Chapter 5 #6
There’s something in her voice, a type of understanding that makes me wonder, not for the first time, what happened in Harper’s marriage before Leo was born. But before I can ask, Luca interrupts with a sound that’s half-laugh, half-growl.
“I need you to know,” he says, his voice carefully measured, “That I still vote for completely rearranging his face.”
It’s what is needed to break the tension. A laugh escapes me, a real one, but it catches in my throat, sharp and painful. It splinters into a gasp, and then another, until the sound tearing its way out of my chest is a raw, gut-wrenching sob.
“I’m sorry,” I say, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. “God, I’m sorry, this is so… “
Luca is around the couch in a heartbeat, his arms around me before I can finish the sentence. “Do not,” he says, his voice firm, “apologize to us. Not for crying. Not ever for hurting.”
I cry into his jumper, my face pressed against the soft wool, and complain, voice muffled, “I have mascara in places mascara should never be.”
“I’ll bill you for the dry cleaning,” he says, and I can feel him smiling against the top of my head.
He holds me while I cry, one hand making small circles on my back, and doesn’t let go even when my sobs finally slow, then stop.
When I pull back, wiping my face with the back of my hand, Harper is there with a box of tissues, and Liv is suddenly very interested in the ceiling, her eyes suspiciously bright.
“Sorry,” I say again, accepting the tissues. “I thought I was done with the crying part.”
“Stop,” Harper interrupts, her voice gentle. “Just… stop. You’re allowed to fall apart. That’s literally what we’re here for.”
“I’m not good at falling apart,” I admit, blowing my nose with as much dignity as I can muster. “I’m better at making jokes and pretending everything’s fine.”
“That,” Luca says, his hand still resting on my shoulder, “is the least surprising thing you’ve ever said.”
I laugh despite myself, a real one this time.
I look around at them, at Luca’s hand still on my shoulder, at Harper’s gentle expression, and feel the tension in the room finally break, like a wave against the shore.
Not completely gone, but the feeling that happens when something that’s been carried alone is finally shared.
“Okay,” Liv says, reaching for the wine bottle. “New plan. We’re getting properly drunk, ordering more food than any five humans should reasonably consume, and plotting elaborate revenge scenarios that may or may not involve glitter bombs and those singing birthday cards that won’t stop.”
“I’m in,” Luca says immediately. “But I’m vetoing anything that could technically be considered arson. Adrian made me promise.”
“I’m in too,” Harper says, “though I should probably switch to water soon. Leo’s going to be up at 5:15 no matter what time we go to bed.”
“I’m in,” I say, the words coming out steadier than I expected. “But I get final say on the revenge plans. Some of us have to live with the man until the divorce is final.”
It’s not fixed. But as we settle back into the warm chaos of friendship, Luca already on his phone ordering more food, Harper helping Leo into his pyjamas, Liv pouring more wine with the careful precision of someone who’s had enough to be generous but not enough to spill it, I feel something in my chest ease slightly.
Enough that, for the first time in weeks, I can take a full breath.
The evening winds down gradually, like natural decrescendo that only happens with people who know each other well enough not to force endings.
Harper gathers Leo, who has somehow fallen asleep on the play mat with one hand resting on Milo’s foot, his face slack with the particular abandon of childhood exhaustion.
She lifts him carefully, settling his weight against her shoulder with ease, and carries him toward the door with minimal disruption to his sleep.
“Text me,” she says, her voice low as she shifts Leo’s weight. It’s not a question or even really a request, just a simple statement of what’s going to happen next. “Any time. For any reason.”
I nod, not trusting my voice, and Harper leans in to press a kiss to my cheek, her free hand briefly squeezing my shoulder.
There’s a moment, brief but unmistakable, where our eyes meet and something passes between us, an understanding that doesn’t need words.
Then she’s gone, the door closing softly behind her, and the house feels suddenly, briefly quieter in her absence.
Luca stays to clean, which is both typical and completely unexpected, typical in the sense that he cannot leave a mess without attempting to fix it, unexpected in that he’s doing it with the focused energy of someone who needs to do something with his hands.
He moves through the kitchen with efficient movements, scraping takeaway containers and loading the dishwasher while delivering a running monologue about men as a species that is simultaneously furious and deeply funny.
“I’m just saying,” he continues, reaching for the wine glasses, “that the bar for male behaviour is currently so low it’s actually subterranean.
We’re talking mole people. We’re talking the earth’s core.
We’re talking…“ He pauses, a container of half-eaten pad Thai suspended halfway to the bin. “Actually, that’s not fair to the earth’s core.
The earth’s core has never sent an unsolicited photo of its genitals to a stranger, so it’s already doing better than approximately sixty percent of the male population. ”
“I think,” I say, reaching for a dish towel, “that the earth’s core might have other priorities right now.”
“Exactly!” Luca says, pointing at me with the pad Thai container. “It’s busy! Being the centre of the planet! Creating magnetic fields! Not harassing women on dating apps! A model citizen!”
He continues in this vein for another seven minutes, moving from men as a species to Daniel specifically, “a waste of perfectly good oxygen”, to the various revenge scenarios he’s considering, “nothing that would get me arrested, but definitely things that would make him question all his life choices”, to a surprisingly thoughtful analysis of how I should handle the custody discussion with Clara, “you need to be very clear that the man arranged hookups while his children were in intensive care, because that’s not just betrayal, that’s a character issue”.
By the time he finishes, the kitchen is spotless, the dishwasher is running, and I’ve laughed so hard my stomach hurts. He hugs me at the door, a proper one, not the careful half-embrace he usually offers, and makes me promise to text the minute Daniel arrives home.
“I mean it,” he says, his expression serious. “The literal minute. I don’t care if it’s 2:00 AM. I want to know he’s actually home and not at a hotel with someone named Tiffany.”
“I promise,” I say, and mean it.
Then he’s gone too and I turn to find Liv still there, not having announced she’s staying, not making a production of it, just drifting into the kitchen after Luca leaves, leaning against the counter while I stand at the sink rinsing wine glasses.
The kitchen is quieter now, the only sound is the gentle hum of the dishwasher. Through the doorway, I can see Maisie asleep in her bassinet, her chest rising and falling with each peaceful breath. Milo is already down in the nursery, having fallen asleep mid-bottle twenty minutes ago.
Liv doesn’t look directly at me when she speaks.
She examines the label on the wine bottle instead, her head tilted slightly, her expression carefully neutral.
“You know,” she says, her voice measured in the way she uses when she’s trying very hard not to sound like she cares, “you don’t have to become smaller just because he did something awful. ”
She manages to shock me into momentary silence with that. I don’t respond immediately, just stand there with a wine glass in my hand and water running over my fingers, watching the soap bubbles slide down the drain in slow, deliberate spirals.
When I finally look up, Liv is still examining the wine label, her posture deliberately casual in a way that doesn’t match the careful precision of her words.
It’s the closest she’ll come to acknowledging the moment, this vulnerable thing she’s just offered, and something in my chest tightens at the realization.
“Thank you,” I say, the words not nearly enough..
Liv nods once, sharply. “Don’t mention it.
” She pushes off the counter abruptly, suddenly all motion.
“I should go. I have an early start.” She’s at the door before I can respond, one hand already on the handle.
“Text if you need anything,” she says, not quite looking at me.
“Even if it’s just to complain about how men are the actual worst. Which they are. Scientifically.
Not long after Liv leaves, Milo is back to his usual disappointed self. It takes me another hour to settle him against me as I sit on the sofa.
Daniel comes in quietly shortly after, the way he always does when he thinks the twins might be sleeping and pauses when he sees me on the couch. “Hey,” he says, his voice low. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” I say, the word automatic. “Just putting him down.”
Daniel nods, crossing the room to kiss the top of my head, a casual, habitual gesture that I have to consciously not pull away from, before heading for the kitchen. “Have a good night with the girls?” he asks, already reaching for a glass.
“Yes,” I say, and it’s not even a lie. I did. Despite everything, despite the reason they were here, despite the crying and the anger and the hollow feeling in my chest that hasn’t gone away since that day, I did have a good night.
Daniel nods, satisfied with this answer, and disappears into the kitchen. I sit on the couch with Milo’s warm weight against my chest, his tiny hand curled around my finger and realize that I am more OK than I was at first, and that seems monumental.