Page 123 of The Vacation Mix-Up
“I know how it works,” she deadpans.
“Then fire away. I’m an open book.” I wink. “And you like books.”
Smiling somewhat sarcastically at me, she crosses her arms over her chest. “Okay. Why are you getting a divorce?”
My gut twists, but if I’m to have a chance with Riles, I need to share the details of my life that I don’t want to share. The pain, the anger, the shame. I need to be weak to be strong. “Because my wife cheated on me with her work colleague.”
Her jaw drops before she quickly collects her drink again. “That’s horrible. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I say, burying my resentment. “It’s water off a duck’s back.”
“I hardly think so.”
I take a swig of my drink, enjoying the burn as the whiskey slides down my throat. “What I mean is it’s for the best. Krystal and I were over before she hooked up with Finn. I just didn’t see that at the time.”
“Still, that’s far from water off a duck’s back.”
I shrug. “You’re right. But I have to forgive and forget to move forward. And I can’t do that if I’m constantly bitter about it all.”
Nodding, Riles delicately sucks her straw into her mouth, her cheeks sinking into her face as her eyes look from left to right, right to left.
Her awkwardness is amusing, and while I like it, I also want her to feel comfortable.
“What else do you want to know?” I ask.
She swallows, licks her lips, then subtly wipes her mouth. “Do you still love her?”
“No.”
“No? But you were together for so long.”
“I loved my childhood sweetheart, but she no longer exists. That woman died when our daughter died.”
Riles chokes, and for a second, I fear she’s consumed her straw. “You okay?”
“Your daughter—” She coughs and thumps her chest with her fist. “—passed away?”
“Yes. Imogen.”
Her eyes flick to my arm, to where my sweet girl will forever be inked on my skin.
I glance down at my tattoo as well. “She died before she was born.”
Reaching over the table, Riles takes my hand in hers, squeezes it gently, and whispers, “When?”
“Four years ago.” I stare at her hand, my mind wandering to the dark recesses that store my pain for my daughter, a void I slip into at any time, any place.
“Jesus, Riley, I’m… I’m so sorry. For you and for Krystal.” She sets her glass down, stands, then carefully lowers her ass onto my lap, her arms encasing me in a sweet hug. “Do you want to talk about her?”
Surprised by her bold move, but also appreciating her comfort, I hug her to me and murmur, “Not now. But I will, eventually.”
“Okay.” She kisses my head much like I did hers when she told me about her mother. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m here for you. To listen. To shout at. Whatever you need.” She pulls back, rubs my shoulder, and then retakes her seat.
The sentiment squeezes my heart, and a damn tear escapes my eye. I swipe it away, mumbling, “Thanks.”
Although painful, I want to break the ice around my heart and tell her more. I want to tell her I did everything I could for my ex-wife and that my everything wasn’t enough. That I can fix a broken table but not my marriage. But those details can wait. Saying Imogen’s name out loud was hard enough.
“What’s your favorite color?” she asks.
