Page 31 of Go Find Less

My heart thudded faster in my chest as I unlocked her phone - the password still the same as always. Our anniversary. The one thing we had in common those days, it seemed.

There were only three text messages in the thread between Liv and Ryan.

RYAN TRINH

We need to tell him. Soon.

OLIVIA WESTFALL

I know. I just don’t want to blow things up. We have to get through the holidays and then I’ll talk to him about it.

RYAN TRINH

Is that fair to him? He deserves to know the truth. I love you.

My stomach lurcheed, and I had to fight the bile rising in my throat as I reread the messages.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

My best friend and my wife. What a fucking cliche. I wanted to throw the phone against the wall. I wanted to storm into her office, through those frosted double doors, and confront her in front of whoever she’s on her video call with.

But quick reaction has never been my style. So, I locked her phone, putting it back where I found it, and walked over to the minibar in the corner, pouring myself three fingers from the expensive whiskey her father got us for our anniversary last year.

When she came out of her office a while later, her usually perfect, expensively highlighted hair was disheveled, like she was running her hands through it. One of the few signs she was feeling anything other than the viper-like cunning she’s had as her default nearly as long as I’d known her.

In some ways, I knew that wasn’t totally her doing. Like me, she had a tough relationship with her parents growing up, which left her second-guessing and then completely not trusting everyone around her. That cunning was her mask, as much as my lack of outward emotion was mine. It was part of why we worked. Until it didn’t.

She noticed me, settled back into my chair, and squinted at the glass of whiskey in my hand, which was still mostly full.

“Starting early?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. It was early, since we came home a few hours before normal to get ready for dinner with Paula, my step-mother, and her parents, as they’ll be in Florida over Christmas. She made her way to the wine fridge built into the bar, and poured herself a glass of what I assumed was her go-to, sauvignon blanc.

I didn’t mince my words when I answered her.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on with you and Ryan?”

She froze, her glass halfway to her face, and closed her eyes. I took a deep sip of my whiskey, trying to steel myself for her response.

“I’m not sorry," she said. I know I must have startled, because she let out a bark of laughter, dry and humorless, before taking a deep gulp of her wine and turning to face me fully, leaning against the bar. “I’m not. It’s about damn time you noticed.”

“Noticed?”

“You’ve been all but physically absent for a long time,” she said. My eyebrows nearly reached my forehead, and I opened my mouth to argue, but she pressed on. “Look, I’m not saying I’m a fucking saint, but you had to see this coming.”

“See you and my best friend sleeping together coming?” She narrowed her eyes at me, and then took another sip of her drink.

“I love him, Fitz. In a way I’m not sure I ever loved you.” The words hit below the belt. Loved. Past tense. I let it ruminate, like a bad taste in my mouth,

There was a burn in my throat, due to a lot more than the drink I’ve been nursing. Ten years. Tenyearsof time together, and that was the way we had to end? Not even with a bit of respect, like I would hope I’d be due after this much time together.

As much as I wanted to get up and scream, to tell her the ten thousand ways she’s wrong, I didn’t. There was a part of me, deep down, that knew we were never really made for each other. That we were the same side of the same coin, never a balance, always cold and unaffected by the world. At least, that’s what I thought.

I can’t say that I’ve been a saint either. Late nights at the office, weekends spent at venues, all to push toward the ever-present goals my father kept scrawled on that damn whiteboard of his like a war plan.

But the idea of being alone, truly alone, after that long with the same person - the only person I’d ever been with, was enough to make me nearly lose my lunch as she tipped back her glass. So I did the same, hoping the burn down my throat would settle the unease of the conversation we were about to have.

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