Chapter 3
Three
Vicky
There are no messages waiting from Alex when I wake in Carol’s spare bedroom.
Which is irritating. I would’ve at least expected something when he found my ring.
Oh… of course. He didn’t even come home. He spent the night in his goddamn city apartment, closer to the office, because he worked too late.
Seven becomes ten becomes not coming home at all. On my birthday, of all days. Promises broken every step of the way.
I shake my head and laugh at the absurdity of it all. It’s either that or cry, and laughing hurts a little less.
It’s tempting to stay in bed and feel sorry for myself, but his utter failure to recognize me at all at least proves I did the right thing. And that helps me find the strength to rouse myself.
I pull on my robe, following the smell of coffee to Carol’s kitchen.
“There you are! How are you feeling?” She leans against the kitchen counter, dressed for the day, holding a cup.
“Like nothing will ever be the same again… unless I get some coffee right now.”
She starts to look concerned, then catches up and scowls. “You’re not the quitting type.”
“You’re damn right. And I haven’t quit; I’ve moved on.”
“Exactly my point.” She gestures to the pot of coffee. “Mugs in the cupboard above. Help yourself. Mi casa es su casa.” She sets her own down and picks up her bag instead. “Some of us have to go to work…” She pauses, eyeing me with her head at a slight angle. “Unless you need me to stay?”
“No, of course not.” I flap my hand at her. “I’m fine. You do you. Sorry I’m… intruding.”
“You’re not,” she says firmly, coming over to give me a brief one-armed hug. “I’ll be back about seven. Dinner then?”
Tears threaten at the irony of that, and again I choose laughter. Carol must think I’m mad; it carries a hysterical note. “Seven is fine.” Or ten. Any fucking time, so long as it’s today.
She gives me side-eye, then nods slowly. “All right. See you later. No sharp knives, no medicine cabinet, no matches.”
“Get lost.” I give her a cheesy grin to show I’m fine, even if we both know I’m not.
“I’m going, I’m going.” She pauses at the door. “There’s bread for toast and… wine in the fridge. Help yourself.”
“Thanks.” I wasn’t going to drink myself into a stupor but I appreciated the offer.
Breakfast doesn’t appeal, and when I check the time it’s only seven-thirty. I laze around in bed for a while, reading my romance and drinking coffee to distract myself. Then as mid-morning approaches, with nowhere to go and nothing to do, I pull my laptop out and open my emails.
I don’t have many, but the top one came in only half an hour ago. I click on it, excited to see that it’s from Heather, Mercer I reject the call. There’s no way I can talk to him right now.
But he’ll call back. I know he will. He’s nothing if not persistent.
I block his number, if only to buy myself some time. I can unblock it later.
Or not.
Carol senses my change in mood and glances at me. I’m aware of her gaze, even though I’m still staring at my phone.
“I’m guessing that wasn’t a work call?”
“No,” I say flatly. “Ben and Jerry’s.” He must’ve found the ring. Took him long enough. But then that can’t be right either; he’s never home this early.
Back. Not home. Home isn’t there anymore; it’s here.
For a dissociative moment, I think he was calling to tell me to take a bath. But that’s just a mind-fuck. I give myself a shake, switch my phone to silent, and set it back on the table, face down.
Carol’s still watching me. “Ice cream’s in the freezer. Spoon in the drawer. Do you like horror films?”
I blink at the unexpected question. “What? No.”
“Thank fuck for that. I hate them. Star Trek Next Gen? I’ve got the box set.”
It’s clear what she’s trying to do, and surprisingly easy to go with it and let her. “All seven series? From the beginning?”
She grins. “I knew you were a nerd.”