And, instantly, panic explodes. I was doing really well until right at that moment. I glance at the clock and my shoulders tense.
“She’s ten minutes early!” I hiss.
“Okay, breathe, Ethan,” Georgia says. “Do you want me to open the door?”
Yes. I’d also like her to let me curl up in my bedroom while she conducts the meeting with Polly for me. But that can’t happen. I take in two very deep breaths and stand, trying to control the trembling in my hands.
I don’t want to do this.
“No, I need to,” I say.
I lift my chin and walk to the door. It feels oddly far, as though my tiny house suddenly got a lot bigger. I can see a shadow through the frosted windows next to the door, and I draw in another deep, calming breath before pulling the door open.
Then, there she is.
As soon as I open the door, Polly smiles hesitantly at me. The nervous look on her face is nothing like the calm, confident woman I saw on the photo Georgia showed me. The clothes she’s wearing are clean and expensive-looking, as are the diamonds at her throat and on her ears, and she’s fiddling with a shiny purse. But, otherwise, it feels like I’ve gone back in time ten years.
“Hello, Ethan,” she says.
“Polly,” I respond, and I congratulate myself for keeping my voice calm and even, despite feeling anything but. “Come in.”
I step aside and allow her into my house. I see her looking around, as well as the slight curl of her lip that says she finds my home lacking. I stiffen defensively; I do the best that I can. But she says nothing and I lead the way to the kitchen.
When we get there, however, Polly stops short.
“What is she doing here?” Polly demands.
Right, Georgia warned me about this. She said Polly would not like her being here. Georgia looks up from where she’s setting up three mugs.
“Coffee?” She asks pleasantly, but there’s a dangerous glint in her eye.
“Yes, please,” I say.
Polly narrows her eyes.
“I assumed that this was a meeting between you and I, Ethan,” she says.
“It is,” I affirm. “Georgia is here for support.”
“Support?” Polly asks incredulously. It’s almost funny, seeing the way her nostrils flare and a high, red flush appears on her cheeks. This is the way she used to look when she was angry back then, too. “Why the hell do you need support?”
“I don’t know, maybe because he’s meeting his ex-wife, who disappeared on him and was too much of a coward to ask him in person for a divorce, abandoning both him and her baby girl?” Georgia pipes up cheerfully from the kitchen.
The air abruptly drains out of the room. I close my eyes. When I asked Georgia to be here for support
, I didn’t mean for her to incite Polly on my behalf.
Though, to be fair, she did warn me that there might be a fight between the two of them.
“Excuse me?” Polly asks, her voice shaking with anger. “What right do you have…?”
“More right than you,” Georgia says, turning to face Polly, her false smile fading. “After all, I’m the one that’s still here.”
“Alright, that’s enough,” I say, stepping forward. Strangely, I feel calmer in the face of Georgia and Polly being upset.
“She needs to leave,” Polly says, glaring first at Georgia and then at me.
With that, any nervousness left abruptly dies.