Page 57 of The Lookback

I could buy them for Andrew. He’s small enough, but I don’t need to get him a package of socks. It’s stupid. I should put the socks down. I’d have far more use for a black dress. I decide to try it on, but I take the socks with me to the dressing room, tossing them in the corner of the bench when I try on the dress. The dress is everything I hoped it would be. It’s everything I won’t be able to wear in another month or two, if I’m stupid enough to keep this baby.

Which I’m obviously not.

Now that I’m away from Abby and Mandy and all the other little goodie goodie moms in Utah trying to force their hopes and dreams on me, I know it would be the ruination of my entire life to have this child.

But when I look at those socks, lying at a strange angle in the corner, alone and neglected, my heart turns over. I plan to walk out of this dressing room with just the dress, march to the register, and buy it. I’ll never so much as look back.

As I walk out though, I bend down and grab the socks, and in that moment, I realize that I may be more conflicted than I realized. It may not be Mandy and Abby who are confusing me. I may not know what I want myself.

I march to the front and I buy both the black dress and the tiny socks.

They’re diametrically opposed in my mind. I should only be able to have one or the other. I should pick the path I want to follow and stick to it, tenaciously, doggedly. That’s what Helen Fisher does.

She never deviates from the path. She plows ahead like a snow plow.

A sleek, beautiful, sparkly snow plow.

Before dinner, I change into the black dress. It looks even better than it did in the dressing room, and when I pair it with an intricately designed onyx necklace, tiny flecks of black stone glittering like dark lace around my neck, and large, crystal cut onyx on my hand and at my wrist as well, I’m ready for dinner. When I glance in the mirror on my way out the door, a black widow stares back.

The woman in that mirror eats men and destroys companies for fun.

She’s not nurturing.

She’s not kind.

She’d make a terrible mother, and she knows that. She doesn’t care. That’s Helen Fisher, at her most basic. No matter how much I want the socks, I know what I am.

As I walk through the doors of The Capital Grille, I’m prepared to make my pitch and either buy or convince another shareholder to help me take over Vitality Plus, because this is what I do. Only, when I reach the table, the only person waiting for me is Oliver.

“I lied.” He’s smiling. “There’s not another shareholder.”

“What?”

“I thought about telling you they couldn’t make it,” he says. “But lying got me into trouble with you last time. I thought you might value my early confession.” He’s dressed impeccably, as always. He’s wearing a dark blue shirt—Brioni, I think—open at the top. Not many men hit the gym harder as they get older, but Oliver has. I can see it in the four inches of skin that he’s left bare. His smile broadens. “You clearly put some thought into how you wanted to look when you saw me again.”

But the only reaction I have to his attempted smolder is revulsion. “You lied to get me out here, and you think that’ll be endearing?” I step closer. “Please tell me you’re kidding and there will be another Vitality shareholder here any moment.”

He bites his lip, eyes me up and down, and then doubles down on the smirk. “You can’t fool me, Helen. You didn’t dress inthatto meet a shareholder. You wanted to see me again.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“I’m not.” He reaches for my wrist.

I step back, managing to bump into our waiter as he approaches. “Welcome to the Capital Grille. I have menus.” He acts like I didn’t just crush his foot, so he should get bonus points for having a high pain tolerance.

But I’m not about to order stone crab and reminisce over old times with someone who liedagainto get me here. “I won’t be joining Mr. Lawrence,” I say. “In fact, if I were you, I’d kick him out.” I pause. “He stinks.” I spin on my gorgeous, strappy, Valentino heels and head for the door.

“Wait.” Oliver, shockingly, is following me out. “Clearly this was a misstep. I did try to reach out to some of the shareholders I know, but none of them were free on such short notice. I should’ve waited, but Helen, I couldn’t.” His voice cracks. “I think I’m still in love with you.”

That makes me laugh. Loudly. People around us turn and stare, and the waiter who handled being stepped on so well looks like he might have a heart attack. He’s not sure how to usher us out fast enough, clearly.

“I didn’t chase you last time, and I didn’t apologize, but this time, I will. I’ll do anything.”

“It’s been twenty years, Oliver. We were done a long, long time ago.” I start walking again, but he keeps coming.

“He could be cheating on you, you know. Guys like him are always high risk, but with as much as you both travel, how do you know he’s even faithful to you?”

We’ve reached the foyer, at least. Even with the dark lighting that’s a hallmark in places like this, I can see his face. He looks. . .desperate. I have no idea what he wants from me—money? A recommendation? A job?

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