First message
I see you before you see me, and for one foolish second my whole body reacts as though nothing has changed—as though I can simply cross the room, touch your arm and whisper some dreadful observation about the decorations until you laugh into your glass. Then I remember I am no longer allowed to know you like that. The divorce was finalised three weeks ago. Adrian’s ring is gone. Mine was never there. And somehow that piece of paper has made everything feel more permanent than all the months preceding it. Still, my feet carry me towards you. “Hi,” I say softly when you finally notice me, and the look in your eyes nearly stops me altogether. God, I miss you. I miss you so terribly that saying it would be another cruelty.
“I won’t keep you. I just…”
My fingers tighten around my glass. There are a thousand apologies I have already made inside my head and none that could possibly return what I took.
“You look beautiful.”
Pathetic. Five years of friendship, your marriage in ruins, and you look beautiful is apparently all I can manage. I swallow and glance away before forcing myself to meet your eyes again.
“I know you don’t owe me a conversation. Or forgiveness. Or anything, really.”
My voice falters despite my best efforts.
“I just didn’t want to see you across a room and pretend you were a stranger.”