Page 89 of Homewrecker

Klair waved me away.

Caleb couldn’t breathe.

“What the fuck is funny?”

“Nothing,” Klair managed to get out.

Later that night, I’d cornered Klair while Caleb was outside taking a call.

“You like him.”

Her face went blank. “No. I tolerate him.”

Then she walked away. That was Klair. She could like Caleb and still hate what we were doing. Apparently two things could be true. I was learning that a lot.

I’d also kept my promise to myself. I stayed at my house mostly. My things remained where they belonged. My refrigerator had food again. I spent maybe one or two nights a week at Caleb’s apartment. Almost every weekday, we had lunch together at my house. That became our thing.

Occasionally we had exactly forty-five minutes between meetings and spent thirty-eight of them talking about absolutely nothing or fucking. I loved those lunches more than expensive dinners.

There was something intimate about Caleb walking into my house at 12:07 with takeout and leaving at 12:52 because both of us had shit to do.

I daydreamed about mornings, vacations, holidays, and even him eventually asking me to move into his apartment.

I already knew my answer would be absolutely not. That apartment was cute because I’d designed it, but my house was better.

My house had enough space for me, Caleb, and three additional human beings if life ever decided to get interesting. He could just move in with me.

I had already imagined where his clothes would go. Which side of the bathroom he’d get. Where we’d put his office. I had even mentally redesigned one of the guest rooms.

All I knew was that someday Caleb wouldn’t have to leave and there would be no second address.

We had made it a year closer.

I bought him a gift for our one year anniversary: a watch he’d mentioned months ago and forgotten about. A bottle of bourbon he’d been trying to find. And a leather wallet with his initials because he’d been carrying the same ugly ass one since I’d met him.

I arranged everything at my house, then realized I didn’t have a card or balloons. I grabbed my purse. The grocery store was fifteen minutes away. The plan was to be in and out.

Instead, I walked through the automatic doors and saw my boyfriend’s wife. I recognized Ravenna immediately, which was weird considering I’d never met her.

Klair had found her social media months ago. She’d sent me the profile with:

Found her.

I had responded:

Why the fuck were you looking?

Then spent forty-five minutes looking myself.

Ravenna hadn’t posted a picture in over a year. Most of everything was old. She had a few photos with Caleb that I’d moved past quickly because apparently I enjoyed lying to myself. I’d assumed the silence online was part of what Caleb described as her depression, withdrawal, and grief.

But the Ravenna standing near the produce wasn’t withdrawn from anything. She was laughing. I knew mental illness didn’t have a uniform. People could smile in grocery stores and still fall apart at home, but she looked happy and good.

She was talking with another woman while picking out avocados, laughing about something I couldn’t hear.

Her hair was done and she wore a cute little matching set. My eyes dropped to her left hand and she wore a ring.

My heart started beating harder. “What the fuck?”