Page 8 of Buttons

“Trey, seriously, shut up,” Gage hisses, finally intervening.

I look at Julian, searching his face for denial. His eyes meet mine for a moment before sliding away. In that brief connection, I see the frustration, but there’s no denial.

“Luckily, it worked out,” Trey continues, oblivious to the devastation he’s causing me. “I mean, you guys have been married for what, eight years? Nice house, cute kids.”

The mention of our children sends a fresh wave of pain through me. Leo, with his curious eyes. We had him shortly before we got married. Meredith, with her stubborn chin. They both have my nose, the “weird button nose” that apparently factored into their father’s calculations.

“The kids look just like Ellie,” someone offers, clearly trying to salvage something from this wreckage.

Trey laughs. “That was Julian’s biggest concern back then! Remember, Jules? You were so worried any kids would inherit Ellie’s piggy nose and need plastic surgery!”

Oh my God.

I recoil, my body jerking away from Julian. Leo’s face flashes in my mind. His little button nose, so like mine, scrunches when he laughs. Meredith’s perfect little profile that I’ve kissed a thousand times has the same feature. The idea that their father once considered their nose a liability hits me like physical pain.

Julian’s hand clamps on my wrist under the table, but I know it’s not a supportive gesture. He’s restraining me.Don’t embarrass me. Don’t be dramatic. Let it go.

“Wow, so if I had known his coffee order, it would have been me?” Carmella asks.

Julian says, “That’s absolutely enough.”

But the damage is already done. The words hang in the air, suffocating me from within. I think of our wedding day, when I thought his tears were from joy. Our children’s births, when I believed he saw perfection in their tiny faces. Every compliment, every touch, every moment is suddenly suspect.

Around the table, discomfort has reached critical mass. “Well,” Gage says, standing abruptly, “this has been something.” He tosses cash onto the table. “I should get going. Early client meeting.”

Others follow his lead, making hasty excuses. Only Carmella lingers, gathering her designer purse with deliberate slowness.

“Always good to see you, Ellie,” she says, her voice honey-smooth. Her eyes flick to Julian. Then she’s gone too, leaving the three of us.

Trey blinks, suddenly aware of the exodus he’s caused. “Did I say something wrong?” he asks, genuinely confused.

Julian’s laugh sounds like glass breaking. “Just the usual Trey charm,” he says, leaning across the table to clap his friend’s shoulder with his long arms. “We should get going, too. Got a babysitter at home.”

I nod and smile, though inside, I’m breaking.

“Great seeing you,” I hear myself say, the words automatic and disconnected.

Julian’s hand finds the small of my back as we stand to leave. The same possessive gesture from earlier, but now it feels like he’s steering me so I don’t veer off course.

“Sorry if I said too much,” Trey calls after us, finally registering the tension. “Jules knows I’m only messing around!”

But was the story true?I want to ask but can’t seem to push the words out. I already know the answer, anyway. That was a play-by-play. A factual account of what happened. There was no dramatic rendition needed.

Julian raises a hand in acknowledgment without turning back. “It’s all good, man. Call you tomorrow.”

We walk toward the exit, the vintage beer signs blurring into smears of neon while the exposed brick walls pulse with my heartbeat. Julian guides me through the door and into the night air, but the cool breeze does nothing to clear my head.

Chapter 4

Elowen

The drive home passes in silence. Julian keeps one hand on the wheel, the other reaching for mine twice before giving up.Good.

I stare out the window, watching the streetlights blur into streaks. My reflection stares back, highlighting the weird button nose I never used to think about. Now, I wonder how my husband views it. I feel the deduction instantly. I am fifteen points behind Carmella, maybe more. I study him like a stranger because that is exactly what he is.

We pay the babysitter, a college student whose name I should remember but can’t recall through the fog of betrayal. Julian pays her extra for the late hour. Always generous with money, my husband, but apparently less generous with his truths.

“Everything okay?” the girl asks, glancing between us.