2. Josie
JOSIE
The onions sizzled in the pan, filling the kitchen with that sweet, caramelizing smell I'd always loved. I had the phone wedged between my shoulder and ear while I stirred, listening to Rosa go on about the new supplier who kept showing up late with her produce.
"I'm telling you, Josie, the man has no concept of time," Rosa said, her voice crackling slightly through the speaker. "Yesterday he shows up at noon. Noon. I needed those tomatoes at eight in the morning, and he waltzes in four hours late like it's nothing."
"Fire him," I said, reaching for the garlic I'd minced earlier. "You've got three other options on that street alone. Two of them are probably more reliable."
"I know, I know. But his peppers are absolutely perfect, you know? The best I've had in years. And his zucchini—God, Josie, you should see them."
I smiled despite myself. Rosa and her vegetables.
The woman could talk for twenty minutes about the quality of a bell pepper and make it sound like the most important thing in the world.
"Then tell him eight means eight, not whenever he feels like rolling out of bed.
You're the customer. He needs you more than you need him. "
She laughed, that warm, familiar sound that always made my chest loosen, made me feel like I was back on the corner instead of standing in this pristine kitchen forty floors above the streets I grew up on.
"You're right. You're absolutely right. I'm too soft, that's my problem. Omar says the same thing."
"You're not soft. You just care about quality."
"That's a nice way of putting it." She paused, and I could practically hear her grin. "So, how was the gala? You never called me back Sunday. I left you two messages."
My hand hesitated over the pan. The gala. God.
I nudged the onions around with the wooden spoon, watching them turn translucent at the edges. "It was fine. You know how those things are. A lot of people in expensive clothes standing around pretending they care about whatever charity it is this week."
"And Vince? Did he at least stay with you, or did he disappear into some corner with his business friends the whole night?"
My throat tightened. I added the garlic to the pan, the smell hitting me sharp and immediate. "He was fine too. Busy. You know how he gets at those things."
"Mm-hmm." Rosa's tone shifted, went softer. She could read me even over the phone. "Josie, honey, you don't have to pretend with me."
"It wasn't bad," I said quickly. Too quickly. "It was just... you know. One of those nights."
"When's the last time the two of you actually went anywhere together? Just the two of you, I mean. Not some work event where he's schmoozing donors."
I opened my mouth to answer, but the sound of the front door opening cut me off. The heavy click of the lock, the creak of the hinges. My stomach dropped like a stone.
Vince wasn't supposed to be home for hours.
"Rosa, I have to go," I said, my voice coming out sharper than I meant it to.
"Everything okay?"
"Yeah, fine. Vince just got home. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"
I hung up before she could say anything else and set the phone down on the counter, my pulse picking up for no good reason. It was just Vince. My husband.
But he never came home this early. Not without texting first.
I wiped my hands on the dish towel and turned toward the entryway, listening. Voices. More than one. Low and overlapping. My chest tightened.
Oh God.
I moved toward the hallway, and then I saw them.
Vince came through first, his tie loosened and hanging crooked, his jacket slung over one arm. He looked frazzled in a way I didn't see often—jaw tight, eyes a little unfocused, one hand running through his dark hair. Whatever had happened today, it had gotten under his skin.
Gideon followed a step behind, his expression calm but tired, carrying a laptop bag and a leather portfolio. He glanced my way and gave me a small nod, but he didn't say anything.
And then Harlow walked in.
She moved like she owned the place. Heels clicking on the hardwood, her blazer perfectly tailored even though it was late in the day, her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail.
She was still talking, her voice smooth and confident, saying something about zoning variances and the planning commission and how the deputy mayor owed her a favor.
Vince nodded along, frowning slightly, his attention completely locked on whatever point she was making.
He didn't even glance in my direction.
None of them did.
I stood there in the hallway, my hand still gripping the dish towel, and watched the three of them move past the kitchen like I wasn't even there. Like I was part of the furniture.
They went straight into the living room, Harlow gesturing with one hand while Vince followed her. Gideon trailed after them, quiet and apologetic in that way he always seemed to be.
I forced myself to move. To follow them.
"Vince?"
He looked up, distracted, his eyes meeting mine for half a second before sliding away. "Hey. We need to go over some things. Shouldn't take long."
That was it. No sorry for not calling, no didn't mean to bring people home unannounced. He turned back to Harlow before I could even think of what to say.
My throat went tight and scratchy.
I stood there, frozen, waiting for something I couldn't name. An acknowledgment, maybe. A smile. Anything that proved he remembered I existed.
Nothing.
Harlow set her bag down on the coffee table and started pulling out files. She glanced at me, her gaze sweeping over me in about half a second—taking in my bare feet, my old jeans with the flour smudge on the thigh, my hair pulled back in a messy bun.
Then she turned to Vince and said, in that cool, unbothered voice of hers, "Vince, could your wife bring us something to drink? We've been at this since one and I'm dying of thirst."
Not Josie. Not would you mind. Not even could she.
Your wife.
Like I was the help.
My face flushed hot, heat crawling up my neck and into my cheeks. I waited—God, I waited—for Vince to say something. To tell her that was out of line, that she didn't get to talk to me like that.
He didn't even blink.
He just nodded, still looking at the papers Harlow had spread out in front of him, and said, "Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks, Josie."
Thanks. Like I'd offered.
I stood there for another beat, my hands clenched so tight around the dish towel that my knuckles went white. My heart was pounding, a sick, furious rhythm that made my whole chest ache.
Gideon looked up at me. His face was uncomfortable, his mouth pressed into a thin line, and for a second I thought he might say something.
But he didn't. He just looked away.
I turned and walked back to the kitchen, my breath coming too fast and too shallow. My hands were shaking when I reached for the glasses in the cabinet above the sink, and I had to grip the edge of the counter for a second to steady myself.
Get a grip, Josie. It's just drinks.
But it wasn't just drinks. It wasn't, and I knew it. It was the way she'd said it. The way she'd looked at me. The way Vince had nodded along without even thinking.
I grabbed three glasses and set them down on the counter harder than I needed to, the sound sharp and satisfying. From the living room, I could hear them talking, their voices low and steady.
I filled the glasses with ice, each cube cracking as it hit the bottom, and then poured water from the pitcher in the fridge. My hands were still shaking. I hated that they were shaking.
From the living room, Harlow's voice drifted over. "It's the community board that's the problem. They're dragging their feet because they think we're going to gut the neighborhood and turn it into condos for tech bros."
"We are going to gut the neighborhood and turn it into condos for tech bros," Gideon said quietly.
Harlow laughed, a light, dismissive sound. "Well, yes, Gideon, but we don't phrase it that way. We talk about revitalization and economic opportunity and bringing new energy to a struggling area."
I picked up the tray and carried it toward them, moving slowly. The property they were talking about—I didn't know which one specifically, but I knew the type. The kind of place where families lived because they couldn't afford anything else.
Vince leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his forehead creased in thought. "What if we offered them something? A community center, a park, I don't know. Something that makes it look like we actually give a damn about the people who live there."
"We'd have to actually build it," Gideon pointed out. "They're not idiots. They'll know if we're lying."
"So we build it." Vince shrugged. "It's not about the money. It's about getting them out of the way so we can move forward."
I stopped at the edge of the coffee table, the tray balanced carefully in my hands. I knew I should just set the drinks down and leave.
But I didn't.
"You could phase it," I said, the words coming out before I could stop them.
"Build the community center first, let people see that you're serious about keeping your promises.
Then, once you've got the permits and people trust you, you start the demolition for the residential part.
If the board sees you actually followed through on what you said you'd do, the next one won't fight you as hard when you come back for the second phase. "
Three heads turned toward me.
Gideon blinked. He looked... considering. Like he was actually turning the idea over in his head.
Vince's expression didn't change.
Harlow smiled. It was the kind of smile that didn't come anywhere near her eyes.
"That's sweet, Josie," she said, her voice dripping with something that wasn't quite condescension but was close enough to make my skin crawl.
"But we don't really have the luxury of playing the long game right now.
We need those permits now, not two years down the line when everyone's decided we're trustworthy.
The market's not going to wait for us to build goodwill. "
He nodded. Just once.
"We're on a timeline," he said, his eyes still on the papers. "Can't drag this out."
The tray felt impossibly heavy in my hands.
I set the glasses down on the table one by one, the ice shifting and clinking against the sides.
Nobody looked at me. Harlow had already turned back to the documents, pointing at something in the margin and saying something about tax incentives.
Vince leaned in closer to look, his shoulder almost brushing hers.
I straightened up slowly, my hands empty now, my chest tight and aching.
I should leave. Just turn around and walk away.
But I stood there for another second, frozen, staring at the back of Vince's head. At the way he was leaning toward Harlow, his focus completely on her.
Gideon glanced up at me again, and this time the discomfort in his face looked almost like pity. I hated it.
I turned and walked away, my bare feet silent on the floor, my jaw clenched tight enough to make my teeth ache.
Behind me, someone said something I didn't catch—Harlow, probably, making some point about leverage or strategy. And then she laughed, that easy, confident sound that came so naturally to her.
Vince laughed too.
That stopped me cold for just a second, my hand braced against the wall. It was that sound—unguarded and genuine, the kind of laugh I hadn't heard from him in months. The sound he used to make with me, back when I could still make him smile.
Now he was making it with her.
I kept walking, my eyes stinging in a way that had nothing to do with the onions still sitting on the stove.