growth potential (like I had with Bruce) and the kind of synchronistic connection that indicates something rare and precious is happening.
The way we’ve woven our lives together has been seamless. Effortless. A complete joy.
Why?
I’m no expert, but I think it’s because Michael and I get each other. It’s the looks we exchange when one of us is coming out of surgery and one of us is going in. The quiet understanding with no words needed. The way our opinions align on everything from politics to favorite books (anything James Patterson) to furniture selections. The way we work together at the office. In the OR. In the kitchen when we make dinner together. In bed.
We have the kind of relationship that makes it crystal clear why it never could have worked out between me and Bruce. Or me and any other man, for that matter. I just pray that Michael feels—or one day will feel—the same way.
“It’s going great,” I say, the swoon in my voice coming through loud and clear.
“Really? And the sex?”
“I’m a lucky girl,” I say, disappearing behind a sip of champagne in a lame attempt to get myself together.
“That’s wonderful,” she says, hitting me with that sardonic raised eyebrow of hers. The thing is lethal. It should be a banned weapon. “So naturally you decided not to tell him about your birthday.”
I blow out a breath and have a tough time defending myself. “I didn’t know what to do. We haven’t been together that long. I didn’t feel comfortable announcing that it was my birthday and then demanding, I don’t know, a fancy dinner out or some such. I don’t want him to think I’m after his money. Plus, first holidays and birthdays together can be so awkward. You never know what to get. What would you have done?”
“That’s easy,” she deadpans. “Demand the gift.”
“Yeah, okay,” I say, helping myself to a chip.
“So where is he tonight?”
“Drinks with his friends.”
“Hmm,” she says thoughtfully, also helping herself to a chip. “I’ve been meaning to ask you—any word from Bruce?”
My heart sinks at the reminder of the wreckage I’ve left in my wake. “No. I mean, we’ve had a couple of texts. I mentioned that. But no real conversation. I’d love for us to be friends at some point, but I think we need the space from each other. And I’m sure he needs a cooling-off period.”
“That’s probably smart. What about your lease? Didn’t you let the apartment go because you thought the two of you would be getting something bigger together?”
“I did,” I say grimly. “I’ll be moving come November first.”
“Where will you go?”
I do my best to look sweet, innocent and low-maintenance. “Your sofa?”
She grimaces. “Not a chance. Our friendship would never survive.”
“True.”
“I did see that there are some units available in the building on—”
My phone buzzes on the coffee table. The display lights up with Bruce’s picture. I gasp.
“It’s him,” I say.
“Answer it!”
I pick up the phone and hit the button, my heart pounding. “Hey,” I say.
“Hey. Am I catching you at a bad time?”
“No. This is perfect,” I say, getting up to head into the kitchen and check on the enchiladas. “Just sitting here with Kelly.”
“Tell her I said hi.”
“Will do.”
I hesitate, waiting.
He takes a deep breath. “How have you been?”
“Really good,” I tell him. “You?”
“Not so good,” he says, and I hear the self-deprecation in his voice.
I feel the hard pinch of guilt. “I’m so sorry, Bruce. I never meant to hurt you.”
“I know. But you’re with the guy now, aren’t you?”
I don’t want to answer, but I can’t see any way around it. Nor do I want to give him the wrong idea or any false hope. “Yes.”
“And you’re happy?”
I really wish he’d stop asking these questions. I want to be honest, but there’s only so much I can do without rubbing salt on his wounds. I shoot a help me! glance at Kelly, who is, of course, riveted to the proceedings. She can’t hear the entire conversation, but she shrugs encouragingly anyway.
“It’s still early, but…yes,” I tell him.
There’s a long and painful pause. “Good,” he says, his voice tight now. “So, listen. I wanted to wish you a happy birthday.”
There goes another little piece of my heart, crumbled into dust. It’s not that I want Bruce back. It’s just that this confirms my instincts that he’s a good guy who will make someone a wonderful husband one day.
“I really appreciate that, Bruce,” I say quietly. “Have I mentioned that you’re a class