I should say no. It would be the smart thing to do, especially after this conversation. But I don’t. “Please.”
_______________
“TELL ME ALL about the wedding! How was Hottie McDaddy? Did you take pictures? Did you get to at least dance with him?” Paxton, my colleague and very close friend, props her chin on her fist, eyes alight with excitement. Hottie McDaddy is the nickname she’s given Jake.
We’ve been working at the art studio for years, teaching classes together. It’s a hobby and a passion for both of us. We’ve been friends for decades.
Paxton was one of the first girls I met when I was finally able to return to school after Ryan was born. She was also the only friend I had who knew the truth: that Ryan wasn’t my baby brother. And she kept that secret for our entire friendship, until Gordon let the cat out of the bag. She’s always been someone I can confide in.
We’re at her place, sitting on her back deck, eating tortilla chips and guac, sipping bubbly water. She offered me a glass of wine or a margarita, but after the wedding, I need to dry out for a week, or three. It’s been two days since I arrived home. Two days to think about the way I left things with Jake. How, on the way to the airport, he commented that he knew something felt different this weekend. And when he’d kissed me goodbye, it had felt like heartbreak.
Over the past two days, I’ve gone over and over every single encounter. In the spare bedroom, in his bed, in the shower, in the pool, the hot tub, the kitchen counter, the living room. We had an exceptional amount of sex. I feel like I’m going through some kind of withdrawal.
And I miss him.
Which is so bad. And stupid. And exactly the reason I needed to stop things when I did. Because clearly, I’m starting to have real feelings for him, and I need to put those in a box and bury them six feet underground.
“I did something stupid.” I poke at the lemon slice floating in my glass with my straw, mostly so I don’t have to see her reaction when I spill the beans. Especially since I haven’t exactly been forthcoming about the fact I’ve been sleeping with Jake for months.
“Like get drunk and make an emotional speech while sobbing kind of stupid?” she asks.
“No. That would actually be tame in comparison.”
She stops trying to chase a piece of tomato around the bowl of guac. “Did you murder someone?”
I give her a look. “Of course not.”
“Then it can’t be that bad.”
“I slept with Jake.”
Confusion makes her eyebrows try to meet each other. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
I lift my hand in front of my mouth and repeat myself, “Jake. I’ve been sleeping with him.”
Paxton frowns. “We’re not talking about Hottie McDaddy, are we?”
I clasp my hands to stop from biting my nails or shoving another handful of chips into my mouth. “Yes, we are.”
Paxton’s chip breaks in half. “Holy shit.”
“I know.” I scrub my hand over my face.
“Whoa. Wait. Back this bus up. First you said you slept with Jake, and then you said you’ve been sleeping with Jake. Does that mean this wasn’t a drunken one-off?”
I shake my head. “It wasn’t a one-off.”
“And you’re just telling me now? How long has this been going on?”
I start chewing on my nail. “A while.”
She narrows her eyes. “What’s a while?”
“Since the engagement party.” It sounds so much worse when I say it aloud, which is probably why I haven’t until now.
“Not to point out the obvious or anything, Han, but your kids are married to each other.”
I raise a hand. “I know, I know. I told him this weekend we had to stop.”
“Okay. Wow. How’d he take it?”
“He said he understood.” And then we had more sex. The desperate tear-each-other’s-clothes-off kind.
“Do you believe him?”
“I do. He understands the challenges with my relationship with Ryan.”
Paxton blows out a breath. “Did you talk about how you were going to manage the next family gathering? I know with the wedding being over, you won’t see each other as much, but there are still holidays and birthdays.”
“I know!” I throw my hands in the air. “Hence the reason I can’t believe I did something so stupid.” For months. A lot of months. “I’m forty-six. I should not be thinking with my hormones at this age!”
“Eh, I mean, we’re heading into the menopause stage of things, so really, we’re all hormones.”
“You’re not helping!”
“I’m deflecting with humor because I honestly don’t know how to help. He must be pretty damn good in bed if you’ve been sleeping with him all this time. I still can’t believe you kept it from me. No wonder you were always so giddy about going to freaking Seattle. Is this why you started taking Pilates?”