Page 7 of Buttons

I remember, but hechoseme.

“Ancient history,” Julian says sharply. His free hand clenches around his glass.

I glance at Carmella, who says, “No, no, I want to hear the story. I deserve to hear the story.”

Trey nods in a way that says,very well, before continuing, “It was a spreadsheet. A fucking spreadsheet to choose his wife!”

A few nervous laughs ripple around the table. Julian’s fingertips press deeper into my waist.

“And Elowen won?” she asks.

“Spoilers,” Trey says. “Wait until the end of the story.”

“I think that’s enough reminiscing for one night,” Julian says.

But Trey is past hearing warning signals. He leans across the table toward me, his tie dragging through a puddle of spilled alcohol.

“The best part, though,” he says, tapping the table for emphasis. “The best part is how you two actually ended up together. Jules meant to text Carmella for coffee, but he hadn’t saved either of your numbers, and guess what? He texted the wrong one!”

I still remember the text where he asked me out. It arrived a month after our chance meeting at Red Fox Grocery. He’d been standing in the frozen food aisle, glaring at a handle coated in a sticky smear of spilled milk. I offered to grab a carton for him, since I was reaching for one, anyway. Afterward, I spritzed my hands with strawberry sanitizer. This seemed to intrigue him, sparking a conversation. We exchanged numbers, though I never expected to hear from him. Even so, he messaged a week later, and we had a friendly back-and-forth. Until he asked me out for coffee. That one accidental text was the beginning of everything. Only, it turns out that text was never meant for me.

Gage winces. Someone mutters something about getting another round. Meanwhile, the muscles in my shoulders knot tightly.

“And when Ellie showed up instead,” Trey continues, “he was too stubborn to say anything! Isn’t that fucking hilarious?”

“That’s not—” Julian starts, but Trey is on a roll now.

“And then you kept showing up!” Trey laughs, gesturing wildly. “And Jules kept thinking, ‘Well, she’s organized, she’s reliable, she’d make a decent mother’.”

Each word stings: organized, reliable,decent. Nothing about being beautiful or exciting. He didn’t choose me. He chose her.

The room tilts. I take a careful breath, trying to steady myself without anyone noticing. We have a life built on a text message sent to the wrong person.

“So our boy did the practical thing,” Trey says, raising his glass in a mock toast. “He went with the safe option. And now look at you two! Perfect little family and everything.”

“Maybe we should call it a night,” someone suggests.

Too late. The words are already loose, bouncing around the table, seeping into my skin. I take a long sip of water, trying to cool the burning in my throat.

“Alright, enough ancient history,” Julian says with forced lightness. “Who’s up for a nightcap at Carmody’s?”

But Trey’s eyes are still gleaming with that dangerous light, and I know there’s more to come.

“Carmella was the clear winner on paper,” Trey continues, swirling his drink like he’s at a tasting rather than dismantling my life. “Wealthy family, killer connections, stunning looks.” He raises his glass toward Carmella, who accepts the compliment with a slight tilt of her perfect chin. “And then there’s Ellie…with her ‘weird button nose.’”

I audibly gasp, unable to help it.Weird nose.I touch my face automatically, then force my hand back down to my wineglass, gripping so tight I’m afraid the stem might snap between my fingers. My eyes burn as I blink back tears.

Julian shifts beside me, his body rigid. “Trey,” he says, his voice dangerously low, “that’s enough.”

Trey hasn’t listened all night, and he’s not about to stop now. “The spreadsheet had actual weighted scores. Remember that, Jules? You had those little formulas calculating the results and everything.”

Carmella takes a sip of wine while her eyes flicker between Julian and me. There’s something satisfied in her gaze, like she’s finally seeing confirmation of a long-held suspicion.

“Carmella had the higher score,” Trey announces to the table. “By, like, fifteen points or something, wasn’t it, Jules?”

Wow. I wonder what metrics my husband used to calculate my worth against Carmella’s. More importantly, I wonder how many points my nose had cost me.

“He told me he was planning to let you down gently after the second time that happened,” Trey says. “But then he saw how you were so just damn efficient abouteverything.” He mimics taking notes. “You had his coffee order memorized by the second meeting. Started organizing his calendar. And Jules here thought, ‘Well, maybe the practical choice isn’t so bad’.”