Page 75 of Filthy Little Midlife Fling

I snort, and a tear rolls down my cheek. “No, thank you.”

“At least you told Terry to eat dirt. I can’t believe he came on to you after pretending to be a doting husband to his pregnant wife.”

“You can’t?” I answer bitterly. “I can. I should have known he’d do something like this from the moment I got the first call about organizing their kitchen.”

“Yeah,” Laurel concedes, so I scowl at her. She snorts, and I try to laugh. It comes out garbled and weird.

I eat another piece of gnocchi and gulp down some more wine. Then I say, “At least I did it. I had good sex with a hot man for the first time in years. That’s something.”

“That’s definitely something!” Laurel lifts her glass. “Cheers to that.”

I touch my glass to hers and force a smile, but I know bitterness is hiding just behind the curl of my lips. The thing is, Remy isn’t a jerk. He’s got such a big heart, and if I’d been worthy of it, it could have been mine.

I’m not worthy of it, though. I only have enough mental capacity to take care of myself and my business. Maybe that’s something I just need to accept. I’m not good enough to have a relationship with a decent man on top of it.

I huff at myself, frustrated.

The fling was supposed to be a fun, temporary thing. It was supposed to be like a vacation for my mind, something to focus on that wasn’t work.

But then work fell apart, and I’m still dealing with the consequences. Next week, I’ll have to go back to Georgia’s place and pretend I’m not mortified by the mistakes I made. I’ll have to pray she’s so happy with the end result that my mess-ups won’t overshadow my work.

Being with Remy reminded me that I’m a woman and that I crave companionship. But if I have to choose between my livelihood and a relationship, how could I choose anything but my livelihood? Clearly, I only have the capacity to make one of those two things work. I can’t put a man above everything that I’ve accomplished, everything that I am.

Besides, it’s not like Remy even wants me anymore, so all this ruminating is pointless emotional drivel.

“You have to admit,” Laurel says, “it’s kind of crappy of Remy to withdraw so much and not even hear you out. It kind of reminds me of how Terry used to make you feel. You were always trying to fix something when you were with him. Like he was this unattainable goal, and you were always trying to chase it.” She pinches her lips and meets my gaze. “It worries me to see that dynamic cropping up again.”

“Yeah.” She’s not wrong. I can’t go through another Terry. I can’t take on someone else’s problems and try to twist myself into the perfect shape for someone else. I blame myself enough for my failures; I can’t stand the thought of someone else blaming me too.

Laurel reaches over and pats my hand. “Maybe this just isn’t the right time for you, honey. You’ll meet someone eventually, but right now it’s time to take care of you.”

I nod, and the tears fill my eyes again. “Yeah,” I say, but I don’t quite believe her. I wonder if maybe I’m destined to be alone. Maybe having a partner requires too much from me, and I no longer have the capacity to provide it. Maybe it’s a woman’s plight to give and give and give and receive nothing in return.

It’s easier to be alone. At least then the only person I have to take care of is myself.

Georgia’s new shelving gets cut to size by Wednesday, so I’m back at her place on Thursday. When the last shelf slides in perfectly, I let out a sigh of relief. Nodding to Meg, we start sorting through clothes and organizing them in a way that makes sense. I set up a small ottoman at a dressing table and hang a piece of art Georgia brought out when I asked if she had anything she’d like to display.

It takes hours to finish. By the time Meg and I are done, the sun is dipping close to the horizon—but the closet looks fantastic.

Georgia comes in with Sebastian close behind, and she clasps her hands at her breast, stopping in the middle of the new room. Sebastian whistles, brows arched high.

“Do you like it?” I ask.

“Like it?” Georgia repeats. “Do I like it? Audrey, I love it.”

“Here, let me give you a tour.” I show her all the drawers and explain why I organized them the way I did. I show her how to pull out the hidden laundry bag and where her shoes are stored. She gasps at the sight of a few designer pumps artfully displayed on the far wall.

When Georgia wraps her arms around me and squeezes, I finally feel the tension in my back unknot.

“I’m calling the girls,” she says, her phone in her hand. “They have to see this.”

“We’ll get out of your hair, then,” I say, nodding to Meg.

“No way!” Georgia looks up at the two of us. “You have to stay for dinner. The girls will want to ask you questions. You’ll probably have a bunch of new clients by the end of the evening.”

Excitement sparks, but I see Meg’s shoulders round. She’s worked hard today, and I can’t keep her here any longer. “Thank you for the kind offer, but we have work to finish up at the office. I’ll leave some business cards,” I tell Georgia with a smile.

“All right,” Georgia says, opening a drawer to admire the jewelry storage. She smiles at me. “I’ll see you around at Four Cups, yeah?”

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