23. #2
Always careful.
"Got it."
The elevator doors opened, and we stepped inside. The quiet of it felt heavier than usual, like everything she had said was still sitting in the air even though she had already moved on from it.
By the time we reached my floor, she was already listing out the rest of the day—times, locations, who would be there, what needed to be said, what absolutely couldn't be said.
I listened.
Or at least, I looked like I was.
The rest of the day moved fast.
Fittings. Adjustments. Rehearsing answers that sounded natural enough to pass as real. Conversations about image, tone, timing—what I represented, what I couldn't afford to misrepresent.
I stood when I was told to stand. Spoke when I was prompted to speak. Smiled when it was expected.
It all came easily.
Too easily.
By the time it was over, the sun had already dropped, the building quieter in a way that made everything feel like it had finally exhaled.
I didn't feel any different.
Just... tired.
I sat on the edge of my bed later, freshly out of the shower, my hair still slightly damp and back in its curly state, my phone resting loosely in my hand.
The room was quiet.
Too quiet.
And for a second, I thought about opening the envelope again.
Just getting it over with.
But my mind didn't stay there.
It shifted.
Back to earlier.
Back to Reese.
The underwear.
The exact shade of red. The lace. The way every pair looked the same.
I leaned back against the headboard, my eyes fixed on the ceiling as the memory came back clearer than I wanted it to.
The day I went back to the old house.
Rodney side of the bed.
That same red lace thong sitting there.
At the time, I hadn't thought anything of it. I didn't recognize it, but I also didn't question it. I just assumed it was mine, told myself I probably left it there without remembering, and moved on.
But now—
Now I truly don't think it was mine. Reese had just stood in front of me, telling me she only wears red.
I swallowed, my chest tightening slightly as the thought settled in deeper, quieter, more certain the longer I sat with it.
What if it had been hers?
The question didn't feel dramatic.
I wanted to believe it couldn't be but for some reason I couldn't shake it.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I sat up, reaching for my phone and scrolling to find Grant in my call log.
It rang twice before he answered.
"Hey," he said, and I could hear the shift in his voice immediately. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I said, softer than I meant to. "Are you home?"
"I got in a little while ago."
I could hear something in the background—movement, another voice, familiar enough that I didn't have to think about it for long.
"Hi, Naomi!" Isabel called out.
I laughed despite myself. "Hi, Isabel."
Grant said something back to her, quieter, and I could hear her respond, but I couldn't make out the words.
"Sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to call if you were busy."
"It's fine," he said easily. "You're good."
There was a brief pause, like he was waiting to see if I was going to say more.
I didn't.
Not yet.
"Do you have anything else going on tonight?" he asked instead.
I glanced around my room—the quiet, the stillness, the version of my night that had already been decided for me.
"No," I said. "I'm just here."
"Then come over."
It was simple.
I looked down at the untouched food sitting on the table across from me, at the TV still paused on something I hadn't been paying attention to anyway.
This had been my plan.
This had been enough.
But it didn't feel like it anymore.
"Okay," I said.
"I'll let Alexander know," he replied.
I nodded, even though he couldn't see it. "I'll be there in a bit."
By the time I pulled into Grant's driveway again, the sky had already shifted into that early evening blue where everything felt slower, quieter, like the day had finally started to loosen its grip.
The smell hit me before I even made it to the door.
Something grilled. Warm. Familiar in a way that immediately made me aware of how little I had eaten all day.
I knocked once, and a second later the door swung open.
Isabel.
"Naomi," she said, smiling like she was genuinely happy to see me, pulling me into a quick hug before I could say anything. She still had on her Lennox Group shirt, slightly wrinkled now, like she had come straight from work and hadn't bothered changing.
"Hi," I said, laughing softly. "It's nice to see you."
"Grant probably would appreciate the alone time, but I invited myself," she said easily, stepping aside so I could come in. "I wanted steak, and he makes it better than anywhere else."
That made me smile, just a little.
"He's outside," she added, already heading further into the house.
I slipped my shoes off and followed her, the house feeling exactly the way it had the night before. The back door was already open, and the air shifted as we stepped outside, the heat from the grill mixing with the cooler evening air.
Grant was standing near it, focused, tongs in hand as he pulled thick cuts of steak off and set them onto a tray beside him. He looked up the second he heard us, his expression shifting almost immediately when he saw me.
"Hey."
"Hi," I said, stepping closer.
He didn't hesitate, reaching for me and pulling me into a quick hug, his hand settling briefly at my waist before he let me go, like it was second nature.
"How was the drive?" he asked.
"It was good."
Dinner was simple, but it didn't feel like it.
We sat outside, plates balanced between us, the conversation moving easily in a way that didn't require effort.
Isabel talked more than both of us combined, filling the space with stories about work, about clients, about things that happened on campus or in her friend group.
Grant chimed in occasionally, correcting her when she exaggerated, letting her talk anyway.
I listened more than I spoke. It was easy to admire Isabel when she spoke.
By the time we finished eating, the plates were pushed aside, and we had shifted to the couches on the deck. Isabel curled into one side comfortably, a glass of wine in her hand, while I sat across from her, my legs tucked slightly under me, trying to settle into the moment.
Grant disappeared inside for a minute, saying something about grabbing another drink, leaving just the two of us in the quiet.
Isabel looked at me for a second, then down at my hands.
"I like your nails," she said. "They're clean."
I glanced down at them, the soft pink polish catching the light just enough.
"Thanks."
"They're very First Lady," she added, not in a mocking way, just observant.
I smiled faintly. "That's exactly what they're supposed to be. I meant to tell you I loved yours earlier."
She held her hand out slightly, showing me hers—longer, sharper, a deep red with a design woven into it that I hadn't noticed before.
"They change every time I see you," I said.
"I get bored," she replied simply.
My eyes lingered on them a second longer than they should have.
Red.
I shifted slightly in my seat, my fingers brushing together as I tried to decide whether I was actually about to say something or not.
"Can I ask you something?" I said finally.
Isabel straightened a little, setting her glass down like she was ready to listen.
"Yeah."
I hesitated for half a second.
Not because I didn't know what I was going to say.
But because once I said it, I couldn't take it back.
"So... I have this friend," I started, and even as I said it, I knew she knew I wasn't just talking about a friend.
She didn't interrupt me.
Didn't question it.
Just watched.
"She told me she's seeing someone," I continued, keeping my voice even. "Someone in... our world. Someone I would know."
Isabel's brows pulled together slightly. "And she didn't say who?"
I shook my head. "No."
"How long have you known her?"
"A long time. Since college."
She nodded slowly, like she was placing the pieces together in her head.
Before she could respond, the back door opened again, and Grant stepped back outside, a beer in his hand as he moved toward us.
"What are we talking about?" he asked, dropping down beside me.
Isabel exhaled quietly, like she already knew Grant was going to ask a million questions to get caught up to speed.
"Naomi's telling me something," she said.
Grant's arm came around me without hesitation, resting easily across my shoulders as he looked between us.
I felt it immediately.
The difference.
The grounding.
And for a second, it almost made me stop talking.
But I didn't.
"I could be overthinking it," I said, glancing at him briefly before looking back at Isabel, "but something happened earlier that felt... off."
"I went back to my actual house a couple weeks ago," I continued, my voice steady even though I could feel the shift happening in my chest. "And there was a red thong on Rodney's side of the bed."
I paused slightly.
"At the time, I didn't question it. I didn't recognize it, but I just assumed it was mine and moved on."
Isabel's expression changed slightly.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
"But today," I continued, "I swung by my friends place and she was in the process of packing and when she opened her suitcase all the underwear packed were the same.
She said she only wears red and I'm assuming that style because they were all the same and I can't shake the thought that they were the same pair as the one I saw at the house."
The words sat there for a second.
"And the trio she's packing for is to California," I added, quieter now. "With his team."
There was a brief silence.
Isabel leaned back slightly, processing it.
"Yeah," she said slowly. "That's... a lot of coincidence."
Grant stayed quiet for a second longer than she did.
Too quiet.
"Which friend is this?" he asks.
"Reese," I say briefly looking at him.
Isabel glanced at him.
"Why are you making that face?"
"I'm not making a face," he said.
"You are," she replied immediately.