“Come on, sit down.”

I sat. She poured me a drink.

“Daryl Whitney, that piece of trash. I never could stand him.”

“You couldn't stand him either, even back then?”

“Who could? Out there every day playing big shot, then coming home for you to wait on him hand and foot. He's nothing.”

I took a sip.

“Forget it. Let's not talk about him.”

“Right. No more talking. Just drinking.”

Halfway through the bottle, Gloria leaned in close.

“Hey, I want to tell you something.”

“Go ahead.”

“You remember the VP at my company? Grant James?”

“Yeah. What about him?”

“He asked me for your WhatsApp.”

My hand froze mid-pour.

“What does he want my WhatsApp for?”

“What do you think? He likes you.”

“He's seen me?”

“Yeah. Last time you came to the office to find me, he ran into you in the elevator. Came right back and asked me who the gorgeous woman was.”

I thought about it. Couldn't even remember anyone else being in the elevator.

“What does he look like?”

Gloria pulled up a photo and showed me.

Not bad. Big eyes, dimples when he smiled.

“Two years younger than you. Family's in building materials. Not crazy rich, but not hurting either. Good guy. No pretenses.”

“How do you know he's not pretending?”

“I've worked with the man for three years. You think I can't tell?”

I didn't say anything.

Gloria pushed his contact card straight to me.

“Add him or don't. Either way, one more friend never hurts.”

Back home, I showered and lay in bed, the glow of the contact card Gloria had sent still on my screen. I stared at it for a while, then added him.

He accepted instantly.

“Cicely?”

“Mm.”

“I'm Grant.”

“I know.”

“Gloria gave me your WhatsApp. Hope you don't mind.”

“I don't.”

Then his side went quiet for about two minutes.

I was about to put my phone down when another message came through.

“Are you free Saturday? I want to take you out for a meal.”

I thought for a second, then typed：“What time?”

“Whatever works for you.”

“Noon.”

“Done. I'll send you the address.”

Saturday. When I got to the restaurant, Grant was already there.

He stood up. Black jacket, hair a little shorter than in his photo.

“Been waiting long?”

“No, I just got here too.”

He pulled out a chair for me.

Handed me the menu first.

“Go ahead and order. I'll eat anything.”

I picked a few dishes and gave the menu back.

He added a soup and a dessert.

“How'd you know I have a sweet tooth?”

“Gloria told me.”

“What else did she tell you?”

“That you like spicy food, hate cilantro, only drink lattes, and won't touch bitter melon.”

I laughed.

“You two are pretty close, huh.”

“She's my boss. I don't have a choice.”

He didn't talk much over the meal, but there were no lulls either—work, movies, a book he'd been reading.

I asked which book. He said 《One Hundred Years of Solitude》.

“Did you actually understand it?”

“Not really. But Gloria said guys who read it seem cultured.”

My chopsticks paused.

“You're honest, I'll give you that.”

“No point faking it. You'd figure it out sooner or later.”

I looked at him and thought of the JPMorgan analyst from a couple of days ago. Really not the same at all.

After the meal, he walked me to my car.

“Next time's on me,” I said.

“Sure. I'll wait for your message.”

On the way home, Gloria called.

“How'd it go?”

“Not bad.”

“Just not bad?”

“What do you want me to say? That it was amazing?”

Gloria laughed on the other end.

“Grant already spilled. Says you're way better-looking in person than in photos.”

“He's seen my photos?”

“I posted some from a company dinner a while back. He saw them and saved one on the sly.”

I couldn't help laughing.

“Doesn't that count as selling out your friend?”

“I call it helping nature take its course.”

After I hung up, I reached my front door and saw someone crouching by the building entrance.

Daryl.

He stood up and looked at me.

“Cicely.”

I ignored him and walked past.

He grabbed my arm.

“Just let me say a few things.”

I shook his hand off.

“Talk.”

“What are you going to do with the company?”

“None of your business.”

“But I built that from the ground up……”

“You built it? Who put up the startup capital? Who introduced the first client? Whose space was it? Daryl, hand on your heart—tell me that was yours.”

He had nothing to say.

I opened the door. He stayed outside.

“Cicely, I really do know I was wrong.”

“Then go fix it. Don't come to me.”

I shut the door.

The next morning, my father called.

“Daryl's father phoned me.”

“What did he say?”

“That the kids don't know any better, asked if we'd give him another chance.”

“Did you?”

“I said it's not my call. I'd have to ask you.”

I thought about it for a second.

“No.”

“Done.” My father hung up.

I thought that would be the end of it.

That afternoon, Daryl's mother showed up.

Two cartons of milk, a basket of fruit, standing at my door.

“Cicely, I just came to see how you're doing.”

I let her in.

She sat on the couch and took my hands.

“Daryl's still young, he doesn't know better. I've already given him a piece of my mind. Every young couple has their fights, don't they?”

“Ma'am, this wasn't a fight. He called the police on me.”

“That was his secretary acting on her own——”

“You really believe that?”

She froze.

I pulled my hands back.

“Ma'am, the agreement's been signed. The divorce is final. None of this changes anything.”

Her eyes went red.

“Cicely, if only for my sake——”

“Please don't put me in this position.”

After I walked her out, I sat on the couch and just sat there. Not tired in my body. Tired somewhere I couldn't rest away.

I picked up my phone and saw a message from Grant.

“Home safe?”

“Yep.”

“Get some rest. Good night.”

“Good night.”

The next day at work, the front desk told me someone was here to see me.

I walked out. It was Daryl.

He stood in the lobby in a suit, hair combed neatly into place.

“Ms. Henson.”

I looked at him.

“What is it?”

“I'd like to come back and work at the company.”

“You're not an employee here anymore.”

“I know. I want to reapply.”

I almost laughed.

“On what basis?”

“I know every workflow in this company. I have two years of industry experience. I have——”

“Because you're my ex-husband?”

He shut his mouth.

I looked at him and said it word by word.

“Daryl, your résumé wouldn't even make it past the first screening.”

The color drained from his face.

“Cicely, you're really that heartless?”

“This isn't heartless. This is business.”

I turned and left.

Back at my office, a message from Gloria came in.

“Grant wants to know if you're working late tonight. He wants to take you to dinner.”

“Tell him to ask me himself.”

Five minutes later, Grant's message arrived.

“Are you free tonight?”

“Yes.”

“What do you feel like eating?”

“You pick.”

“Okay.”

At dinner, Grant watched me.

“You don't seem like yourself today.”

“How could you tell?”

“When you smile, your eyes don't follow.”

That caught me off guard.

“You're pretty observant.”

“Not observant. Just paying attention.”

I looked down and drank my soup without answering.

He didn't push.

After dinner, he drove me home.

Downstairs, he parked and turned to look at me.

“Cicely.”

“Hm?”

“If having dinner with me feels like pressure, we can start as friends.”

I looked at him. The streetlamp caught his face, and his eyes were very bright.

“Okay.”

He smiled.

“See you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow.”

I went upstairs, showered, and lay down in bed.

My phone chimed once.

Grant had sent a photo of tonight's moon.

“The moon's lovely tonight.”

I tilted my head toward the window. Not a trace of moon out there.

Liar.

I replied anyway.

“It really is.”

Gloria called just as I walked out of the courthouse.

“Done?”

“Done.”

“Good riddance. Drinks tonight?”

“Sure.”

I hung up and stood at the curb waiting for a ride.

My phone buzzed. Daryl.

“You really think this is fair to me?”

I didn't reply.

Another message followed：“My dad's in the hospital. Happy now?”

I stared at the screen for two seconds, then still didn't reply.

In the car, the driver asked where to.

I rattled off my home address—then heard myself and went quiet. It wasn't really home anymore.

Daryl's things had been moved out yesterday. My mother had sent someone over this morning to change the locks.

At the front door, I ran into Sybilla Lambert from across the hall.

“Cicely, how come your Daryl moved out?”

“We got divorced.”

Sybilla's mouth opened and closed like she'd swallowed an egg whole.

I unlocked the door and went inside. Half the living room was empty.

Daryl had taken the couch set he liked, claiming he'd paid for it.

I hadn't argued. It was just a couch.

There was half a carton of milk left in the fridge. I took a sip and it had already gone sour.

I tossed it, sat down on one of the kitchen chairs, and suddenly had no idea what to do with myself.

My phone rang again.

Mom.

“Come home for dinner tonight. Your father made spare ribs.”

“I made plans with Gloria.”

“Then come for lunch tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

I hung up, showered, and changed.

By the time I left, it was already dark.

Gloria was already there when I arrived at the bar, two drinks set out in front of her.

“This one's yours.”

She slid a glass over.

I sat down and took a sip.

“So? How does freedom feel?”

“Eh.”

“Eh? You should be throwing a parade.”

I didn't say anything.

Gloria looked at me and put down her glass.

“Don't tell me you're actually sad.”

“I'm not sad.”

“Then why is it written all over your face?”

I touched my own cheek.

“Maybe I'm just not used to it yet.”

“Not used to what? Not having someone to piss you off? Not having someone complain about how much you spend?”

She was right.

Daryl said I spent too much money, but the watch on his wrist was one I bought. The shirt on his back was one I bought. Even his mother's birthday gift was one I picked out.

“Stop thinking about it.”

Gloria poured more wine. “Here, look at this.”

She pulled out her phone and tapped open a photo.

A man in a dark blue hoodie, sitting in a café, eyes on his laptop.

“What do you think?”

“Think about what?”

“He went to college with my husband. Works at a bank. Single.”

I pushed the phone back.

“I just got divorced.”

“Nobody's saying marry him tomorrow. Just meet up, have a chat. What's the harm?”

“No.”

Gloria shot me a look.

“You're way too picky. You could go for someone like Daryl, and now a better catch comes along and you don't want him?”

“Was Daryl really that great?”

“You thought so back then, didn't you?”

I didn't answer.

Back then was back then.

Back then I thought he was ambitious, had ideas, knew how to talk sweet.

It wasn't until after the wedding that I realized ambition, sometimes, is just a bottomless pit.

His ideas always outran his ability, and the sweet talk never turned into anything real.

By the second glass, Gloria's husband came to pick her up.

“I'm heading out. Don't stay too late.”

“I know.”