“I didn’t dump him. I just told him that I didn’t think we were a good fit.”
“A good fit? The man is not a pair of jeans. I cannot believe you are not interested in him.”
“I told you, Thee. He’s a great guy, and I’m sure he’ll make some woman very happy. It’s just not going to be me. You can’t manufacture chemistry.”
“Monsanto does. You could if you wanted to.”
I take a bite of my cupcake and chew carefully. Then I take a sip of coffee.
“I see you rolling your eyes at me,” Thea says. “I do not understand how you can not feel some serious movement of the earth with a kind, gentle, and fine-looking black man like that. She cocks her head. “It’s that Rich Handsome, isn’t it?”
“It’s Hanson, and no, it doesn’t have anything to do with him.” Because I will not let it. Because one great night does not make a relationship. And because even if it did, having a relationship with a person you work with on a daily basis cannot be a good idea.
Thea has quite a lot to say about the size of the mistake I’m making. When she finally pauses to draw breath, I slap a smile on my face, wave merrily, and say, “Gotta run! See you at Mama and Daddy’s on Sunday!”
“Wait, I’m not . . .”
I’m sure I’ll hear the rest of this on Sunday, but I can’t listen to it right now. Tonight, I’ll get to celebrate my birthday at book club, where we’ll eat cake and discuss my favorite book of all time. All I have to do is get through this day without crossing paths with Rich. I have always prided myself on being clear and straightforward. Pretending that I didn’t and never again want to sleep with him feels inherently dishonest.
At the office, another cupcake waits on my desk. “Thanks for everything, boss,” Erin says after she sings “Happy Birthday” to me. “Working with you is a great adventure. Oh, and, uh, Rich said he needs to see you.”
“No. That’s not going to happen today,” I say as a knock sounds on my office door.
Erin and I look up.
“Sorry,” she whispers, even though she doesn’t sound sorry at all.
“No,” I smile and whisper, trying not to move my lips. “Go tell him I’m busy. Don’t make me call Louise and beg her to come back.”
I give her my steeliest look, but it doesn’t seem to be working. I blame it on the icing I’m licking off my lips.
“He just wants to wish you a happy birthday.” She smiles brightly.
“Fine.” I raise my hand and wave him in. “But if you ever get confused about who you work for again, you won’t have a job.”
“Right, boss.” She turns, nodding, and possibly winking, at Rich as they pass.
“Happy birthday.” He smiles, places a tiny bakery box on my desk, then takes a seat. “It’s a cupcake. But I see you’re already wearing one.” He points to the other corner of my mouth. Then he pulls a tissue out of the box on my desk and hands it to me.
“Thank you.” I dab where he’s pointing. Exposing my tongue while he’s nearby seems foolhardy. “How can I help you?”
“Actually, there are a few things I’d like to clear up.” His tone turns serious as he shifts uncomfortably in his chair.
“O . . . kay.” His discomfort just adds to mine. I make myself wait while he gathers himself.
“You seem to think that I’m some sort of party guy. That I sleep around and date indiscriminately.” He looks me in the eye. I’m not sure what he’s waiting for.
“Um-hmmm.”
“Well, I wanted to make sure that you know that’s not true.” His eyes do that thing where they turn kind of amber. It’s almost as if he’s willing me to see something, only I don’t know what.
“Listen, I know you’re just trying to make our sleeping together seem less . . . awkward,” I say. “Which is really kind of awkward in itself.”
His eyes are pinned to mine, but he doesn’t interrupt. I can’t seem to look away.
“But it doesn’t matter because it won’t be happening again. And we did agree to pretend like it never happened. So, I’m not sure talking about it is going to be helpful.”
He’s still watching. Waiting. I’m just not sure for what.
“So, I’m thinking that since we’re doing what we agreed, we’re good. Right?”
“Right,” he says. “I mean . . . we are good . . . together. Better than good. So, I’ve decided I just need to be honest here. About myself. And my marriage.”
Between the looks he’s giving me and the discomfort I feel, I can’t think of a single thing to say.
“When I told you about my daughter and you asked if I was married, I . . . I left a few things out.”
My stomach drops. “Oh?”
“I pretty much never talk about my wife because . . .”
I brace for some ugly divorce story. Complaints about how she didn’t understand him. How she “took him to the cleaners” or tried to poison his daughter against him.
But what he says is, “It’s my fault she’s dead.” He stops and closes his eyes, opens them.
When I don’t speak, mostly because I have no idea what to say, he continues, “We were on our way home from picking out baby furniture for the nursery. She’d chosen this beautiful crib that cost what felt like a fortune at the time, but she’d just fallen completely in love with it, you know?” He swallows. His smile is a painful thing. “I remember she couldn’t wait to be a mother. I was kind of freaked about the responsibility, the cost, the way our life was going to change, but Amelia was over the moon about it. She had this incredible glow, practically from the moment she found out she was pregnant.”
I brace again because it’s clear that whatever’s coming is going to be hard to hear.
“I had leaned over to kiss her. I only took my eyes off the road for like a second, but when I looked up, this car was coming straight at us going the wrong way. It hit us almost head-on.”
His eyes cloud with memory. “I barely had a scratch. Amelia didn’t make it. But they managed to save Amy.”
“Oh.” I stare at him, trying to absorb the tragedy and pain that plays out on his face. “I can’t believe I’ve never heard even a hint of this.”
“That’s because I don’t talk about it. I was twenty-four when it happened. And not the most mature twenty-four. I was just starting out in a field that required lots of travel and crazy hours, and . . . it took a long time to even start to get over it. Fortunately, Amy’s grandparents on both sides stayed involved.”