Thief (Love Me With Lies #3)(60)

When I dutifully started opening presents, my husband standing to my left, my best friend jiggling her breasts at the cute DJ — I was not expecting the blue packaged delivery.

I’d already opened twenty presents. Gift cards mostly — thank God! I loved gift cards. Don’t give me shit about gift cards not being personal. There’s nothing more personal than buying your own gift. I’d just put the last gift card I’d opened on the chair next to me, when Cammie took a break from flirting with the DJ to hand me the last of my presents. There was no card. Just a simply wrapped electric blue box. To tell you the truth, my mind didn’t even go there. If you work really hard at it, you can train your brain to ignore things. That shade of blue was one of them. I sliced the tape with my fingernail and pulled away the wrapping, balled it up and dropped it in the paper pile at my feet. People had started to drift away and talk, getting bored with the present unwrapping show, so when I opened the lid and stopped breathing, no one really noticed.

“Oh f*ck. Ohf*ckohf*ckohf*ck.”

No one heard me. I saw a flash. Cammie took another picture and moved away from the DJ to see what was making my face contort like I’d sucked on a lemon.

“Oh f*ck,” she said, looking into the box. “Is that?”

I slammed the lid shut and shoved the box at her. “Don’t let him see,” I said, glancing at Noah. He was holding a beer in one hand, his face turned away from me and talking to someone — it might have been Bernie. Cammie nodded. I stood up and bolted for the house. I had to walk around people who were still eating cake around the island in Cammie’s kitchen. I made a right and darted up the stairs, choosing the bathroom in Cammie’s bedroom, rather than the one downstairs that everyone was using. I kicked off my shoes, closed the door, and stood bent over the sink, breathing hard. Cammie came in a few minutes later, shutting the door behind her.

“I told Noah you felt sick. He’s waiting in the car. Can you do this, or do you need me to send him home and tell him you’re staying the night?”

“I want to go home,” I said. “Just give me a minute.”

Cammie slid down the door until she was sitting on the floor. I sat on the edge of her tub and traced the lines of the floor tile with my toe.

“That was uncalled for,” she said. “What’s with you two sending each other anonymous packages?”

“That was different,” I said. “I sent him a f*cking baby blanket, not … that.” I eyed the box that was sitting next to Cammie on the floor. “What’s he trying to do?”

“Umm, he’s sending you a pretty clear message.”

I tugged at the collar of my dress. Why is it so damn hot in here?

Cammie pushed the box across the bathroom tile until it nudged my toe.

“Look again.”

“Why?”

“Because you didn’t see what was underneath the divorce papers.”

I flinched at the word divorce. Bending down, I retrieved the box from the floor and lifted out the stack of papers. Divorce was heavy. It wasn’t official, but he’d obviously filed. Why did he need to tell me this? Like it made a difference anymore. I put the papers next to me on the lip of the tub and stared down at the contents underneath.

“Holy hell.”

Cammie tucked her lips in and raised her eyebrows, nodding.

The Pink Floyd CD from the record store — the case cracked diagonally across, the kissing penny — green from age and flattened, and one deflated basketball. I reached out a finger and touched its bumpy skin, and then I dropped everything on the floor and stood up. Cammie quickly scooted out of the way, and I opened the door and stepped into her bedroom. I needed to go home and sleep forever.

“What about your f*cked up birthday present?” Cammie called after me.

“I don’t want it,” I said. I stopped when I reached her doorway, something eating at me. Turning back, I strode into the bathroom and crouched down in front of her.

“If he thinks this is okay, he’s wrong,” I snapped. She nodded, her eyes wide. “He can’t do this to me,” I reiterated.

She shook her head in agreement.

“To hell with him,” I said. She gave me a thumbs-up.

While our eyes were still locked, I reached out a hand and felt along the floor until my fingers found the penny.

“You didn’t see me do this,” I said, tucking it into my bra. “Because I don’t give a f*ck about him anymore.”

“Do what?” she replied, dutifully.

“Good girl.” I leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “Thank you for my party.”

Then I walked to my car, walked to my husband, walked back to my life.



I was in bed an hour later, turned toward the ocean, even though it was too dark to see it. I could hear the waves rushing against the surf. The ocean was choppy tonight. Fitting. Noah was watching television in the living room; I could hear CNN through the walls. CNN was a lullaby to me at this point. He never came to bed when I did, and every night I fell asleep listening to the drone of the news. Tonight, I was grateful to be alone. If Noah looked too carefully — which he often did — he would see through my hollow smiles and pretend illness. He’d ask me what was wrong and I wouldn’t lie to him. I didn’t do that anymore. I was betraying him with my rogue emotions. I had the penny clutched in my fist, it was burning a hole through me, but I couldn’t put it down. First Leah had come to me, throwing those deed papers in my face. Papers that, until that moment, I knew nothing about. Now, him. Why couldn’t they just leave me alone? Ten years was a long time to grieve a relationship. I’d paid for my stupid decisions with a decade. When I met Noah, I finally felt ready to put my broken love to rest. But, you couldn’t put something to rest when it kept coming back to haunt you.