Chapter Seventeen

CHAPTER SEVENTEENLUCY

I think we should break up.

I see Nathan’s text as soon as I wake up. It was sent at two in the morning Texas time. Midnight in California. I wonder whether he was drunk.

Why????I laugh as I push send.

I wonder what finally pushed him over the edge. Maybe he made it to the episode about my cheating with Kyle. He could excuse murder, but he drew the line at my cheating on my husband.

It’s only six in the morning in Los Angeles, so I don’t expect a response right away. Or ever, maybe.

Mom’s gym agreed to let me use her pass while I’m in town, and I get on the treadmill, until run run run is the only thought going round and round in my brain.

Nathan hasn’t texted back by the time I get home and shower, but Matt has.

Every part of my body tenses when I see his name on my screen.

Hey. Meet me for lunch. Please?

I want to ignore it, like I ignored every single other text he sent me over the years.

But I think of Ben’s request. Of Grandma’s request. Of Savvy.

I was never good at convincing Matt to do anything, but maybe things are different now. Maybe I’m different now.

Maybe I’m just an even bigger idiot.

Sure, I reply.

A waitress passes me, holding a tray of sizzling fajitas. Oh damn. Those hot plates could do so much damage if pounded into a human skull. I’d have to be careful not to burn myself in the process, though.

“Let’s kill—”

Nope. No. I do not have the energy for the voice right now. Let’s focus, brain.

Matt stands as I approach, and he’s hugging me before I can react. He smells familiar—a hint of cedar in his aftershave, mint from his Tic Tac habit.

I avoid looking at him as we pull away, because I’m repeatedly bashing a fajita plate into his face.

I slide onto the red plastic, noting that Matt has a margarita in front of him and has ordered one for me as well. I’m not a huge fan of day drinking, or of salt on the rim of my glass, and he knew both of these things at one point. I’m not sure he cared back then either.

My phone buzzes, and I nudge it out of my purse to see that Nathan has replied to my last text.

We’re just going in different directions.

I guess that’s fair. I’m possibly headed to prison, and he is headed back to the dating apps to find a new girlfriend.

Another text pops up.

I’m sorry. I’ll pack up your stuff. Tell me when you want to come get it.

I drop my phone back in my purse and look up at Matt. Ex-husband in front of me, ex-boyfriend texting me to pick up my shit. I am positively on fire.

“Thanks for coming.” Matt intertwines his fingers, sliding them across to the middle of the table. He clearly remembers that I like his hands.

“Sure.” I take a tiny sip of my margarita because I actually would like to take the edge off this day, and because he’ll comment on it if I don’t drink it. I’m good at avoiding pissing off Matt.

Mostly.

I carefully put my drink back down. It’s a colorful Mexican tile table, the type that might topple your drink if you put it down on the edge of one of the tiles. Matt hates it when I spill things.

“How are you doing?” His brow is furrowed in concern. “It must be hard, being back.”

“It’s all right.”

“Are you listening to the podcast?” he asks.

“Yeah. I’m in touch with him, actually. Ben.”

He stops with his margarita almost to his lips. “What?”

“I ran into him at the diner. He asked for my help.”

“Your … help?” He says help like it’s the weirdest thing he’s ever heard in his life.

“Yeah, he wants an interview. I figured what the hell?”

“Are you serious?” He puts the margarita down. It wobbles on the uneven tiles.

“Yes.”

“Lucy, that is not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

His eyes widen slightly, like I should already know the answer to that question.

Because you murdered her, Lucy.

“He’s not on your side,” Matt finally says.

“No. He’s not.”

“Then…?” He’s exasperated. I’m very familiar with this emotion from Matt.

“No one’s on my side. But he doesn’t seem to be on anyone’s side, so that’s really the most I can ask for.”

He lets out a long sigh and takes another drink of his margarita. I’m still getting used to his shorter hair. It’s cropped so short I can see his scalp. Something about it makes him seem hostile. His scalp is angry.

“He said that you didn’t do an interview.”

“Of course not.”

“I don’t care if you do one. Just, if you said no because of me.”

“Jesus, Lucy, of course I said no because of you.” His exasperation is growing. “You could show a little gratitude, dammit!” he had screamed at me as I stuffed my clothes into garbage bags. I still don’t know what I was supposed to be grateful for. I guess that he wanted to stay married, even though he thought I murdered my closest friend?

I can’t muster up any gratitude for that, even now.

“I have an idea!” the voice yells.

“I think you should do it.” I dip a chip into the salsa and pop it in my mouth.

“I literally can’t think of a worse idea.”

“I’m doing an interview. Kyle’s already told the whole world that you were cheating on me. You don’t want to share your side?”

“I wasn’t cheating on you.”

“I HAVE AN IDEA!”

I manage not to snort-laugh, which is a real accomplishment. “Then you really should do the interview and tell Ben that.”

He leans back in the booth, working his jaw in a way that used to make me nervous. I pull the napkin off my silverware and imagine stabbing the knife in his eye.

“You know what? Fine.” He’s got me now. That’s his “I’ll show her” tone. “Tell Ben to call me again. I’ll do it.”