Page 143 of Divorced from Number Thirty-Eight
Who hasn’t called.
My throat goes tight. “Please,” I whisper.
She sighs. Then touches my cheek before turning toward the others and commanding,
“If Faye wants to eat, then we eat.”
“Oh, my God!” I gasp a few hours later. “You didn’t!”
Luna nods and leans back on the couch in Gray’s family room. Yes, it hurts—being here, remembering cuddling with him while watching bad action movies and eating popcorn, but we defaulted to his house because it was close and because, however painful (and likely ill-advised) I stayed in the guest room last night, having to be at my house bright and early to meet with the contractors this morning.
“I did,” Luna says of showing up on Aiden’s doorstep with a decade old marriage contract. “I was desperate, and not thinking straight—or maybe…” A grin. “Maybe my subconscious was operating on all cylinders for a change.”
“That one,” Kailey says. “Because you ended up with Aiden.”
Luna’s face softens. “Yeah. You’re right.”
“He’s a sweetheart, always coming in and grabbing food for you,” Harper says.
“I blame you for my cravings.” Luna winks at the chef.
“Happy to take the blame for that one.” Harper winks back.
I glance over at Bri who’s smiling…and chowing down on one of the delicious sandwiches Harper made. Then at Kailey, who’s nibbling on a cookie, also made by Harper. They both grin at me and shake their heads—and I get exactly what they’re silently communicating.
Harper and Luna have set about bringing the entertainment.
Doing their best to distract me, letting me sit back and just exist in the laughter and teasing and fun and the fact that I’m not alone.
Not any longer.
I may not have Gray, but I don’t need him.
I’m okay.
Especially with a belly full of delicious food and a couple of glasses of wine. I finished my sandwich, downed a bag of homemade kettle chips with some sort of seasoning called Chicken Salt. It’s apparently from Australia and not made of chicken, though it does have salt, along with a lot of other yummy spices. And then I ate two cookies.
Yum.
See? I’m good.
“And what about Leo?” Luna asks.
Harper freezes. “Wh-what?”
I jerk to rigid focus at her tone.
“Are you happy to take the blame for him too?” Luna presses.
“I don’t know what you mean.” It’s an edgy response.
Luna fixes Harper with a stare that calls the words for the bullshit they are—it’s in her guilty expression, her pink cheeks, the way she’s looking toward the door, as though searching for an exit.
Except, Luna drove them all here, so there is no exit.
“Luns,” Bri warns.
“What?” A shrug. “Leo couldn’t keep his eyes off her at the baby shower.”
