Page 12 of The Gathered Fragments of Us
"Keep going."
Lauren hesitated. "You want me to review Jessica’s gifts too?"
My eyebrows lifted. "Jessica’s gifts? You’ve sent Jessica gifts?"
"Yes." She looked at me like I’m an idiot. "You asked me a while back to keep things cordial. Gifts from Macy for holidays and milestones. Nothing too big, but still meaningful—your words."
"And?"
"And… last year, for her fortieth, I sent a Cartier desk clock."
I blinked. "You what?"
"She turned forty. You were in New York, I think. You told me to handle it and do something special from Macy."
"A fucking Cartier clock?" My voice cracked as I leaned forward, knuckles white against the desk edge. "You're telling me I bought my ex-wife—my EX-wife—a goddamn luxury timepiece that costs probably more than a grand? For fuck’s sake."
She flinched at my tone but recovered quickly, squaring her shoulders. "The receipt is in the system if you'd like to see it. You told me to handle it and didn't specify a price range."
I leaned back in my chair, stunned. "So Jessica got a Cartier clock, and Felicity got a Saks gift card and a recycled spa package?”
Lauren didn’t respond right away. Then: "You want to tell me what’s going on?”
"Complete fuck up."
Lauren's spine straightened, her lips pressing into a thin line as she clutched her tablet tighter. "I beg your pardon?"
My voice was low now. "No—not you. Me." I dug my fingers into my forehead trying to rub away the headache that was building. I couldn't meet Lauren's eyes. "Yesterday—like a moron—I gave Felicity's birthday gift to Macy when she saw it and thought it was meant for her. God, the look on Macy's face—she was so happy. But Felicity..." I swallowed hard, the memory of my wife's expression flashing before me. "Then, to top it off, I forgot how old Felicity was turning. Forty. It's forty. How could I forget that?"
I leaned my head back, squeezing my eyes shut. “And meanwhile, my ex-wife is sitting in her office checking the time on Cartier throughout her day." Bitterness flowed through me.
Yes, she's Macy's mom, but Cartier? What's next—a private island for her half-birthday? I don't remember 'luxury timepieces' being in the ‘nothing too big, but meaningful’ list of possible gifts.
"I'm sorry—can we go back? Did you say you gave Felicity's gift away? The custom-made purse?"
I exhaled, the sound hollow in my chest. "Yes—not on purpose. I mentioned that Macy found the bag. What I didn't mention is that I'd hidden it in her closet, behind all the crap she’s collected over the years. I figured it would be safe there for the couple of days she'd be home.”
I sighed, thinking it through. “What eleven-year-old goes digging in their closet? Mine, of course—since it just so happened she needed her ballet shoes." I rubbed my temples, feeling the headache pulsing beneath my fingertips. "But then she walks into my office and pulls out the bag—this stunning Dior bag in all its effing glory.” I groaned. “Lauren, she was going on about how perfect it was. She was so happy. I just couldn’t find the words to say no.”
Lauren crossed her legs and narrowed her eyes. "And you thought your wife would just… what? Understand?"
I held up my hands, preemptively. "I know. She saw it when she walked in and actually dropped the groceries on the floor. There was Macy with the bag. And Macy started talking to her about how happy she was—even thanked Felicity, thinking the gift was from both of us. Fuck, what a mess. Then once Macy went upstairs… she let me have it. Deservedly."
Lauren’s expression dialed back from pissed-off mom to deeply disappointed. Her voice softened, but not by much. "Listen, Caden—I haven’t said anything before. I wasn’t really sure it was my place. But I think it’s time. After thirty years, with Mark, I've learned that if you stop showing up, the other person stops waiting."
I didn’t even try to argue. There was no venom in her tone—just truth. Truth, I hadn’t wanted to see.
"She said she’s run out of words," I murmured.
"I'd say she's earned that right," Lauren said, leaning forward. "She’s out of words, Caden. What Felicity needs isn't another promise or explanation—it's action. Show her that she matters."
I stared at the desk—jaw tight.
"You want to fix it?" Lauren asked.
I nodded slowly, feeling a painful ache spread through my chest. "I do. God, I do. I love her more than anything—I just... I'm terrified of it being too late."
"Well," she said, walking to the door. "You’ve got the week to prove it’s not. I’d start there."
