Chapter 26
“I can’t fucking believe you’re meeting your ex-husband at his restaurant to tell him what he already knows.”
“I know, Poppy.”
I weave my way through the crowded street to Last One Standing, clutching my trench coat tight with my free hand. It’s June, so it’s technically spring, but it’s still chilly in the evenings. It’s cool enough that I can see my breath in the air when I exhale.
God, it’s trippy, watching summer shift backward into spring. I spot a cherry tree on the corner of the street I’m walking on. I slow my pace, shocked at the sight of the tight, pink buds dotting the branches. Just weeks ago I saw the cherry blossoms in London in full bloom. But to see them shrink back into their buds throws me off.
An unsettled feeling courses through me, like a silent undercurrent. No matter how much I think I’m getting used to this timeline, moments like this remind me just how wild it feels to live life backward ... how I’ve done this for months and months ... how I’m inching closer and closer to Valentine’s Day 2024, the last day I lived normally until I woke up in this strange and backward timeline.
The unsettled feeling morphs into anxiety. My chest starts to go tight at the thought of what will happen when that day finally comes.
“Throw the fucking divorce settlement in his face, Ri. It’s what he deserves.” Poppy’s sharp tone jolts me back to our conversation.
I can’t get caught up in those thoughts right now. There’s nothing I can do about the uncertainty of this timeline. I can’t control it. All I can do is focus on living through each day, one at a time, like I’ve been doing so far.
“Christ, he cheats on you with his ex—he gets his ex fucking pregnant—and he has the nerve to demand you give him your home?”
Another muttered string of curses echoes from Poppy’s end of the line. Hearing my best friend so heated on my behalf centers me. It helps ground me in this moment when everything from this timeline to my upcoming meeting with Tristan has me stressed and unsettled.
“You should have told me earlier,” she says. “I could have come with you. I would have worn those pointy-toed boots and kicked that tosser right in the balls.”
“Poppy, I appreciate the sentiment, but I’ve got this under control.”
“You sure? It’s been a while since I nailed someone in the family jewels. Not since the last time we went to Glastonbury and that T-shirt vendor tried to get handsy with me. I’d pay good money to give Tristan a solid kick between the legs. Really. Name your price and I’ll pay it. One swift kick is all I want.”
“As satisfying as that would be, I’ll pass. I’ve got this under control. Seriously.”
A heavy sigh rockets from her before I hear a metallic snapping noise. “Poppy, what is that?”
She pauses for a few seconds. “What do you mean?”
“That noise ... wait, is that a lighter? Are you smoking?”
She huffs out a breath before I hear the unmistakable sound of a lighter flicking on and off. “Yes, Ri. I’m smoking. Sue me.”
“But I thought you quit?”
“I did. Unless I’m stressed the fuck out. And when I’m stressed, I allow myself a single cigarette.”
I bite my tongue and fight the urge to lecture her.
“Oh, don’t give me that look,” she groans.
“You don’t know how my face looks right now.”
“Oh yes I fucking do.” She stops, and I hear the faint noise of her puffing on a cigarette.
I pass a glass storefront and catch my expression in the reflection: lips pursed and brow furrowed. Classic disappointed face.
“Okay, okay. I definitely have that look on my face. Wait, does Desmond know you’re smoking again?”
“I told you, I have one when I’m stressed. And you, Ri, are stressing me the fuck out with your plans to meet your piece-of-shit ex-husband without me there to support you.”
I feel guilty and heartened all at once. I’m touched that my best friend cares so much about what I’m going through, but I also feel terrible that I’m driving her back to such an unhealthy habit.
“And no, Desmond doesn’t know. I’m currently in the bathroom with the window open, so he’s blissfully unaware.”
“Poppy, it’s cold and rainy.”
“I know. See what you do to me?”
I let out a breath right as she laughs.
“I’m sorry I’m stressing you out,” I tell her.
“It’s okay, Ri. I get it. You want to do this on your own. I would, too, if I were in your shoes. But you’re my best friend, and that rat bastard ex put you through the wringer. He doesn’t deserve one more second of your time.”
“This is why I love you. Also, I don’t ever, ever want to be on your bad side.”
“No way that would ever happen.”
Hearing the smile in her voice when she says that makes me start to smile.
“If you change your mind about wanting me there, just text me, okay?”
“I will.”
There’s a quiet moment before she speaks. “So. You’re still shacking up with the cheating bastard’s cousin?”
I almost trip on a cobblestone before quickly righting myself. I shouldn’t be so thrown at the bitterness in Poppy’s tone. It’s June 1, which means I’m only three and a half months out from my split with Tristan in this backward timeline, and at this point Poppy doesn’t like Milo.
She won’t start to like him until this evening, when everything goes down at the restaurant.
“Yes, Poppy. Milo and I are together,” I say.
“I know I’ve said it a million times, but bloody fucking hell, Riley. Why? Of all the men in London. Of all the men on the planet, why did you have to rebound with the bastard cousin of your bastard ex?”
I stop dead in my tracks and cause the person walking behind me to bump into me. After at least a few months of seeing Poppy and Milo chat and laugh and hang out, I’ve gotten used to them genuinely getting along. It feels like they’ve always liked each other. But they haven’t. Poppy used to hate Milo because I hated him—and I’m back in that time right now. And even though it all changes in just a few hours, I can’t help the surge of protectiveness that hits me.
I mutter a sorry to the person I bumped into before standing off to the side. “Poppy. I get that it must have been the shock of the century when Milo and I got together. But we did. It happened. You need to accept it.”
“Riley, are you sure this isn’t some strange third-life crisis you’re having? I mean, I get it, that’s a hell of a revenge move, to shag the cousin of your husband after he betrayed you in the worst way. A part of me respects you for it. I’d probably do it too. But Milo? After what a dick he was to you? After all those years of dismissing you and making snide remarks at you? After that awful trophy wife comment?”
The memory of overhearing Milo call me a trophy wife while he was on the phone all those years ago slingshots to the front of my mind. It stings, even now. But he’s done more than enough to make up for it.
“Poppy, listen. I appreciate that you care about me and how you’ve always defended me, without question. But please don’t disparage Milo like that. He’s a good person—a truly good person I had pegged wrong all this time. You have too. It took time for me to see it, but I did. You’ll see it. I promise you will.”
Poppy makes a grumbling noise. “Fine, Ri.”
A tense silence passes between us. I start walking again, turn the corner, and see the intact brick front of Last One Standing come into view.
“I have to go.”
“Wait. I’m sorry, Ri.” I soften at the pleading tone in Poppy’s voice. She so rarely sounds like this—worried and vulnerable. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have said those things about Milo. If you like him and you say he’s a good guy who treats you well, then that’s all that matters.”
I think of how quickly, in just a matter of hours, Poppy’s opinion of Milo is about to change.
“Please don’t hate me, Ri.”
“I could never, Poppy. I’d die without you. You know that.”
She laughs. The tension in my hands and shoulders eases.
“I know you’re just looking out for me,” I say. “Thank you. That means everything. Truly.”
“Love you, Ri.”
“Love you, Poppy.”
“Keep me posted, yeah? And just say the words, and me and my nut-busting boots will be at your service.”
I laugh. “I will.”
We say goodbye. I hang up the phone and walk the remaining dozen steps to the entrance of Last One Standing. Before I reach for the door handle, I pause. I breathe. I steel myself.
I’m about to see my ex-husband. Yeah, it’s going to suck, but I’ll survive. I know what happens after all this—I get to keep my home. This is just a blip; it’ll all be okay.
When I open the door and walk inside, I make my way through the darkened, short hallway to the main area of the pub. Tristan never said where exactly we were supposed to meet, and I never thought to ask. And it’s too late now to clarify. As I walk in the main area and start to scan the dimly lit space, I freeze. There’s Tristan’s entire family sitting at a long table in the center of the pub, and they’re all staring at me.
What the actual fuck?