Confidential(36)

“Tell us more about him,” Jeanie said.

His name was Devlin, he worked in finance, he was short but handsome, ready and eager to commit. He wanted three kids, just like Nat did. With the right woman, he’d get started right away.

“He sounds amazing,” I said. I downed the rest of my champagne.

“You’re next, you know,” Jeanie tells me.

Without even thinking, I said, “I’m in love.”

Jeanie’s mouth was open. Her expression wasn’t merely shocked but hurt. She couldn’t believe I hadn’t told her sooner, that she was finding out for the first time at cocktail hour with Nat.

Speaking of Nat, it was like she and I had been playing poker, and I’d just raised her all in. “Since when?” she asked.

“It happened quickly.” I gave Jeanie a conciliatory glance. “A few dates, and we’re practically living together.” It felt good to say it, though. It was a prophecy and a prayer. Soon it would come true.

Jeanie rearranged her expression. She liked to be happy for people, and right then, between Nat and me, her cup was overflowing. “Where’d you meet him?” she asked.

“We ran into each other at Market Hall while we were buying coffee. Our eyes locked, and it was just one of those things. You know when you know.”

“Infatuation,” Nat said, a touch dourly. “So what’s his name?”

I had this trick I’d mastered a long time ago: I could drink in a way that sent the liquid down the wrong pipe. After a long coughing jag, no one ever remembered the question that came before.

I was not going to say Michael’s name. I wouldn’t make that same mistake twice, not after Kate.

I never responded to her text about how Michael’s done this before. I refused to take the bait. If Kate had information she wanted to share, then she could just come out and say it. But I was almost positive that she was just casting more aspersions on Michael. Her hatred of him bordered on the irrational.

Michael told me that he’d never been involved with a client before, and he’d never lied to me. But Kate used to lie plenty, to me and everyone else. It was what addicts did.

When I was done sputtering and choking, after I’d drained the glass of water that Jeanie procured, Nat said, “So tell us about him.”

I’d been thinking during my fit about how to play this. No name, no mention of what he did for a living. No identifying details, like how he told me about his clients. I’d stress the way I felt about him and how he felt about me. “I’ve never been so attracted to anyone,” I said honestly. “He feels the same. It caught us both by surprise.”

“You’ve seemed so jaded. I was starting to wonder if it would even be possible for you.” Jeanie smiled. “I’m glad I was wrong.”

“Well, who wouldn’t have sounded a little jaded with that succession of losers?” I smiled back. “But now I have a good man, and I couldn’t be happier.”

Nat nodded slowly, taking it in. “Then I’m happy for you.”

I couldn’t entirely blame her for the tepid response. I had stolen her thunder a bit. She’d found a boyfriend; I’d found love.

I was recalling, with a visceral tingle through my body, the early days when Michael and I had been so certain of our feelings, a surety that was only strengthened by the obstacles standing between us. We’d stayed up all night because we couldn’t get enough of each other. Not just sex (though that was spectacular)—no, it was the confessions. I told him all my hurts and all my fears, how it felt when Young no longer wanted me sexually and the way that reactivated all the insecurities I’d felt growing up. Michael took it all in, and he transformed it. He made my pain beautiful. He thought my pain made me beautiful. It made me lovable. I felt completely held by him, in every way. And being secret meant we were separate from the world. It was heady and intoxicating. We weren’t like other couples; we had our own cocoon.

We could go back there. Stay up all night talking and making love. Build a cocoon again, even stronger this time.

When Nat asked, “Who wants another drink?” I begged off. I said I was tired, when really, I was anything but. I was still tingling with the recollection of where Michael and I had started. We were meant for each other. We’d known we were worth the risk, that we would navigate every obstacle to be together. And we had. It was our time.

It was after eleven when I arrived at his house, and it took him a while to answer the door. That was my first clue that this might have been a mistake. Another mistake.

His hair was adorably askew; his expression was thunderous. He stared at me, saying nothing, and I felt my liquid courage evaporate.

“Hi.” I smiled, a little nervously. At least I knew I looked good.

Didn’t I? He was still silent, glowering. He’d never liked being woken up, but this was something more.

Had Kate reached out to him? I’d confided a lot in her over the past two years, things I said or texted in moments of frustration that I hadn’t really meant, things I would never want getting back to him.

But she wouldn’t do that.

I had to hope she wouldn’t.

“I missed you tonight,” I said. I was trying to look and sound seductive, but I felt so damned afraid. “I was out with my friends, but all I wanted was to be with you. In your bed, in your arms.” If I could just get my feet to move over the threshold, if I could touch him, everything could change back. We’d be transformed into who we once were.