Page 4 of Minted

I hate how every time she has to share something bad, instead of saying ‘I’ she says it’s important for ‘Follow’ like she is the company. “Okay.”

“You two did such a dynamic job last year, going to represent the company together, and you each chair a different critical department, so I sort of submitted your names without thinking.”

I already knew all of this. So why does she look nervous?

“We kind of figured,” James says.

“Well,” Jennifer says. “We did consider changing things out, but with Doug’s cruise and Heather and Angela’s relative newness. . . We felt a little stuck.”

“Okay,” I say. “Is that all?”

Jennifer scrunches her nose, and I can feel the bad news coming. “We typically send someone from each department.”

Oh. A knot forms in my stomach.

“Barbara will be handling content marketing and social media, James will be there for public relations, and Kristy’s our go-to for branding and design.” She bites her lip and pauses before saying, “I wanted to see whether you two thought that might be a problem.”

She wants to know whether it might bother me to attend a whole string of client holiday parties. . .with my ex and the new girlfriend he left me for.

Is this a joke? Or does she really have no idea why we broke up or that they’re still together?

I mean, at the end of the day, I suppose this situation is really my fault. I should’ve found a new job, but with the divorce and marketing efforts for the holidays amping up, I haven’t had much time to dedicate to it. Plus, part of me really hates the idea that after he leaves me, I’m the one who has to leave. Like, why can’t they be the ones to get out?

“It’s fine,” I say. “It won’t bother me a bit.”

“Great,” she says. “And I actually RSVPed for four, just in case you want to bring a plus one.” She beams, like that’s some kind of gift. But it means she clearly knew that James and Kristy would be going together.

And now I officially hate her.

Since I don’t have a plus one, I’m going to look even more idiotic. I force the word out through gritted teeth. “Perfect.”

Which is why, instead of taking a lunch break, I spend that hour scrolling through my friends feed and making a list of people I might be able to ask to be my plus one. Making a list is probably the wrong phrase, actually, since I have about two people, and one of them is my best friend’s husband. No one would have to know that Dave’s married, right?

When I finally get off work, I’m starving. I’m so hungry after eating a granola bar for breakfast and skipping lunch that I do something I never ever do. I break out the emergency Girl Scout Cookie box. Thin Mints aren’t exactly healthy, but I would eat literally anything right now. I rip open the silver foiled sleeve of cookies as I hit the elevator button, relieved that no one else is here, waiting to go down at six oh nine.

I’m running a little late, so I’m going to have to drive straight over to Seren’s house from here, or I might miss all of Killian’s party. There aren’t many things in life right now that are zero stress for me, but being around Seren’s family is one of them. Their family’s a mishmash of broken people, but somehow their house still manages to be one of the most healing places in the country, I’m convinced.

I’m cramming the third cookie in my mouth when the elevator doors open.

James and Kristy are standing inside, holding hands. Both of them turn to stare at me, their eyes widening in tandem, like they’re some kind of choreographed mime act. “Oh.” Kristy’s eyes glance down at the sleeve of cookies in my hand.

I whip it behind my back. “I missed lunch because I was planning—” I glare at James, chew, and swallow.

“I forgot my purse upstairs.” Kristy giggles.

I don’t hate her. I really don’t. She’s petite, and thin, and she’s reasonably competent at her job. I try my hardest to be an empowered woman and not hate the woman just because my ex is gross and now she’s dating him. But grown women should not giggle like they’re teenagers. They just shouldn’t.

I toss my head and wait for them to get out so I can get in.

They finally do, and they should be headed for her office. But as the doors close, I hear James muttering something. I don’t catch all of it, but he’s clearly making a comment about how he’s glad we’re not going down at the same time, because with me there, we might exceed the weight limit.

I want to punch him in the nose.

One of the best things about our divorce is that I don’t have to hear his thoughts on my weight any more. But hearing him at work, mocking me to his new girlfriend? It really sucks.

By the time I get to the bottom floor, I’m bawling.

When I met James, I was a svelte size six with curves in all the right places. He came over to New York on a work visa, and he was the guy in the office that every girl swooned over. When he liked me, I was shocked.

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