Mom frowns, and I belatedly realize now is not the time to mention their romance. Clearly, my wits have deserted me.
“Yeah” is all she says. “Just be careful.”
“I will,” I assure her, even though, given the mess that I’m in, it’s far too late for that.
“Well,” Mom says, “we’re in the middle of cleaning out the gardening shed, so I’ll let you go. I just wanted to check in to see how you’re doing.”
This is typical. My mother can’t stand to be on the phone for longer than five minutes.
“Okay,” I say. I don’t comment on what occurs to me—that cleaning out a gardening shed seems like an odd reason for two people in the midst of a divorce to spend time together at an isolated country cottage.
“Love you,” she says.
“Love you too.”
As soon as she hangs up, I text Lauren.
Hope:Hey! When are you coming back. I have VERY BAD drama. Need advice!
There’s no response—she must still be on shore.
But there is a new text from an unknown number.
Unknown:Hey, it’s me from Maeve’s phone.
Unknown:(Not sure if you unblocked me).
Unknown:*So* great seeing you.
Unknown:Would tomorrow work for a coffee?
The fact that this man has to text me through his grandmother’s phone hits me like an ice bath.
Welcome back to reality, Hope Lanover. A reality in which you are a strong woman who has moved the fuck on, and who deserves to enjoy her vacation with things that make her happy rather than miserable.
And what makes me happy is Felix.
I need to talk to him right now. I can’t stand the thought of him being confused or hurt. I text him.
Hope:Hey, what are you up to? Can we meet up?
Felix:Sorry, can’t—busy with the parents until after supper.
I notice he does not sign this text with an “x.”
Not that I deserve one.
Hope:Gotcha. See you later?
He doesn’t answer.
Well, I can’t blame him after what he saw. If I happened upon him having drinks with an ex several hours after sleeping with him, I’d be unhappy too.
I hope I haven’t ruined things.
I shower, read a little, and doze off. I must have been tired from the previous night’s sex fest and the morning’s emotional journey, because when I wake up three hours have passed. Lauren is in the bed next to mine editing photos on her laptop.
“Hi,” I croak.
