‘Drinks?’ The waiter who had removed the glasses was back.
‘Fizzy water for me,’ I said.
‘That’s right,’ he deadpanned, ‘I believe you cannot have any alcohol.’
He expected me to smile but I’d have felt bad – Kallie meant well.
‘Water for me too,’ Kallie said and Luke gave her a startled look. ‘No wine, Kal?’
‘No.’ She flashed some urgent message with her eyes, then I understood.
‘Kallie, don’t let me stop you. I don’t even notice. And Quin will be drinking, so go for it.’
‘You’re sure? I don’t want to be inappropriate.’
‘You’re not.’
‘But don’t you worry?’ She was asking Quin. ‘That Rachel will relapse?’
‘Rachel is the strongest person I know.’ His voice had a slight edge. ‘Besides, I don’t own her.’
‘So you guys aren’t serious?’
‘We’re serious,’ I jumped in, then rattled off, ‘Together almost two years. Moving in with each other soon.’ And I shouldn’t have said that. ‘How about you two?’
‘Sixteen months.’ She twinkled at me. ‘Separate living spaces at this time. Luke is so independent. But hey, you know that.’
Well, I knew now. I just wished I’d known before we got married.
‘It’s our actual anniversary in a week,’ Quin said. ‘The following weekend I’m taking Rachel to Barcelona –’
‘That’s Spain, right?’ Kallie asked.
‘Nah, Barcelona, Texas.’ There was Quin being a teeny bit of a dick again. Not that I minded. Not entirely. ‘Sorry, joking – yes, it’s Spain. I’ve hired out the entire Sagrada Familia – you know, Gaudí’s church? I’m gonna propose to Rachel there –’
‘Whu-ut? Congratulat–’
‘No. No. It’s a joke!’ Quin was flustered. Embarrassed. ‘Rachel and I –’ Desperately he signalled to me across the table. ‘We joke about –’
‘– marriage proposals in “obvious” places,’ I explained.
At Kallie’s blank face, Quin said, ‘Top of the Eiffel Tower? Flying over the Grand Canyon in a helicopter …’
A pall of mortification lay on us all, then in a plummy, newscaster voice, Quin announced, ‘And that is why private jokes should remain private. Sorry, Kallie.’
‘Hey, that’s okay.’ Her smile was genuine.
For a short while, the discussion of the menu generated the pretence of a free-flowing conversation. But as soon as we’d ordered – and we were all keen to skip the starter, clearly no one wanted this night to be prolonged – it hit a wall. Kallie and Quin had to do most of the heavy lifting.
Luke, sitting diagonally opposite me, let nothing slip – but his mother had died less than two weeks ago, I could hardly expect him to be chatting away happily. Meanwhile, I was dizzy from successive waves of disbelief. Me, Luke and our new partners, out for a civilized dinner – how had this happened?
His hands were fiddling with the salt cellar. Three of his fingers sported silverware but there was no wedding ring. I remembered exactly when he’d taken it off.
Jesus.
It was taking all of my energy to avoid looking at him. Kallie, directly across the table, was the person I tried to focus on. But another of those woozy whooshes of memory lunged and my eyes cut to Luke – to discover that he was watching me. Our stare collided with such intensity that heat flushed my body.
Quickly my gaze dropped to the table-top but within moments I had to look again, to check that Luke Costello really was a mere arm’s length away.
He was still scrutinizing me. There was a slight furrow in his forehead and a lot going on in his eyes – and I flashed back six years, to the morning he’d actually left.
We’d been in the hall of our apartment and a jingling sound had made my nerves flare – his wedding ring. He’d taken it off and discarded it on the hall table. Then, with the crunch of plastic and metal, he dropped his house keys.
A part of me still thought this was some sort of stunt – but the conviction that it was real was quickly taking hold. It was suddenly difficult to breathe.
I’d tried to physically stop him. But, cold and unknowable, he’d peeled my hands off him. Holding me by the shoulders, he kept me at bay.
‘Luke, please, I’m begging you.’ My face was drenched with tears. ‘I love you so much. We can fix this, we’ll go for counselling, whatever you want.’