Bobbi folded her arms. “I’m still worried.”
“No one needs to worry about me. I am fine. I sent the pieces off this afternoon. It’s over. Done.” He directed the last bit at Bobbi, with a pointed so shut up about Rachel look. She returned his gaze with a stony I’ve never shut up a day in my life glare.
“I’m just glad it’s all over,” Nathan lied. The truth was he would rewind time if he could. He’d go back to that morning at the lake and fight harder. Say all the right things. Something to make her stay. “Rachel’s the one who has to like it, not me.”
“Rachel?” Dillon wrinkled his nose. “Who’s Rachel?”
“Rachel Abbott,” Bobbi said, her eyes glued to Nathan’s face. “The mayor’s wife.”
“Could you not—” Nathan sighed. “Why does everyone call her that?”
“I suck at names,” Dillon said simply.
Deja brought tequila and shot glasses to their table. She looked up, briefly met his eyes, and flipped her braid behind her shoulder in a clear invitation before walking away. He’d forgotten it could be that easy.
“It’s late,” Bobbi said. She sounded tired, like the effort of holding a grudge was finally taking a toll. “The gala’s tomorrow night. You should rest. I’m sure you’ll have to give a speech or something.”
“I’m not going.” Nathan poured a drink. “Like I said, it’s done. I promised art, not a public appearance.” He slammed the shot and welcomed its fiery trail down his throat. If he couldn’t fuck the memory of Rachel away, maybe he could let it drown.
“Why do you always do this?” Bobbi grabbed her purse and slid to the end of the booth. “I’m so stupid for wanting more for you. Why should I when you clearly don’t want it for yourself?”
“You don’t want more for me,” Nathan said, desperate for her to finally get it. She needed to accept that this was all he was, some basic guy in a bar. Not some brilliant artist “squandering his potential.” “You want it for some other guy, with goals and ambition… and I tried, but—”
“Stop. I am sick of you pretending that no one loves you because you’re too afraid to love them back. Well, that’s life. Love, pain, and expectations. Welcome to it.” Bobbi grabbed her purse and spat, “Grow up,” over her shoulder before she marched to the door.
Nathan leaned back against the booth, staring at his empty glass with her words heavy on his mind. His phone vibrated.
Joe: I know you don’t own a tux. I got you. Hit me back in the morning.
He hadn’t spoken to Joe in weeks. He’d figured his brother had finally lost faith in him. But here he was, offering the same olive branch he always did.
“Hey, Nate. Are you okay?” Dillon frowned. “Bobbi didn’t hurt your feelings, did she? You look like you’re about to cry.”
“I’m okay,” Nathan said. Bobbi was right, he needed to grow up. He needed to appreciate the people who loved him, by doing the one thing they’d ever asked of him: showing up.
Rachel knew how to grieve. She had a whole life of loss to draw from. When the pain became too much, she would think about something worse than losing Nathan. Like abandoning Faith again. Or becoming more like her own mother. If someone noticed her red eyes, she blamed exhaustion. If someone mentioned his name, she changed the subject. She woke up each day and reminded herself, like a mantra, that she would eventually move on. These things had stages.
But the strategy kept her in stasis, in a state between despair and numbness that nothing could penetrate, not even Matt’s clumsy attempts to be a good husband. She couldn’t even get angry. Which was why, the day before the gala, she wasn’t surprised to see their marriage counselor sitting in her living room.
Rachel waited for someone else to speak. Matt propped his elbow on a pillow, glanced at Rachel’s rigid posture, and sat up straighter. “I’d like to say something that’s long overdue.”
Shania nodded with a tilted head. “Sounds like progress. Rachel, are you ready to hear it?”
The question was pointless, because they both knew the answer didn’t matter. Engaging quietly while smothering a primal scream had always been the cost of her life. But unlike in previous sessions, she couldn’t fake the requisite enthusiasm. Her shoulder lifted with a shrug so lackluster that Shania looked concerned.
Matt reached out like he wanted to take her hand. Rachel made a fist. He rubbed the couch cushion between them instead. “I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just… say it. I’ve been unfaithful to Rachel.”