Page 47 of More Than Words

So, it was me.

My jaw clenched as I tried to keep tears from forming in my eyes, and I knew I needed to exit out of his page and leave things alone, but I’d always blamed myself for the deterioration of our marriage.

Clicking on the first picture in his feed, I scanned the paragraph of text below, my pulse racing as I took in the words, Grant’s ability to manipulate words into something beautiful shining through.

Today, we welcomed another little heart into our lives. I’m so proud to be the father of this little boy.

The words echoed in my brain as I scanned the rest of the text, the hashtag #miracleofadoption catching my attention.

Over ten years after he’d divorced me, he finally got his happily ever after with another woman, with the one thing he’d sworn to me he never wanted. The one thing I’d suggested after years of trying that had driven him further away from me and led to my grad school graduation present from him being divorce papers.

Fuck.

Maybe I needed to talk to Leila about this. Because I was tired of feeling like I wasn’t enough.

Saturday morning had been spent avoiding my phone, my Wi-Fi turned off on my laptop, and my head down as I proofed a document that was being sent to print in a few weeks. Kristine had already been through it twice, but I needed something to keep my brain occupied while I tried to figure out where my head was at.

Leila was one of the first friends I made in grad school, and she worked for a lifestyle blog in Boston as a copywriter. I’d tried to get her to come with me to the dark side of fiction writing, but she claimed she didn’t have the creativity to create new worlds, just to make witty commentary on the real one we lived in.

She was there when my marriage fell apart, helping me to pick up the pieces of my shattered heart when Grant walked away with my future.

Deciding I’d been productive enough, I picked up my phone from the coffee table and glanced at the screen, my heart stuttering when I saw I had a missed text message from Adrian. I hadn’t expected to hear from him until the work week started, and I was equally scared and curious as to why he was messaging me. The preview on the lock screen wasn’t giving anything away.

Adrian: Morning, beautiful. I hope you slept well. I know I did after…

Knowing I’d just get sucked back in by him, I ignored the message and sought a hot shower instead. I needed to process some things in my head before Leila confronted me because if there was one thing I knew, Leilani Johnston didn’t hold back when she thought you needed to hear something.

Two more text message alerts were taunting me after my shower when I pulled up the Uber app on my phone to request a ride. Leila didn’t know that I’d finally sold my car, and I knew she’d feel bad that I was picking up dinner on my way to her place, but it wasn’t like I was struggling. I was just tired of the weight around my neck that insuring, parking, and fueling a car entailed. I wasn’t going to drive to Iowa when I visited my family, so being close to an airport and public transportation was all I needed.

LJ: I’m using tequila to distract myself from being hangry, get your cute ass over here soon or I can’t be held responsible for my mouth later.

Leila was never one to hold her tongue regardless, but as the text confirmation my order was ready at the Thai restaurant a few blocks from her place came through, I grabbed my purse and locked up my apartment, heading down to the street to wait for my ride.

As a shiny black sedan pulled up at the curb, I momentarily panicked that Adrian had come over unannounced, but when the window rolled down and a petite woman with pink dreadlocks leaned over the passenger seat, I relaxed.

“You Isobel?”

Nodding, I stepped to the back passenger door and slipped into the backseat, relaxing into the worn leather seats.

“Address still the same?”

“Yeah, the one stop okay before the final destination?” I confirmed, and she nodded before she merged into the light traffic on my street, heading out of Jamaica Plain toward South End, the much trendier district my friend had claimed as home after we’d moved away from the university graduate housing.

Leila was holding a pint glass with amber liquid pooled in the bottom when she opened the door to her apartment, her signature knowing smirk in place.

“You need to catch up, especially if we’re going to unpack that bomb I dropped in your lap last night.”

Thrusting the takeout bag at her outstretched palm, I took the glass from her. Sniffing, my eyes widened as I took in the pungent aroma of Don Julio. He’d seen me through many questionable decisions in the last ten years, but Leila kept thrusting him back into my life when I thought I’d kicked the habit.

“You’re not messing around.” Blowing out a breath, I took a generous sip of the liquid, the spicy flavor coating my tongue as I held it in my mouth before swallowing. But that innocent motion just reminded me of another liquid I’d held in my mouth when Adrian was seducing me with oyster play and suggestive commentary that my brain had taken and run with. Which had to be the reason I lost my damn mind and had gotten involved with him. He was becoming as addictive and toxic as the liquid in the glass in my hand. Nothing good would come from a night with him, but I couldn’t manage to stay away.

“Girl,” Leila laughed while she closed the door and led me into the kitchen. “With the look that just crossed your face, you’ve been keeping secrets. Drink up, because you’re not getting out of here without telling me why the hell you’re texting me for an emergency girl sesh that has nothing to do with Grant.”

Wincing, I took another generous sip, hanging my purse on the back of a barstool as I sat down at the small peninsula dividing her kitchen from her open living space.

“We doing this before food or after?” I asked before I tipped the glass back, my throat burning as I swallowed hard.

“After,” she said with a nod, peeking inside the bags and pulling out the container with the familiar markings of her usual order. “I don’t think you want me hangry for this conversation.”

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