Chapter 8
Lincoln’s strength has been trickling back in odd spurts. Sarah would drop by sometimes, but he wouldn’t let her inside. Or she’d call him, or text him, and he’d murmur to her behind his door.
I only know because I’ve heard the hushed exchanges through the wood.
I’ve been taking good care of Lincoln, feeding him the foods he likes. And even though he’s supposed to eat light, he’s eating a lot more, bouncing back quicker than expected.
It’s now Monday morning. Laundry needs to be done. So I place some colored clothes in the wash.
I nearly rocket out of my skin when I turn and see Lincoln standing there, silently watching me. God only knows what I was doing, probably dancing like an idiot with my earbuds in.
“What’s up?” I ask.
Lincoln just smiles at me, licks his lips, and then says, “So, um, there’s an office party that’s going on. It’s a Christmas party. And it’s happening tonight. And I was wondering if you’d like to go with me.”
Is he serious?
My brain blanks. Words refuse to form.
“I’m sorry, what do you mean?” I ask, needing him to expound.
“I mean, there’s an office party. And I’d like you to go,” he reiterates with an eyebrow raised.
I scoff incredulously.
“You,” I point at him. “Want me,” I point at myself. “To go to your,” another point at him, “office party?” I ask.
Lincoln nods slowly, his gaze flicking away before settling back on me. He must genuinely not understand why I’m stunned. Well… maybe he really does need a reminder.
“Interesting,” I say.
“What kind of answer is that?” Lincoln asks.
“Well, I mean, you’re just the kind of person that, you know, when I was your wife, you didn’t want me going anywhere where you knew your side piece was going to be. So it’s just astonishing that all of a sudden now you want me to go to a party with you. Or at all with you.”
The laundry smells so good right now. There’s something nice about fresh, clean clothes. I remove them from the dryer.
“That should have never been an issue between us,” Lincoln says. “I do want you to go with me,” he repeats, softer.
I refuse to look at him as I start folding the clothes.
“I mean, if you really want me to go, then maybe I’ll consider it,” I say.
“I do really want you to go,” he admits.
“You really sure?” I ask, fully aware of how snarky I’m being.
“Yes, I’m sure,” Lincoln says, chuckling a little, sounding tired as he steps closer to me.
“Just to remind you, you’re not really getting anything out of this,” I say, looking over to my left at him.
“You saved my life,” he says with a croak in his voice, revealing just how tired he must be. “I want you there with me,” he assures.
We hold eye contact before I nod in acquiescence.
I already had clothes picked out for some occasion. After all, I like to go places and I’ve learned to have fun without him. But just to prove a point that I’m okay, and to allow him this, I decide to go.
When we reach the party, at first it’s not a big deal. People are talking, lazing around in this little ballroom area; though it’s not really a ballroom. It’s more like a very esoteric venue where events get hosted.
“So all these people are from your office?” I ask.
“A lot of them, yes,” Lincoln answers.
People’s eyes are on me, looking at me funny. It becomes so obvious that I literally have to address it.
Time to come out of my shell.
“Yes, I’m the crazy ex-wife,” I say. “But,” I add emphatically, everyone quiet and staring, “Lincoln fixed my aggression settings and toned them way down, so we’re all good.”
I immediately cringe at myself, until I hear a few people laughing in what sounds like relief. Almost like everyone was holding their breath waiting to see how I’d act.
I honestly didn’t think that would make people laugh.
So I start grabbing some pastry, trying to work off the cringe crawling up my neck. The moment I take a crunch out of it, people start cracking up again. For a split second, I’m not sure if they’re laughing at me, but reading the room confirms it: I broke the tension we were all feeling.
Lincoln is over by another table plating his food.
Sarah is near him.
He’s smiling.
She is not.
Lincoln walks over toward me, sharing a smile.
“Look at you,” he says playfully.
Sarah is right there by his arm, trying not to look awkward. She’s been very quiet.
How weird. But this is good.
Can’t let the enemy have the advantage. And it’s best to let everyone know that I know what they know, then everyone can move on.
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