Page 31 of The Feud

I glance at my watch. “It’s late. I’ll write you a note for tomorrow.”

Sylvie shakes her head, looking horrified. “Oh no… I love doing homework. I’ll get it done.”

I blink in surprise. “You love doing homework?”

And it truly is a miraculous night because she smiles at me for the first time. “I love school.”

I can’t help but chuckle. “I’m glad to hear that. I liked school too.”

Look at that.

Our first thing in common.

CHAPTER 12

Marcie

I’m halfway through my dirty martini when my phone rings. I pick it up off the bar, recognizing Michelle’s ringtone. “You’re ten minutes late,” I grumble, eager to see my sister since she and Carmen were gone all last week to Mexico for spring break.

“I won’t be able to make it. Carmen’s got a sore throat and I think I’m going to run her to urgent care.”

That makes me sit up straighter on the barstool. This new steakhouse just opened and it’s busy tonight, so I’m at the bar until my sister joins me for dinner. “Oh no. I’m so sorry. Do you want me to meet you there?”

“Seriously?” Michelle says teasingly. “You’re around kids your entire life and you know better than to get bent out of shape over a little sore throat. If she’s got strep, we’ll get antibiotics and it will be fine.”

“I was only offering because I don’t want to have to sit here by myself like a lame ass.”

Michelle laughs. “Maybe you’ll meet a hot guy. You are sitting at the bar, aren’t you?”

I look around balefully at the crowd. Not a single hot guy in sight. “Yeah, but that doesn’t seem to matter. Once I finish this drink, I’m out of here.”

“I’ll call you as soon as she sees the doctor but stay and have dinner so you can see if it’s any good. If you drink more than one dirty martini, take an Uber home.”

“Yes, Mom.” I say goodbye and set my phone face down on the bar top. I quarrel with the toothpick in my drink loaded with two olives and ruminate over my sister’s continued belief that I need a man in my life.

It’s odd that Michelle pushes me so hard on this, especially since she hasn’t bothered dating anybody seriously since her own divorce. Michelle’s counterargument is always that she’s perfectly happy being single and I don’t understand why I can’t be perfectly happy being single too.

But the truth is, if I evaluate myself deep down, I know I’m the type of woman who is built to be with someone. I love partnership, having somebody not only to depend on but to care for, being one half of a unit. And I miss physical affection. Not that I had it much in the last few years of my marriage to George. He’d become cold and distant and I never understood why until I found out he had been cheating on me.

It was a severe blow to my morale and self-confidence and I’m not sure I’ll ever recover. So, while I may want a serious relationship in the future, I’m not sure I have the confidence to go about doing it.

Lifting the martini glass to my lips, I glance around the restaurant.

I like this new place. It’s different from most places in Shelbyville, the interior a contemporary design featuring large, starburst-like chandeliers that create a dramatic effect against the dimly lit space. The open kitchen is visible behind glass partitions, adding a modern and interactive element to the dining experience. The dining area is a combination of neatly set round and square tables draped in crisp white tablecloths. Modern tan leather chairs provide a cozy seating option for guests. The flooring is dark hardwood and the walls are paneled, enhancing the chic, stylish interior.

The idea of sitting at the bar all alone eating dinner seems pathetic somehow, but I’m hungry and have really been wanting to try this restaurant.

“Be bold,” I murmur to myself, deciding to stay for a meal.

As I sip on my drink, I admire the walls paneled in rich wood that matches the color of the curved bar, which has a polished granite top that speaks of luxury. The floor is terrazzo tile with alternating dark and light tones, and above the bar, industrial-style pendant lights hang from the ceiling.

Unfortunately, I almost have a huge choking fit because walking into the bar is my ex-husband George and his new wife, Madeleine. I panic for a moment because I don’t want them to see me, nor do I care to have any interaction with them. My marriage ended on a horrible note and George has a mean streak. He hated the way I battled to get the minimum I was entitled to in the divorce and any time we happened to run into each other, it was not pleasant.

George Foyette is a classic narcissist who thinks the world revolves around him. He enjoyed tearing me down during our marriage. A general practitioner, he thinks his medical degree makes him better than anyone who doesn’t have one. He is fourteen years older than I am, but the age gap never really mattered. Certainly not to George, who likes his women a lot younger than himself. Even though I am educated with a doctorate in education, George never thought I was good enough to do anything other than cook and clean for him. He certainly wasn’t ever proud that I run an entire elementary school.

I take in his new wife. Madeleine is beautiful—all blond curls, overly white smile and new double D’s he bought her—and only twenty-four years old. The age gap between her and George is much larger than the years between George and me, though I’m not sure that matters to the young woman. I don’t know if she loves him or if she’s looking for a golden ticket, but it doesn’t matter because she’s as complicit in the affair as George was. Now they have their own child, and while it doesn’t necessarily hurt my feelings that George willingly gave Madeleine a baby when he wouldn’t do it for me, it only serves to remind me that I’d been taken for granted in that relationship for way too long.

I swivel on my barstool, giving George and his new wife my back as they walk in. To my great luck, they walk right by me. I think I’m safe, but through the reflection in the mirror behind the bar, I see when George turns around and spots me.

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