Page 10 of Letting Go

I whistle low. “Damn.”

“You should’ve seen Eli,” she continues. “Hesnapped. It was like all the years of silent frustration finally burst out of him. Heunloadedon her. I juststood there, wrapped in a dish towel, watching it all go down like a telenovela.”

“And now?” I ask.

She grins, practically glowing. “Now? He feels so bad for not believing me before. The things he’s done to apologize...” Her eyes go dreamy for a second. “Goddamn.”

I mutter, “Lucky bitch.”

She laughs. “You and Mike still haven’t…?”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

She leans back, eyebrows disappearing into her hairline. “How long’s it been now?”

“Two months.”

Her mouth drops open. “Wow.”

Yeah. Wow. Like I hadn’t already counted the days like tally marks on a prison wall. Like I hadn’t already laid awake wondering if I should just climb on top and pretend everything was fine.

Then I see her.

Tall. Blonde. Pilates-core in motion. Mackenna struts into the café like the air should part for her and honestly, it probably would if it had any self-respect.

My blood goes cold. I duck. Hard.

“What are you doing?” Hannah hisses. “Jesus, Leni, people are looking.”

“Shhh.” I slink lower behind the potted fern like it’s my invisibility cloak. “Don’t make a scene.”

“You are the scene.” She side-eyes me while casually adjusting her hair, then glances in the mirror behind me. “Okay… the blonde? Is she the one you’re hiding from?”

I nod from the trench of my shame. “Yeah. That’s Mckenna.”

She makes a face. “Ooooh.”

So, she knows. Of course she knows. Mackenna: The human red flag in business casual.

Hannah raises a brow. “Why are we stalking her?”

“It’s not stalking.” I sit back up, pretend to sip my now room-temp latte. “According to her Instagram, she comes here every Tuesday. Cheat day. Poppy seed bagel and oat milk latte. Like clockwork.”

Hannah makes a gagging sound. “I said why we’re stalking her, not how.”

Caught. Dammit. I press my lips together and glare at the condensation on my water glass like it’s personally responsible for my spiralling mental state.

Mackenna walks out, swinging her eco-friendly bag like she owns the planet and everyone’s husband on it.

I sit up straighter. Breathe. Then blurt, way too loudly: “I think Mike’s screwing her.”

The guy at the next table looks up, mid-bite. I glare at him until he looks away. Mind your croissant, Chad.

Hannah blinks, mouth falling open for the second time today. “Mike would never.”

I give her a look.

“Okay… probably never,” she amends, cautiously. “Where is this coming from?”

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