Page 23 of The Wrong Husband
"When I’m in the ER, I’m too busy trying to survive.” I raise my shoulders. “Any altruistic notions about my chosen profession were dismissed the day I dissected my first cadaver."
There’s silence around the table. I look around their faces and stifle a chuckle. Their expressions vary from shock to horror to plain disgust.
“You do that to get a reaction from us," Harper complains.
I bat my eyelids. "Do what?"
Zoey chuckles. "I’m glad you’re back to using medical terminology in everyday conversation. You were so morose when we last spoke, I was worried you’d lost your sense of humor.”
I take in the happiness and surprise in her eyes.
"I don’t think I lost it. Not completely. It was buried for a while, under the weight of everyday life, I suppose." I manage to keep my tone light.
“So, what changed?” Grace surveys me with a shrewd look in her eyes.
Of all my friends, she’s the one who dislikes Drew the most. It doesn’t help that they haven’t met him.
I never felt serious enough about Drew to want to introduce him to my friends. But I’ve shared enough about him that they know I haven’t been happy with him for months.
“Guess I found my mojo.” I raise a shoulder.
More likely, it’s the feeling of well-being from being with my friends, combined with the leftover buzz from having run into that mystery man, which is, oddly, making me feel like I’ve been given a new lease of life. My friends are right in saying I was lackluster the last time I saw them. I really have been avoiding them. I knew they’d ask me about Drew, and I wasn’t ready to talk about him. But I am now.
“Also, I broke up with him.”
Silence.
Zoey and Grace exchange a knowing look.
Harper gasps, her expression softening. “Oh no, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.” She reaches for my hand. “Are you okay?”
“I am,” I say, and to my surprise—it’s true. I feel it. In my bones.
“Are you through with him? Is there a chance you’ll get back together?” Grace scans my features.
“No, there’s no chance we’re getting back together.”
She blows out a breath of relief. “Good riddance, if you ask me. That man made you a shadow of yourself.”
“Grace,” Harper scolds, scandalized.
“What?” She frowns. “Life is short, and I call it like I see it.”
“No kidding,” Zoey mutters, then turns to me. “She’s blunt, but she’s not wrong. That man bled you dry.”
“Zoey!” Harper shoots her a warning look.
Grace shrugs. “Come on, Harper. Phe’s not made of glass.” She turns to me. “We all saw it. He had a sweet gig—moved into your place and coasted. Didn’t even contribute to the mortgage, did he?”
I hesitate. “I didn’t ask him to.”
“Oh, honey.” Grace leans in, her voice gentler now. “That’s the point. A real partneroffers.He steps up. From everything you told me—he didn’t.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. She’s right. I let it slide. I leteverythingslide—because I didn’t want to start a fight. Because I felt sorry for him. Because he needed saving, and I needed to be needed. I needed him to like me. I needed his approval.
Just like I tried to do everything to gain my mother’s approval growing up.
“He knew you’d hold him up, no matter what.” Frustration laces Grace’s voice. “He took advantage of your accommodating nature.”
