Chapter 23

July 2023

I sit there, frozen, as Wes slips into the empty seat next to me, like I've been waiting for him to show up all along and he was late, snarled in traffic. He's wearing dark blue chinos, a light gray shirt, and dockers with no socks.

He leans in casually and kisses me on the cheek. "Happy birthday," he whispers in my ear, then squeezes my leg briefly under the table. I jerk it away.

I turn to him with the eyes of the table on us. His sandy hair is longer and curly, due for a haircut. He's been in the sun since we last saw each other, the freckles that come out in summer peppered over his forearms and the back of his hands. I can't help wondering where he's been and with who. "What are you doing here?"

His dark brown eyes are innocent. "Didn't you get my message?"

"No."

Lucy grabs Fred's hand. "Let's go get a drink."

Fred looks grim. "Sure, sure."

They rise and then Ann, Charlotte, Colin, and Sophie do the same. Colin stops and shakes Wes's hand and says it's nice to see him. I can hear Sophie chastising him as they walk away.

All this time I haven't moved. I'm trying to adjust to being near him again. I can smell his cologne and feel his too familiar presence. How can I be so turned off by someone I once clung to?

Wes picks up a fork from his place setting. "Should I not have come?"

"What do you think?"

"I wanted to see you."

"I told you I needed time."

Wes puts the fork down carefully. "But you didn't say anything more than that. Not how much time and if we could talk or if you wanted a divorce. And Olivia"—he reaches for my hand—"I've missed you. I miss you."

It's weird to feel him touching me. Something I used to crave, but now it makes me feel sick. I pull my hand away. "You should've thought of that before."

"This again?"

"Again? Give me a break."

Wes leans forward, his face open and earnest. "I made a mistake. It was a moment of weakness. It meant nothing. And I get that you're mad and disappointed. I wish I could take it back. I never meant for you to know … I need you to forgive me."

"You need that?"

"Yes. Please, Olivia. Can you forgive me?"

"And then what?" I look away from him, out over the sea of partygoers. Everyone laughing and drinking and swaying to the music, waiting for the moment when the waiters will appear with their trays of lobsters held high over their heads.

"We go back to our life."

"Just like that?"

"No, not just like that. We can go to therapy if you want. We can do whatever you need to change things. Have a baby—whatever."

"A baby, whatever?"

"You know I didn't mean it like that."

I turn back to him. I feel weary, that same feeling that weighed me down this last year when Wes was behaving so strangely. How I felt like I was going mad, thinking that things were breaking while he was telling me that everything was fine. But it wasn't fine—I'd been right all along.

"I don't know anything, Wes. Not anymore."

"I'm sorry."

"You said."

"What now?"

"I don't know."

Wes looks down at his hands. He's still wearing his wedding ring, a thick platinum band that he'd picked out himself. Forever is engraved inside, and if I'm being honest, even I thought that was a bit over the top when he showed it to me a couple of days before our wedding.

"Is this because of Fred?" he asks.

"What?"

"What's he doing here?"

"That's a good question."

"You didn't come here to be with him?"

"No!" I lower my voice. "I told you William sold the house. He needs help clearing it out. That's why I'm here. I had no idea Fred was around."

"So why is he here, then?"

"He bought it."

"What?" Wes sits back. "Wow."

"I wasn't happy about it either."

"Really?"

"Of course not. Come on, Wes."

He crosses his arms, appraising me. "You won't forgive me, but I forgave you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know what it means. Don't make me say it."

"Say what?"

"At least I wasn't in love with someone else during our marriage."

This silences me. It's always surprised me about Wes, how perceptive he is. More than once, he's figured out something fundamental about me without me telling him. I've never had the same insight into him, though.

"That's not true."

"Come on, Olivia—don't do that."

I rub my hands together, feeling the indent in my finger where my ring used to reside. Did I wear it long enough that this is permanent? Like a scar?

"You're saying I should forgive you because you forgave me?"

"Yes."

"I don't know if it's that binary."

"I get that—okay, I do. But I'm not the only guilty party here, is what I'm saying. You and me, we're the same."

I want to snap back at this, to point out the differences. And there are differences. But he's also right. He cheated on us, and I did too. The differences—the how and why and who—don't matter.

"Okay," I say.

"What does that mean?"

"You're right. We both fucked up."

His face clears. "You'll forgive me?"

"I didn't say that. It's hard to trust you right now."

"I understand. But I'm not giving up."

I look away from him, wishing someone would interrupt us. And then, Charlotte and Ann approach the table cautiously, like I'd called them.

"They're about to bring out dinner," Charlotte says.

Our eyes meet. Her face is filled with compassion. "Sit down."

Charlotte waves to the rest of the group, hovering just out of earshot.

"This is Ann," I say to Wes. "She helped broker the deal on the house."

Wes stands and shakes Ann's hand. "Nice to meet you." He lets it go and gives a small bow to Charlotte. "Nice to see you again, Charlotte."

She nods, a chill to her tone. "Wes."

Charlotte has never forgiven us for connecting years after they broke up. It's not rational, but then, unrequited love never is.

Everyone else returns and takes their seats.

"I'm going to go," Wes says.

"You don't have to."

"Are you sure?"

I'm not, but if he leaves, then it feels like I'm telling him that things will never work out, and right now I don't know what I want. We had something good once. Am I ready to throw that all away because of one mistake? I thought I was, but now I'm not so sure.

"Yes. Stay." There's an ooh that spreads through the crowd, the lobsters coming out. I reach for my bib and open it up. "For dinner. But not at the house." I say that last part quietly so only he can hear.

"I booked a room here."

Great. Wes and Fred staying in the same place. "Good."

"You can watch Olivia play tennis in the morning," Lucy says. "Fred tells me she's amazing."

Fred's back is to us; he's talking to Colin. But I can see the muscles stiffen in his neck.

"You're playing tennis?"

"In the mornings with Matt. Just to get in shape."

"And Fred is watching?"

"He's staying at the club too. I guess he's seen a few of my matches."

"Ah." Wes picks up his bib and ties it around his neck. He picks up his lobster cracker and breaks into a smile that only I would know is not entirely genuine. "Bring on the lobsters."

After a dinner where the tension ebbed and flowed and settled into unease, the tables are removed, and the band transitions into dance hits for old people. Our group spreads out over the dance floor. Wes drank steadily through dinner, as did Colin, and now they're off in the corner with the bartender, discussing scotch.

I don't mind the drinking. Wes is more gregarious when he has some drinks in him, and I get the need to let loose in the circumstances. I have a few drinks in me too, plus a lot of strawberry shortcake and lobster, and as the evening winds on, the tension starts to seep out of my body. It's my birthday, after all. Shouldn't I be having some fun?

Ash is of the same mind, appearing at my elbow on the dance floor, her thin arms raised above her head, finally free of her "deadly boring table." Her laugh is infectious, and I throw my arms up to meet hers. I shout out the night's events to her over the thumping music, and she gathers me in a hug. "If you want me to punch him, I can."

"That won't be necessary."

She lets me go. "And they're both going to stay here?"

"Apparently."

"Maybe there will be some punching."

"Not their style."

She chucks me under the chin. "We'll see."

"Besides, it's not like Fred wants to be with me."

"Sure, right." Ash reaches for the charm bracelet. "And what about you?"

I pull my arm away, embarrassed. "I wanted to get under his skin."

"Mission accomplished, I'd say." She nods to the side of the dance floor where Fred is standing, scowling in our direction.

"I'm sure he's simply reminding himself of his lucky escape."

"Uh-huh."

"He's with Lucy."

"He's not going to marry Lucy."

"Sophie seems to think he might."

Ash puts her arms around my neck like we're slow dancing. "That's wishful thinking on Sophie's part." The song ends and a new beat starts. "OMG," Ash says, "is this what I think it is?"

I listen for a second. "If you think it's ‘In Da Club,' then yes."

"Yes! It's perfect! Because it's your birthday!"

"And we're going to a party."

We laugh as the dance floor clears out. But Sophie comes to find us, and we start to do an old routine we used to do as girls, a hip-hop line dance where we thrust our arms out and turn ourselves around while we shimmy. By the time the song's half over, Charlotte, Ann, and Lucy have joined us. I haven't heard this song in years, and yet I still know all the lyrics, as does everyone else. We shout them out, self-censoring the bad parts so we don't offend anyone, and raise our hands to the roof, and by the end, the whole club is watching us as we shout about it being my birthday.

The song ends, and we link hands and take a bow, receiving our applause as is our due.

There's a pause in the music and we disperse. I head toward the bar, thinking I'll find Wes there, but instead it's Fred.

"Can I get a fizzy water?" I say to the bartender. The sound system starts up again, playing "Heat Waves" by Glass Animals. A slow rhythmic beat about late nights and thinking about someone. These lyrics hit a little too close to home. "And a gin and tonic?"

"On my tab," Fred says.

The bartender looks at me for confirmation, and I shrug. "Thanks."

"My pleasure." Fred glances at me. He's holding a glass of red wine. "Having a good birthday?"

"It'll do."

"Some surprises, I guess."

"Yes."

"But you and Wes are separated?"

"Yes, we are."

"But working on things?" He lifts his glass to his mouth like his question is casual, but it feels like anything but.

"It's a confusing time." I take my water from the bartender and take a long drink. The glass is sweating in my hand. "How are things with you and Lucy?"

"She's a sweet girl."

"I've always liked her." I put the water down and pick up the gin and tonic. One sip tells me that the bartender made it a double like he knew I needed it, which I do. I take a step away from the bar, wanting to be in a crowd, not alone with Fred.

He follows me as I edge my way to the dance floor.

"Olivia." His tone is intimate, his breath on my neck.

"What?"

"She's not …" He stops. "Will you look at me?"

I turn toward him slowly. Someone jostles him from behind, pushing him toward me, and he puts his hands on my shoulders to steady himself. In a second, we could be dancing.

"What is it?"

He touches my bracelet—his bracelet—our bracelet. "Why did you wear this?"

"I was feeling nostalgic."

His thumb grazes the tiny engagement ring. The third charm he gave me. "Or to hurt me?"

What's the point of lying? "That too."

"We hurt each other." His fingers touch the skin on my wrist, burning it like his touch always does.

I pull away, but our eyes remain locked. "Yes, we did."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too."

And now I break his gaze and turn back to the dance floor. Ash is there with her husband, Dave, and I want her to glance my way, for us to make eye contact so she'll know I need to be rescued. But instead, the music transitions into something slow, and they meld into one with the other couples, and I'm left to save myself.

And oh God. It's the Nora Jones song that was playing when we danced on my sixteenth birthday. When we kissed.

"Olivia," Fred says behind me, so close that I can almost feel his body touching mine. "Olivia."

I close my eyes and breathe him in. I want to lean back, to turn into his arms and spin away with him into the night.

But he doesn't want that.

He doesn't want me.

It's the song and the night, and neither of us are free.

"I've got to go."

"Olivia."

"No … I … I can't do this …"

I start to move away from him, expecting him to reach out, to hold me back, but he doesn't, he doesn't, and that's okay, that's fine, because there's nothing to be gained here, between us.

Only pain and regret.