Page 56 of Five Years
“You know, sometimes I find myself thinking about us.” She didn’t turn to see Ariana’s reaction, but heard a soft exhale. “I could be walking in the park, daydreaming at my desk, reading a romance book and a character’s wit reminds me of you. I went to Chelsea Market a few weeks ago; in the food hall there was a Spicy Scallop Roll. I stopped to look at the ingredients, thinking maybe I could replicate it at home—and it took me a moment to realize what I was doing.” Leah shook her head, letting out a low, pitiful chuckle. “I don’t even like scallops.”
“I love scallops,” Ariana whispered.
“Exactly! That’s my point.”
The car fell silent.
The hardest thing about speaking her truth was knowing it wouldn’t change a thing. She loved Ariana—but Ariana loved someone else. It was the cruellest part of being human: to mourn the loss of someone you love, except that person wasn’t gone completely—they lived on the same earth, the same country, the same state, maybe even the same street—and there was nothing she could do to change it.
Imagine living with the knowledge that your soulmate is within touching distance—but can never be touched.
“I’m sorry I hurt you, Leah.”
It was just as sincere as before, and the time before that. Leah believed Ariana never meant to hurt her, but it didn’t make it any less painful.
“Do you ever think ‘what if’ things had been different between us?” Leah asked.
“I do,” Ariana replied softly. “It’s hard not to.”
Leah’s heart raced—a small surge of joy knowing Ariana thought of her too. The happiness question had sparked conversation, but Ariana’s answer still echoed in her mind:I don’t know.
How could she not know?
If someone had asked Leah that question when they were together, her answer would have been easy and resounding:absolutely. In fact, she’d have said she was the happiest she’d ever been and ever would be.
Why couldn’t Ariana say the same? What made her hesitate? Did she regret her choice? Did she believe she’d made a mistake? Or was that wishful thinking on Leah’s part?
Leah watched the lake house lights appear in the distance. They’d taken the final right turn; soon the tires would crunch the familiar gravel drive.
“Ariana—” Leah turned to face her.
Ariana’s eyes were fixed on the road ahead. She squinted.
“Hannah . . .”
“Erm, it’s Leah.”
“No,” Ariana pointed to the figure standing at the foot of the driveway. “That’s Hannah.”
Oh.
THIRTEEN
Unlucky.
Leah had never categorised herself as unlucky—not entirely, if you discounted losing the love of her life, of course. She also didn’t believe in superstition. Friday the thirteenth was just like any other day of the year.
But—she did believe in God. And according to biblical tradition, unlucky Fridays stretched way back. It was said to be the day Adam and Eve ate the forbidden fruit, the day Cain murdered Abel, the day Noah’s Ark set sail in the great flood—and, of course, Judas, the disciple who betrayed Jesus and was famously the thirteenth guest at the Last Supper.
That biblical history lesson played out in Leah’s mind as she took her seat at a table neatly laid for twelve guests.
“We can squeeze you in next to Ariana,” Grace said to Hannah cheerfully.
That made thirteen.
It was Friday, it was the thirteenth, and now there were thirteen guests. Leah couldn’t make it up. If superstition were a person, it was officially laughing in her face. Hannah had been like a deer in headlights, standing outside her car, smiling from ear to ear as she saw Ariana pull up behind—and then the smile vanished when she saw me.
Confusion set in.
