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She pats at the corners of her mouth with her napkin, a sparkle in her eyes.
“As far as my divorce is concerned, I’m sure it’s going smoother than his did,” I offer, hoping to get the topic off me again. I don’t want to talk about how tempted I am to toss the legal documents out of the window, how I wake up in a cold sweat, knowing the man I’m divorcing is just down the hall in the guest room, realizing that I’ll now have to split time with the girls. It’s all so heartbreaking.
Miley rolls her eyes at the mention of her boyfriend’s difficult divorce. His ex-wife had been a client of ours and…things got pretty fucking messy.
“I didn’t even get into the details of it.”
“Oh?” I don’t prod much, knowing that for a while, he couldn’t even find hertoserve her the papers.
“She got the house.” She pauses, pressing her lips together. “Honestly, she got pretty much everything, except that dining set I love. Oh, and the painting I’d gifted them. But that’s Sam for you.”
I groan, leaning forward so my face nearly meets the tabletop. “The divvying up of property and assets. Be thankful they didn’t have children.” I sit up to raise my glass.
“Every single fucking day,” she mutters as she raises her own before taking a healthy sip.
The thought of children in the crossfires of a divorce has me quiet as I stare at my glass, turning it with my fingertips on the stem.
“How are the girls taking it?” Her question is quiet and I almost want to pretend I hadn’t heard it. But the moments where I’m able to be vulnerable are so few and far between that I snatch this one up before it disappears.
“I’m sure you can guess.”
“Penny is sulking, and Jilly is oblivious?”
“Optimistically so. I worry that I’m fucking them up,” I say, looking up at her. Because as much as I try not to be like my mother, I’m worried that I’ve let things slip through the cracks. Like, sure, I wasn’t a drunk who physically abused my children in my alcohol-induced rage. But was my desire for a great love going to hinder them in an emotional way that would ruin them forever?
“It’s okay to be selfish,” Miley says, interrupting my internal conundrum.
“Says the woman who’s been selfish her whole life,” I attempt at a joke, immediately hating how bitter I sound.
“Exactly. I’m the happiest person you know.” She takes my words on the chin and I reach out to grab her hand, holding it along with her stare as she offers a small smile.
It all sounds so simple. But I’ve always envied Miley’s easygoing nature. Even back when she was eighteen.
“Do you ever miss college?” I ask, taking the conversation into a territory we hadn’t reflected on in so long.
“I barely remember any of it,” she confesses with a snort. “Hey! Remember that hot professor I saw a while back?”
My heart jumps in my chest at the vague mention of Abraham.
“I think so,” I tell her, lifting my glass of wine to take a sip, trying to ignore the way my hand shakes. I should beembarrassed that he still elicits this reaction after all this time.
“What was the story again? I know you had a class with him. Did you ever find out what happened?”
I shrug and set the glass down before I accidentally spill it.Pull it together, bitch.
Because even after all this time, I don’t know what the hell happened.
“Just rumors,” is all I can stand to say, though I hadn’t heard even those.
“A shame,” Miley says before pressing her lips together. “I do love a good dose of gossip.”
My best friend is so far removed from that part of my life, it’s strange to think we were even living together at the time.
But I guess I’m just that good at keeping secrets.
If only I were that good at keeping myself from thinking of him.
I constantly prick myself over thoughts of him, my brain having set up barbed wire around the perimeter of our memories together.
