Chapter Thirty-Six
“The firm will arrange flights and ground transportation to and from Bozeman. If you have schedule conflicts, please email them to Lawyers Travel by the end of this week. The accommodations and retreat space are all on the same premises. Your room number will be provided when you check in. You’ll have the afternoon to acquaint yourself with the grounds, and the retreat will formally kick off with a cocktail hour at six o’clock, followed by a welcome dinner. ”
I craned my neck to see if Charlie was there yet.
Regret prickled as I shifted in my seat. Why had I chosen the front row?
I scrolled through my emails and opened a message from Andie with the subject line Book Launch.
The book was going to be released in the spring, but the publisher was planning an official prelaunch party for the first week of January. She’d asked the publicist to set aside two tickets for me.
Charlie texted as I was mid book-launch email.
Your hair looks great today.
I stared at my grown-up version of a folded note.
The next text was from Caroline. You owe me every possible detail lady!! p.s. he looked damn cute coming out of your apartment all disheveled
I squirmed again in my seat.
Can you do dinner tonight? I responded to Caroline.
We made plans to meet at Palma, an Italian restaurant on Cornelia Street.
The retreat session wrapped with a promotional video of the ranch just outside of Bozeman, Montana. It looked like a place where trouble found you.
I got up and tried casually walking toward the door while I looked around for Charlie. I didn’t see him until I got back to our office, packing a stack of manila folders into his shoulder bag.
“Hi,” I said softly, closing the door that we usually left open.
He looked up and smiled. “Hey.”
I motioned to the bag brimming with files. “Heading out?”
He nodded. “Last-minute hearing on the REIT injunction I’ve been working on. Almost missed the big payoff.”
“Don’t miss the fireworks.”
“Never. And I know we were both wondering what the first day was going to be like back in the office, but . . . I’m probably not going to be back for the rest of the day, so . . .” He flashed a guilty smile. “Ran into Caroline in the elevator this morning.”
I nodded. “I heard her bombastically yelling for you to hold the doors. Right as she passed my door.”
“Eh, I probably would’ve done the same in her shoes.”
“We’re having dinner tonight, so she’ll get all the gossip.”
Charlie looked down at his laptop.
“Shit, I gotta go.” He grabbed his bag as I stepped away from the door.
He paused, looking at me squarely. He reached down for my hand and squeezed it.
“I’ll miss seeing you today.”
I stared just a little too long at his hand squeezing mine, then squeezed his back.
“Good luck with the hearing.”
Caroline was seated at a small table by the window when I arrived, with a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket.
“What’s the occasion?” I asked, taking a full minute to unbundle my Canada Goose coat, wool scarf, hat, and mittens.
“You’ve been deflowered. By someone adorable, no less. And it’s basically like I was there for the morning after. Cheers, babe!”
I sat down as she handed me a gold-rimmed flute.
“I’m the furthest thing from being deflowered. I was married,” I contested, appreciating the warmth of the fire across the room.
Caroline waved her hand. “Didn’t you once tell me that you found sex boring?”
“I have, on occasion, found it boring.” I took a sip of champagne. “It was not last night.”
She clinked my glass again. “You better tell me everything.”
I didn’t spare a detail. It was like a tell-all confession.
“Sam. This. Is. Huge. No matter where this is going. You felt a feeling, you acted on it, and you’re still intact. And you slept with him sober.”
“Three times.”
“Incredible.”
She filled my glass to the top.
“I’m so proud of you.”
“I’m terrified.”
“Of what?”
“Caroline. Come on. How can this possibly end well?”
She grabbed the menu and gave a dismissive wave. “It’s either going to work or it’s not.”
“Sounds apropos of absolutely everything in my life.”
We ordered rigatoni alla vodka, balsamic brussels sprouts, and two glasses of Sangiovese.
“Do you think you guys will spend New Year’s together?”
I shrugged. “It’s my first New Year’s Eve in the city. He’s been here for a few years, so he probably doesn’t want to be in the city for New Year’s.”
“Ah, yes. The right to have disdain for Manhattan on New Year’s Eve must be earned.”
“What about you? Are you going back to Iowa?”
She nodded morosely. “Sadly, yes. But not because I want to. I have to be there to console my sister.”
“What happened?”
“She’s still depressed about losing the city council election last month.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. Was it close?”
“It was, until someone hacked her emails and found out she donated to Planned Parenthood.”
“That was the nail in the coffin?”
“She was running as a Republican.”
“Ah.”
Caroline chuckled. “The ironic thing is that she didn’t actually donate to Planned Parenthood.
She signed up for this app that challenges you to competitions with yourself—work out five days a week, drink less than three nights a week, whatever—and for every goal you miss, it donates to a cause you hate. ”
“Your sister hates Planned Parenthood?”
“I come from a very different world than the one we’re living in.”
“Clearly. So her emails got hacked, and she lost the election because she didn’t make all her workouts?”
“Basically. Her whole voting base turned on her.”
“Wow. I hate to sound insensitive, but . . . karma?”
“Something like that.”