“Don’t you know?” he asks.
My breath catches, and this thing that I think I remember as hope surfaces inside of me like a long-lost dinghy.
I shake my head.
He smiles a little. “Chani,” he says.
“You never called,” I say. “You could have called. After. Later.”
My voice is steadier than I am. I’m waiting for him to say that he did. Waiting for him to mention the call.
He doesn’t.
“You were still married,” Gabe says. “Contrary to rumors, I’m not that kind of guy.”
I give him a look.
He holds up his hands. “I was faithful the entire time I was married,” he says. “That was one of our rules. We were supposed to insulate ourselves from outside gossip, not do anything that could provoke it. The drinking was bad enough. I wasn’t going and looking for trouble with married women.”
“Inviting me to your play doesn’t count?” I ask.
He winces. “Touché.”
We look at each other.
“And then?” I ask. “After I…”
I skip some invisible stones.
“I tried to learn from my mistakes,” he says. “By not calling. By waiting. I wanted to give you some time.”
I wasn’t sure I understood.
“I’ve been divorced for over a year,” I say.
His expression is pained and yet inscrutable.
“What?” I demand.
“You’ve been divorced for over a year?” he asks.
“Separated longer than that,” I say. “It’s been over for almost two years.”
He puts his head in his hands. For a moment I don’t know what’s happening and then I hear him laughing. It isn’t a “ha ha ha” type of laugh, more of a “what the fuck” kind of laugh.
“What?” I ask again. “What are you laughing at?”
He looks up at me, his eyes so green. There’s this kind of hopeless humor to them.
“I only knew about your divorce because you wrote about it,” he says. “A month ago.”
“Oh,” I say.
Of course.
How in the world could Gabe have known? If my newsletter was the way he kept up to date on my life, then of course he would have thought I had just gotten divorced.
“I was going to wait six months,” he says, almost talking to himself. “Six months seemed fair.”
I’m not sure if I’m hearing what I’m actually hearing.
“I was going to wait six months and then text you. Or call you. I hadn’t decided which would be better. I thought the timing would be right. The movie would be out, either my career would be revived or permanently in the toilet. I’d be more than two years sober. I would have made some decisions.”
“What happened?” I whisper as if this is a secret I’m not supposed to be hearing.
“My management. Your agent,” Gabe says. He lets out a laugh. Short. Pained. “I don’t know whose idea it was, but when it was pitched to me, I couldn’t say no.”
“No?”
“No,” Gabe says. “I wanted to see you. Like that night in New York. That’s what it was. That’s why I invited you. Even though I knew it was a bad idea at the time, I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to see you so badly. Wanted to see how you were doing.”
He lets out a breath.
“And now…”
“I’m doing good,” I say.
It’s the dumbest thing to say, but Gabe grins.
“Yeah, I can see that,” he says.
Everything shifts.
“You’re two years sober?” I ask.
He nods.
“I’m divorced,” I say. “Happily divorced.”
“Are you?” he asks. “Happy?”
I lift a shoulder. “I could be happier, I guess. Couldn’t we all?”
He reaches a hand out, his fingers sliding through my hair, thumb brushing against my temple. I shiver. Not from the cold.
“I could make you happy,” he says.
I swallow. Hard.
“Yeah?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says.
“Show me,” I say.
THE RUMOR MILL
JACINDA LOCKWOOD BREAKS HER “BONDS”
The only surprising part about Jacinda Lockwood announcing her divorce from shamed former Bond Gabe Parker is that it took this long for her to do it.
Reports about them being on the outs have circulated since he was fired from his third Bond movie, and when he checked into rehab （again）， the countdown to the divorce announcement began in earnest.