Page 42 of The Upgrade

There’s an edge to his voice that says we’re not just talking about my ex. I shouldn’t push. I really shouldn’t. But did I mention the wine?

“What went wrong with Miranda?” I bite my lip. “It wasn’t just about your father’s funeral, was it?”

“No.” He shakes his head slowly, but he doesn’t look sad. “Basic incompatibility, really. We wanted different things.”

“You were together a long time.” I don’t know the exact duration, but they met in high school and traveled to London together. “You lived together, right?”

“Off and on. We did undergrad together but went separate ways for grad school. Both did fellowships in London, followed by several research partnerships that took us to—” He stops with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Sorry, I’m turning this into an academic presentation. Bad habit.”

“Reciting your resumé?”

“Taking the fun out of things. Being too serious.”

I snort so hard I feel wine tickling the back of my nose. “Yeah, I was going to say you’re no fun at all, between tying me up in your hotel room and eating me out on a massage table.”

It’s Kit’s turn to snort, his face lighting up as he laughs. “Thanks,” he says. “I needed that.”

“No problem.” I try to recall where we were in the story. “So you and Miranda lived separately sometimes?”

“She wasn’t big on sharing space. Or anything that felt like atraditionalrelationship. Her parents had an ugly divorce, so she was determined not to be tied down by anything or anyone.”

“Did she want to have kids?”

There’s a flicker of pain in Kit’s eyes and I wish I could take back the question. “Nope. It was something we agreed on in high school.”

The way he says that tells me plenty. “You changed your mind?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” He glances down at his hand, twisting his wineglass by the stem. “It was my fault thinking she’d change, too.”

That makes me scoff. “Like anyone knows what they want in high school. Or even right out of college. Isn’t that when we’re all just trying things on?”

He gives me a look like I’ve said something surprising. “True,” he says slowly. “Sometimes it’s tough to know the line between core values that won’t ever change and beliefs that are malleable.”

“Malleable.” My slightly tipsy ass likes the sound of that word. “I mean, in high school I flopped back and forth between pleasing my uber-conservative parents by wearing a purity ring and proclaiming my urge to be a wife and mother, to pleasingmyselfby getting railed in a sundress in the janitor’s closet at graduation.”

Kit laughs. “True story or illustration?”

“Totally true, and no regrets.” I lift my glass in a toast to myself, then feel my frown start to wobble. “I say that now, but it’s been a struggle. Figuring out what I wanted.”

“Yeah, I hear you.” He scrubs a hand over his chin. “I guess in a way, that’s what went wrong with Miranda. I kept hoping for the flip flop, but that’s silly. You don’t enter a relationship with someone hoping they’ll change.”

“To be fair, it’s probably hard to know where someone might flip or flop.” The wine makes my tongue a bit floppy. “Was there a final straw?”

“It probably started when I came home to visit. This was a month after Dad’s funeral, after Miranda got out of the hospital.”

“I remember.” I’d gone to see my mom in Seattle, so we never crossed paths. “Your mom said you helped her organize all their wedding photos.”

“I did.” He looks almost embarrassed. “Maybe that made me sentimental. That, and losing my dad. I told her I’d been thinking about marriage. About the loving partnership they’d had for forty years. Next thing I know, Mom’s pulling out her mother’s engagement ring and giving it to me with her blessing.”

“Oh, Kit.” That breaks my heart. I’d heard he proposed, but not with a family ring.

“I knew better,” he said. “I knew it wasn’t something Miranda wanted. But the whole family got into planning my proposal. Probably my fault, letting everyone get so invested, but we needed a source of joy right then, and—” He stops himself there, clearing his throat. “I should have known it wouldn’t go well.”

“What happened?” That’s a silly question. “I mean, I know she said no.”

“I took her to our favorite park, hired a string quartet to play in the background, and I got down on one knee.” He looks more bemused than embarrassed. “Gave this sappy speech about joining our families. Our mothers were good friends by then, and my sisters loved her sisters. I thought I’d appeal to her sentimental side. In hindsight, it was selfish as hell. I was grieving, but that’s no excuse.”

“God, I’m sorry.” I get the sense he doesn’t want pity, so I leave it at that. “Did you break up right away?”

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