Page 52 of After Everything
I smiled. Small, polite. The kind of smile you'd give an acquaintance you ran into unexpectedly. Then I nodded and turned toward the bar before I could see her reaction.
"You good?" Marcus asked as I slid onto the barstool next to him.
"Yeah. Fine." I picked up the menu without really seeing it. "What's good here?"
Marcus studied my face for a moment, then let it go. "Everything. But the carbonara is ridiculous."
I nodded and pretended to read the menu while my heart hammered in my chest.
Emma was here. Twenty feet away. On a date with a guy who looked... nice. Tall, dark hair, good smile. The kind of guy who probably had his shit together. Who didn't have a past that included cheating on his wife and torpedoing his career and spending a year drinking himself into oblivion before finally getting help.
The kind of guy Emma deserved.
The bartender appeared. "What can I get you?"
"Soda water with lime," I said automatically.
Marcus ordered a beer and the carbonara. I ordered the same pasta, even though I wasn't hungry anymore.
"So," Marcus said once the bartender left. "Want to tell me why you look like someone just punched you in the stomach?"
"I'm fine."
"David." He gave me a look. "I've known you for two years. You're not fine. What's going on?"
I glanced toward Emma's table. She was focused on her date, laughing at something he'd said. Her date said something else, and she nodded, smiling.
"That's my ex-wife," I said quietly.
Marcus followed my gaze, then looked back at me. "Ah."
"Yeah."
"You want to leave?"
"No." I took a sip of my soda water. "No, it's fine. She's allowed to have dinner. I'm allowed to have dinner. It's a public restaurant."
"True." Marcus picked at the label on his beer bottle. "But it's also okay if you're not fine with it."
I thought about that. "I'm not going to lie… it's not fun seeing her with someone else. But that's my problem, not hers. She's moved on. I'm happy for her."
"Are you?"
"I'm trying to be." I turned to face Marcus, deliberately putting my back to Emma's table. "Three years ago, I would have gone over there. Made it awkward. Made it about me. I'm not doing that."
"Growth," Marcus said, raising his beer. "Uncomfortable as hell, but growth."
I smiled slightly. "My therapist would be proud."
"She would." Marcus set down his beer. "For what it's worth, you're doing the right thing."
The food arrived. I ate mechanically, tasting nothing, making conversation with Marcus about his bar, about a case I was working on, about anything that wasn't Emma or the fact that my chest felt like someone had reached in and squeezed.
I was happy for her. I was. She deserved happiness, deserved someone good, deserved to move forward with her life.
But knowing that didn't make it hurt less.
Marcus was telling me about some drama with his suppliers when I saw movement in my peripheral vision. Emma and her date, walking toward the exit.
