Page 13 of The Matchmaker

It’s half past ten by the time I arrive at the agency on Monday morning. Genevieve’s at her desk, typing. Her ginger hair is bunched up in a topknot, her brows furrowed in concentration. Borzu’s reclined in his gaming chair, AirPods in his ears, wearing a pink polo shirt and sporting matching pink hair.

The front door chimes. Darcy walks in with a tray of coffees. Her four-inch stilettos click against the marble floor.

“Perfect timing,” I tell her.

“Per usual.” She grins, setting the tray on the counter. “How was the follow-up with Yoga Lady? Did you get on the mat again?”

“It was core yoga today.” I groan. “Why is everyone multitasking lately? Surely she should be able to squeeze in a meeting without requiring me to don athleisure?”

“You got a two-for-one! A client meetingandcore strengthening.”

“Except I can’t reach my drink now.” I gingerly edge my fingers toward the steaming cup. “I had no idea downward dog would be part of the business.”

“Everything can be part of the business.” Darcy nudges the drink toward my grateful grasp. “And since when do you getsore doing yoga? You dragged me to that local studio for nearly half a year!”

“I lost the motivation once you moved in with Samir.” I take a sip of the warm beverage. The foam from the latte tickles my tongue. “Why does he have to live all the way across town?”

“Aw, I’m sorry. I got priced out anyway after they raised their rates.”

“It’s fine. I barely have time to squeeze my run in these days, let alone a one-hour yoga session at the studio.”

The front door chimes again. When I see who it is, I frown. Beenish? She’s wearing oversized sunglasses and clutching a beat-up Prada bag. She’d flown in last week for her intake and to sign all the paperwork. Darcy sent her the list of therapist and life coach referrals on Tuesday. What is she doing here now?

“Beenish.” Darcy startles. She moves toward her desk to greet her. “I didn’t realize you had a meeting today.”

“I don’t.” She looks at me. “I really need to talk to you, Nura. Figured I’d trek over.”

From Raleigh?

Darcy shoots me a concerned look, then turns to Beenish. “I need to check Nura’s schedule to see if she has time right this—”

“Oh God. I just barged right in.” Beenish bites her lower lip. “I didn’t even stop to think that you might be busy. I can go. I’ll—I’ll leave.”

“You didn’t barge in,” I tell her. “Why don’t you come on back? I want to know what’s going on.”

Once the door to my office shuts, Beenish collapses into the chair across from me. When she pulls off her sunglasses, her eyes are puffy from crying. I ping the button on my desk. In thirty seconds, Darcy’s at the door with a glass of mint water.

Beenish takes a few sips. When she sets the drink on the table, her shirtsleeve shifts, revealing a bruise the size and color of an autumn maple leaf along her wrist. She sees my stricken expression and quickly folds her arms.

“He didn’t mean to do it.”

They never do.I shift my face to neutral. Nod encouragingly for her to continue.

“I thought we were over. I swear.” She takes another sip of water and steadies herself. “Austin called me last night and said he wanted to come by and talk. He wanted closure. You should have seen his face. He was completely devastated. He was crying, Nura. He begged me to forgive him and promised he’d do better. He looked like he really meant it—it was like a lightbulb finally went off in his head. Then after we ordered takeout and were settling in for the evening, he lost it because I wasn’t in the mood to watch basketball.”

“Is this typical? For him to pick fights over small things?”

I keep my voice gentle. Curious. Though it’s not easy. What I want to do is grab her by the hand and tell her she can’t let him keep doing this to her. That she needs to kick him to the curb and not look back. Because that bruise on her wrist won’t be the last mark he leaves. There will always be another apology. Another excuse. Another angry explosion. With my years of experience, I know I can’t say any of that, though. Beenish has to reach this conclusion for herself. She has to see for herself—and believe—that there is life after Austin.

“Oh yeah. Freaking out about the littlest things is, like, his playbook.” She takes the tissue I hold out for her. “Austin’s the crowned king of petty, but it’s like his fuse is getting shorter and shorter these days.”

“Was it during the argument that he hurt you?”

“He didn’t mean to,” she rushes to correct me. “He just grabbed me harder than he realized.”

“Beenish, if it was hard enough to leave a bruise…”

“I know. You’re right.” She dabs at her eyes with a tissue. “I gave him an ultimatum. I told him he had to go to anger management or we were done. When I woke up this morning, he was gone. No note. No text. So I guess I have my answer.”

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