Page 38 of Now That It's You
Meg opened her mouth to reply, but stopped herself. What did she even say to that? And why did Chloe’s words sting so much? She’d known all along that Matt had been a bit of a player in the years before they met. He’d even confessed once that he hadn’t always been faithful to others, but he insisted to the end he’d been true to her. He swore it, even when he’d come clean about his dalliance with Annabelle.
“It was just the one time, Meg, I swear to you?—”
But it hadn’t mattered. One time or a hundred times; it was all the same to Meg.
“So what do you do, Meg?”
Cathy-with-a-C was looking at her, and Meg cleared her throat and wondered where the hell Kendall had gone. She might want that drink after all. “I’m?—”
“She’s a chef, like all of us,” interrupted Kathy-with-a-K. “Or a caterer or a baker or something like that. Matt only dates women who work with food.”
“Or beverages,” Chloe said. “Matt was very supportive of my dream of staring my own kombucha company. He even arranged it so I could quit my job at the bakery to spend all my time developing the business plan and brewing new flavors and?—”
“Wait, you’re not Meg Delaney, are you?” Cathy-with-a-C stared at her. “You are! You’re the one who wrote that cookbook! The aphrodisiac cookbook everyone’s talking about?”
Kathy-with-a-K sniffed. “Can’t say I ever needed any help in that department.”
Marti rolled her eyes. “That’s not what I heard.”
Meg took a step back, then another, wondering if she’d walked into some sort of alternate universe populated by women who looked vaguely similar and had loved Matt or maybe still loved Matt. She had to get out of here. She had to escape the press of bodies and the echo of memories and the clamor of voices?—
“I’m sorry, would you excuse me?” Meg stepped back again. “I need to find the restroom.”
Chloe pressed her lips together, clearly disappointed in Meg’s bladder. “Down the stairs, take a left, it’s at the end of that hall,” Chloe said. “Hurry back, though. You should definitely meet Sarah.”
“Is that Sarah with an h or with no h?” asked Kathy or Cathy or Marti—hell, Meg couldn’t be sure.
She was practically running now, making a beeline for the door as she dodged two women she recognized as photography colleagues Matt worked with five years ago. Were they exes, too?
Meg shook her head and skirted a cluster of uncles. It doesn’t matter now, she told herself. What difference does it make if you held a special place in his life or if you were just one of many?
She was moving so fast when she hit the stairs that she had to catch herself on the railing. The stupid high heels wobbled as she took the steps two at a time and wished she’d picked a dress that wasn’t so snug around her thighs.
Panting by the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, Meg glanced left. Three or four women stood lined up outside the restroom, each of them representing some conversation Meg didn’t want to have. She looked the opposite direction where the hallway veered sharply down a dimly lit corridor. She hesitated, then turned that way, marching like she had a purpose to forestall any questions about where she was headed.
Her lungs filled with air as the voices faded behind her and her footsteps slowed with her pulse. She just needed a few minutes alone, someplace quiet to collect her thoughts. She spotted a door up ahead and reached for the knob, praying it led to a quiet conference room or an unoccupied office.
She pushed it open and breathed in the scent of Pine-Sol and bleach. The space was dim and spacious, and she could see rows of paper towels and tissue lining a shelf overhead.
“Cleaning closet,” she murmured. “Close enough.”
Meg stepped inside, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness as she pulled the door closed behind her before anyone could notice the crazy woman ducking into a supply closet. As soon as the door snicked shut, her breathing slowed to normal, and she unclenched the fists she hadn’t realized she’d been gripping.
Blinking a few times to clear her vision, she squinted around the little room. Something that looked like a mop lurked in one corner, the wheeled yellow bucket beside it glowing oddly in the light that seeped around the edges of the door. The high heels were killing her, so she toed them off and said a silent prayer the floor wasn’t too filthy. The concrete felt cool and soothing under her bare feet, so it seemed worth the risk for that small slice of comfort.
She thought about fumbling for a light switch, but decided against it. It would be just her luck to have one of Matt’s relatives amble past and decide to turn off the light, and how would she explain the fact that she was standing barefoot in the broom closet at her ex’s funeral reception?
She should probably text Kendall to say she’d gone to the bathroom, but she just needed a minute to herself. With a sigh, she moved deeper into the closet. It was darker back here, quieter. Meg had to squint to make out shapes as she slipped past shadowy boxes and shapes she could barely make out. She bumped her hip on a big box of something—paper towels, maybe?
When she stopped a safe distance from the door, she did a slow turn, then closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall.
At least, that’s what she tried to do. The wall moved. It was warm and bumpy and had hands that reached up to cup her elbows.
She gave a startled cry and started to struggle, but the hands were gentle and the voice in her ear was as familiar as the cedar scent now tickling her nose.
“Hello, Meg.”
Kyle felt pretty sure groping his brother’s ex-fiancée in a closet at Matt’s funeral reception was a new low even for him.
