Chapter 11 Abbie #2
"He won't." Wren has done the research for me, whether I asked or not.
Grayson Valentine has stepped back from client work.
Stepped back from most public appearances, actually.
The last photo she showed me was three months ago, at a board meeting, and he looked, different.
Thinner. Tired. Like he wasn't sleeping.
I don't care how he looks. I don't care if he's sleeping. I keep telling myself that.
"Even if he's not," my lawyer says when I mention it during our monthly check-in, "you're nine months into a separation agreement. You shouldn't be anywhere near him."
"I'm not going to talk to him."
"Then why go at all?"
Halo needs to be seen. I refuse to hide it upstairs forever.
"Because it's my industry too," I say. "And I'm not giving it up."
* * *
The rooftop is crowded. Conversations falter as I pass beneath the rooftop string lights. I recognize the faces around me.
"You're doing great," Wren mutters beside me. "Very natural. Not at all like you want to murder everyone."
"I don't want to murder everyone."
"Just some of them?"
"Maybe one or two."
She snorts. "That's my girl."
I hand out cards and accept compliments on the Luminance campaign. People look at my bare ring finger. And then I see him. Across the rooftop, he stands alone in a black shirt, holding an untouched drink.
Like the elevator. I can't move. For one horrible second, I stand there staring back at him.
His left hand rests on the railing. The wedding band catches the light. Still there. Still wearing it. I press my bare finger against my palm.
His hair curls against his collar. He looks like the man I married and nothing like him at all. And I hate that my first instinct is still to walk toward him.
And then, before I can decide whether to walk toward him or away, he sets down his drink, turns, and leaves. Honors the terms. No contact unless I open it.
It makes me furious in a way I can't name.
"Abbie? You okay?"
"Fantastic. Never better. Loving this party. Great shrimp."
"You're shaking."
"Am I? Weird. Must be the breeze. Very aggressive rooftop wind situation happening."
"Abbie."
"I said I'm fine, Wren."
"You just saw your husband for the first time in nine months and you're standing here pretending to care about shrimp."
"Estranged husband. And the shrimp is actually pretty good. You should try it."
"He was wearing his ring."
"I noticed."
"You're not wearing yours."
"Also noticed that. Thanks for the update."
"I'm not trying to... I just want to make sure you're okay."
"And I said I'm fine. He saw me, he left. That's what we agreed to. No contact means no contact. He's honoring the agreement. Good for him. Gold star. Excellent boundary-respecting behavior."
"You're angry."
"I'm not angry."
"Your jaw is clenched the way it gets when you're angry."
"My jaw is doing its normal jaw activities, thank you very much."
"Abbie."
"What do you want me to say, Wren? Yes, I'm angry. I'm angry that he was here. I'm angry that he left. I'm angry that leaving was the right thing to do and I'm angry that he did the right thing because I almost—"
"Almost what?"
"Nothing."
Wren touches my elbow.
"You almost walked toward him, didn't you?"
"No."
"Abbie."
"For like one second. One stupid, idiotic second I saw him and my body just... it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because he left and I stayed and that's how it's supposed to work."
"You're allowed to have feelings about seeing him."
"I don't want to have feelings about seeing him. I want to be over it. I want to be at this party for Halo because Halo deserves to be here and I deserve to be here and none of this was supposed to involve him."
"He was standing there in that black shirt looking exactly like he always looks and I wanted to... I don’t know what I wanted. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to ask him why he’s still wearing that ring when I took mine off nine months ago."
"Why did you take it off?"
"Because it was heavy. Because it was a reminder. Because every time I looked at it I remembered standing on that stage while Delaney—"
"You don't have to explain."
"I know I don't have to. I'm explaining anyway. I took it off because I needed to stop waiting for something to change. I needed to stop looking at my hand and wondering if he was looking at his."
"And now you know he is."
I curl my bare hand into a fist.
"And now I know he is and I don't know what to do with that information."
"You don't have to do anything with it."
"I know."
"You can just let it exist."
"Since when are you the calm rational one?"
"Since you need me to be."
"I hate this, Wren. I hate that I still care. I hate that seeing him made me feel anything at all. It's been nine months. Nine months of no contact, no communication, no nothing. And I've been good. I've been building the company and focusing on work and trying not to look him up—"
"Abbie. What do you actually want?"
"I don't know."
"Yes, you do."
"I want to not feel like this. I want to see him and feel nothing. I want to be past this."
"And?"
"And I want... I want him to hurt the way I hurt. I want him to understand what it felt like to stand on that stage and look at him and realize he wasn't going to say anything. I want him to know what it's like to love someone who doesn't show up for you."
"Is that all you want?"
"What else would I want?"
"I don't know. You tell me."
"I miss him, Wren. God, I hate it but I miss him. I miss him and I want him to fix it and I know he can't and I know I asked for this space and I know leaving was the right thing to do and I still miss him. How messed up is that?"
"It's not messed up."
"It feels messed up."
"It's just human."
"I don't want to be human right now. I want to be someone who has their life together and doesn't almost walk toward their estranged husband at an industry party."
"You didn't walk toward him."
"I thought about it."
"Thinking isn't doing."
"It's close enough."
"It's really not. You stayed. He left. You honored the boundary you set. That's not nothing, Abbie."
"I know."
"So give yourself some credit."
"I don't want credit. I want to go home."
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"Yeah, okay. You want to go home, we'll go home. I'll get my jacket."
"You don't have to leave with me."
"Please. Like I want to stay at this party without you. The shrimp is terrible."
"Ten minutes ago I told you it was good."
"I was being polite. Get your coat."
* * *
That night, for the first time in nine months, I Google him.
At midnight in my Silver Lake apartment, I can’t stop seeing his ring.
I type Grayson Valentine and hit enter. The results are noise.
Is the Valentine Baby Really His? from a gossip site I've never heard of.
Side-by-side photos of Delaney's newborn, the baby's been born, I didn't know that, I didn't want to know that, and Gray, with arrows pointing to their eyes, their jaw, their nose, for god's sake.
Comments underneath debating which features match.
Valentine Heir Drama: Paternity Questions Intensify from a trade publication that should know better.
Industry Insider: "The Marriage Has Been Dead for Years" sourced to "a family friend," and I know exactly which family, and my hands are shaking again.
Nothing confirmed. Pure noise. And it still feels like shit, even now, because I'm still in love with him.
I close my laptop and go to bed.
Sleep doesn't come.