishes.
“You think cutting me out will convince Elowen you’ve changed,” she says flatly.
“No.” I take a sip of my water. “I mean, yes, I want her back, but that’s not why I’m doing this.”
“We’re friends, Julian. Colleagues. What exactly do you think you’ve done wrong?” Her voice remains controlled, but I note the slight narrowing of her eyes.
I meet her gaze directly. “Wrong in that we’ve been possibilities. Alternatives, if you will. And that alone should have disqualified any sort of connection once I married Elowen.”
“That’s absurd.”
“Is it?”
She sits back, her expression hardening. “Don’t blame me for your marital problems, Julian. I didn’t make you keep in touch all these years.”
“I’m not blaming you. This is entirely on me. But I need to be clear: there is no possibility of us. There never has been, not really. I chose Elowen then, and I choose her now. I choose even the chance of getting her back over the certainty of you.”
“After she left you?” Carmella’s laugh is sarcastic. “She walked away, yet I’m still here.”
“Because I never gave you the clean break you deserved. Because I selfishly kept you orbiting in my life as some kind of backup plan. That was cruel to you and disrespectful to my marriage.”
She stares at me for a long moment, her features gradually composing themselves back into their usual perfect arrangement.
When she speaks again, her voice has an icy tone.
“We have business connections. There’s a professional overlap.
You can’t just cut me out. It won’t be good for our professional lives. ”
“I can ‘cut you out,’ and I am.” My tone remains gentle but firm. “Our industries are large enough that we can navigate them separately, and if for whatever reason we have to work on a project together, I’ll gracefully give the case to one of my associates. Perhaps you’d consider the same.”
“This is ridiculous.” She reaches for my arm again before I can avoid her touch. “We’ve maintained a perfectly appropriate friendship for years. There’s no reason to be so dramatic about it now.”
I notice movement at a nearby table. There’s a flash of copper hair.
A woman in jeans and a green sweater stares at us, her expression hardening as she watches Carmella’s hand on my arm.
Something about her seems familiar, though I can’t immediately place her.
She’s with a man who appears to be saying something to her, but her attention remains fixed on us.
“This isn’t about drama,” I say, removing Carmella’s hand again. “It’s about integrity. About finally being honest with myself and with you.”
Realizing that those staring might misinterpret this conversation as intimate, I decide to end the conversation. Besides, I’ve already made my point.
“Carmella,” I say quietly but firmly, “you need to understand this isn’t a negotiation. My decision is final.”
“Is it because of the list?” she asks suddenly, her voice dropping to ensure privacy. “Because I scored higher on appearance and connections, but Elowen won on maternal potential? Do you regret that calculation now?”
The question stuns me into silence. Not just the content, but the casual way she references the list.
“Did you know about the list prior to Trey telling everyone?” I manage finally.
Her smile turns brittle. “You showed it to me, Julian. That night in your apartment after graduation. You were very drunk and so proud of your approach to wife selection.”
The memory crashes back with sickening clarity. The bottle of Macallan we emptied. The Excel spreadsheet I’d pulled up on my laptop, eager to impress her with my decision-making process. The way she’d laughed.
“I never realized you remembered that.” My voice sounds strange, even in my own ears.
“Of course I remembered. It’s not every day a man tells you that you’re physically superior to your competition but lack in maternal instinct.
” Her tone carries old hurt beneath the sarcasm.
“But I always figured you’d eventually realize your mistake.
I was stoked when Trey finally exposed the truth. Thought it was finally our chance.”
The copper-haired woman is still watching us intently, her phone now held at an angle that captures our heads leaning close together, Carmella’s hand reaching toward mine on the table.
Trouble. That’s what this is. Trouble brewing that will reach Elowen before I can explain.
“I didn’t make a mistake choosing Elowen,” I tell Carmella, my voice quiet but direct. “My mistake was keeping you in my life afterward, especially now that I’m aware you’ve known this entire time.”
The red-headed woman’s camera flash goes off, not subtle at all now.
She doesn’t even try to hide what she’s doing.
Her boyfriend, or date, or whatever he is, looks uncomfortable as he says something to her that she appears to ignore.
It takes a second, but I recognize her from the pictures posted of the rescue center Elowen volunteers at: Sarah.
Unfortunately, in the time it took me to place her, Carmella follows my gaze, turning to see Sarah openly photographing us. She turns back to me with a knowing smile.
“Your wife’s little spy seems to think we’re having a romantic dinner,” she observes. “Maybe we should give her something worth photographing.”
Before I can react, she leans across the table with big, fake doe eyes, her hand outstretched. I believe her intention is to palm my cheek, but I’ve had enough.
Just in time, I jerk my head to avoid her touch. “Don’t.”
Still, I know the damage is already done, captured and ready to be shared with Elowen as further evidence of my betrayal. Still, I glance at the red-head’s table and find her seat empty. Carmella follows my line of sight, sees the same thing, and huffs.
Since the conversation has exhausted us both, I signal for the check. Meanwhile, Carmella sulks in her chair. “I was expecting a completely different type of meal…”
“I have no idea why. I made myself very clear.”
The server delivers the black leather folder, and I immediately slip my card inside without so much as glancing at the total. Some endings are worth the cost, like ending the relations I had with Carmella. One loose end tied. One step closer to deserving Elowen again.
“You don’t need to pay,” Carmella says, reaching for her clutch. “I don’t want your money.”
“Please.” I hold up my hand. “It’s the least I can do.”
The truth is, I need to pay because it ensures there are no lingering debts or obligations.
The server returns with my card, and I sign the receipt, adding a generous tip. When I look up, Carmella has reapplied her lipstick. Knowing her as well as I do, I notice the tightness around her eyes.
“Well,” she says, voice careful to sound casual, “I suppose this is goodbye, then.”
“I think it’s for the best, especially after you tried to touch me and I pulled away.” Don’t know how I can get any more obvious than that. I’d imagine she’s quite embarrassed right now.
She studies me for a moment with a flat expression. One that screams, Really, Julian? Then sarcastically, she says, “How noble. The reformed husband, sacrificing his friendships for a chance at marital redemption.”
I don’t rise to the bait. Instead, I nod and stand. The check is paid, and our business here is done.
“You know,” she says quietly as I step back, “I always thought we’d end up together, eventually.”
“I realize that now,” I admit. “Our friendship was selfish of me.”
“Yes, it was selfish. But Julian, you know she won’t take you back…not after everything.”
I walked to the exit without responding.