Kitabı oku: «The Best Of Both Worlds», sayfa 2
“I don’t know. Somewhere. What difference does it make?”
“It makes a lot of difference. For instance, if there’s a barn, there’s a farmhouse nearby, and a farmer who feels sorry for us and offers us lodging. Number two, why are we out in a blizzard?”
“Maybe we’re coming back from a business trip. I don’t see what—”
“What business could we have together? You’re too busy getting fired, and the last time I checked, I was still an architect.”
“You said you had two questions. That’s three. Why do you always do that? Why do you always go on and on? All I meant by the story was—”
“Oh, I know what you meant. All that talk about huddling and need and passion—the truth is, you seduced me. But I’ll admit to my part of the blame. I should never have let it happen. Now all I want is for us to get past it. I wouldn’t want anything to jeopardize my friendship with David.”
David. So this was what it was all about. She should have known. What was it about men? They made fun of women for going to the powder room in twos, yet they lived by the Eleventh Commandment, “Thou shalt not let a woman divide a man from his buddies.”
Jerk. Carter Prescott, III, still had the power to knock her socks off—and a lot more than her socks—but he was still the same jerk.
He was right about one thing, though. He shouldn’t have let it happen. But it had happened. The child she was carrying was proof.
“I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it,” she said as they pulled into her driveway. “It’s not as if my brother would come after you with a shotgun.”
Carter grimaced. “No, but your father might.”
She almost laughed out loud. She could just imagine her meek, mild-mannered father, prodding Carter down the aisle with the business end of a rifle. Well, here’s a news flash, she thought. It would take more than a rifle to make her marry Carter. Or anyone else, for that matter. Marriage was an experience she had no desire to repeat.
She regarded his profile and sighed. No matter which path she chose, nothing could change the fact that Carter was the father of her child, and as much as she was determined to raise the baby alone, he had a right to know.
A shock like this would serve him right for being such a jerk.
She drew in a breath. “I have something to tell you.”
“Apology accepted.”
“No, you don’t understand—”
The front door to her house opened, and David appeared on the porch. Carter rolled down the window. “Hey, Roth!” he called. “How’s it going?”
David sprinted through the snow to the driver’s side of the car. “Pres, you old son of a gun, when did you get back? Come in for a glass of wine—and stay for dinner. It’s been a while since you’ve had one of my grandmother’s feasts. Either you’re traipsing across the country or you’re out on a date. Bubbe’s cooked up a storm, chicken soup, roast brisket and potato knishes—and you can’t say no to her gefilte fish.”
Becky’s stomach turned over.
“Thanks, but I’ll have to take a rain check,” Carter said. “I’m off to my mother’s. If I don’t show up tonight for dinner, she’ll probably stay awake all night, figuring out new, inventive ways to make me crazy.”
Mothers will do that, Becky thought, opening the car door.
Gertie stepped onto the porch, wearing her lamb’s wool coat. “David!” she called, waving frantically. “Put on a jacket! It’s cold out here!”
Becky turned to Carter. “Thanks for the lift. I can manage from here.”
“Stay put. I’ll help you to the door.”
“I told you, I can manage.” She glanced over at her brother, who hadn’t even acknowledged her presence. What, was she invisible? “God forbid I should come between you and your buddy.” Before Carter could protest, she was out of the car, hobbling up the front pathway.
“Where are your boots?” Gertie scolded. “In this terrible storm you don’t wear boots? And why aren’t you wearing a hat? Get in here before you catch pneumonia. What’s the matter with you, can’t you see it’s snowing? It’s not a blizzard, it’s a disaster!”
Becky followed her mother into the house. You don’t know the half of it, she thought. If she hadn’t felt so miserable, she might have laughed.
Chapter Two
“F inally, a grandchild.” Gertie’s hands flew into the air as though she hoped to embrace the world. “But the word pregnant is so harsh-sounding. I prefer expecting. Even better, in the family way.”
“No matter what you call it,” Bubbe said, “a baby is a blessing. Have some more soup, Hannah. Now you eat for two.”
Aaron stood and raised his glass in a toast. “A finer daughter-in-law there never was. May your son be strong and healthy. May you have many more sons, and daughters, too. May all your children bring you joy. May all—”
“Sit down, Aaron,” Gertie said. “Your soup is getting cold. So, Hannah, when is the baby due?”
“According to the obstetrician, the last week in May. I wanted to tell you all sooner, but David wanted to keep it our special secret a little while longer.”
“You’re supposed to add seven days to the date of your last menstrual cycle, then subtract three months,” Becky said. She knew. She’d looked it up after missing her period. But hoping the problem would somehow go away, she’d put off taking a pregnancy test for another two months. It was only this morning, after studying her disappearing waistline in the diner’s bathroom mirror, that she’d drummed up the courage to confirm her suspicions.
“Watch how you talk,” Gertie reprimanded, handing a plate of sliced challa to Hannah. “There are men here.”
“I wasn’t hatched from an egg,” David said, laughing. “Anyway, Becky is right. That’s the calculation the doctor used. But the ultrasound scheduled for next week will give us a more accurate picture.” Looking at Hannah adoringly, he took her hand as though she was as fragile as a china doll.
Becky could tell that her mother was performing a few of her own calculations. “This is the first week in December,” Gertie said slowly. “That would make Hannah three months preg—in the family way.” She looked at David accusingly. “Right?”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, Ma. The baby won’t dare show his face until the appropriate amount of time has passed.”
“I wasn’t saying anything, so wipe that look off your face.” Gertie pretended to be offended, but her joy was obvious. “Not that I’m complaining, but I have to say, you didn’t waste much time.”
“They didn’t go on a honeymoon to play golf,” Aaron said.
“Shame on you, Aaron. Such a way to talk in front of your children.” She turned to Becky. “Finally I’m going to have grandchildren, and here I thought the first one would come from you.”
It just might, Becky thought. She wasn’t sure of the date of her last period, but she knew exactly when she had conceived: Labor Day weekend, the night of David’s wedding. Which meant that she and Hannah would be delivering around the same time.
“Don’t start on her, Ma,” David said. “She’ll get remarried one day. Besides, she’s a lot younger than I am. She has time. She’ll have a family when she’s good and ready.”
As a matter of fact, before I’m good and ready, Becky thought.
“From your mouth to God’s ears,” Gertie said.
Becky let out a nervous breath. This was as good an opening as any to tell them about the baby. But she had to do it gradually, to soften the blow. Step one, marriage is out. Step two, adoption is in. Step three, forget step two and tell them I’m pregnant. “Actually, I don’t think I’ll ever get married again.”
Gertie dismissed the comment with a wave of her hand. “Of course you will. Jordan will come back. Just be patient.”
When was her mother going to accept the divorce? “I wouldn’t take him back if he crawled on his hands and knees, not after what he did,” Becky said. “He used me, and he used you, too. Without the money he borrowed from you, he never would have been able to go to medical school. And don’t forget, I was the only one bringing home the bacon, you should pardon the expression. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not angry that he went to school while I worked—yes, Ma, I do have some skills—but it’s funny how he dumped me as soon as he got what he wanted.”
Gertie frowned. “Do we have to talk about this at the Friday-night table? Shabbes is supposed to be a time of rest, and that means a rest from all this bickering.”
“You’re the one who brought it up,” Becky answered indignantly. “If you like Jordan so much, why don’t you marry him?”
“Is that how you talk? Listen to how she talks! Aaron, say something!”
Aaron cleared his throat. “First of all—”
“First of all she needs a husband,” Gertie interrupted. “Which she had, I might add, but she sent him away. What kind of daughter sends a man like that away?”
“I didn’t send him away, Ma. He left.”
“Yes, I know. He used you and then he left. Well, I have news for you. A husband and wife are supposed to use each other. They’re supposed to turn to each other in times of need. Did you want him to use someone else?”
Becky sighed with frustration. “Jordan did turn to someone else, or have you forgotten that already?”
“You mean that shiksa? He’ll get tired of her, mark my words. He’ll come back when he comes to his senses. What was her name again, Bambi?”
“Barbie, Ma, and I wish you wouldn’t use that word.”
“What, shiksa? You’re worried you might insult her? Next you’ll be saying she’s a wonderful woman and if circumstances were different, the two of you could be friends. What kind of wife makes friends with the husband’s mistress? What’s wrong with you?”
Becky gritted her teeth. “I’m not the one at fault here. Nothing’s wrong with me.” Nothing except that she was unmarried, pregnant and unemployed. “Why can’t you ever take my side? After Jordan and I separated, I’m surprised you asked me, not him, to move in with you.”
“Calm down. You don’t have to make a scene. All I’m saying is that men don’t leave. Women let them go.”
“And daughters don’t leave, either,” Becky retorted. “Mothers drive them away.” She pushed away from the table. “I’m going for a walk.” She stood up and gave her sister-in-law a warm squeeze on her shoulder. “Mazel tov, Hannah. I’m so happy for you and David. But I have to warn you, you’re going to need all the luck you can get to survive in this family.”
“Where are you going?” Gertie demanded. “In this weather you want to go for a walk? Aaron, do something!”
“Listen to your mother,” Aaron said.
Bubbe looked up at Becky. “Eat something, bubeleh. At least have some soup. I made it just for you. Chicken soup with no chicken, the way you like it.”
“I’m sorry, Bubbe. I’m sure it’s delicious, but I’m just not hungry.” She gave her grandmother a peck on the cheek, then whirled around to face her mother. To heck with softening the blow. Bombs away! “Oh, I forgot to mention that I was fired. And there’s one other thing. I’m in the family way.”
“I realize it’s only the first week in December,” Eleanor said, “but this is Connecticut, for pity’s sake. It’s supposed to snow. Why does the town always go into a tizzy at the first sign of a flake? Schools close, roads back up and people crowd into grocery stores to wait at the checkout for hours, convinced that if they don’t stock up they’ll perish.”
Carter sat at one end of the long mahogany table, facing his mother. At the center of the table was a spray of orchids in a Baccarat crystal vase. At each end, arranged in a formal place setting were Eleanor’s sterling silver, her Royal Worcester dinnerware and a crystal wineglass. It’s just the two of us, he thought, yet she sets the table as though she was expecting the queen of England. But even when his father was alive, it had been this way. Carter suspected she dined like this even when she was alone.
“It’s the mentality of the masses,” she continued. “They always cause such havoc whenever the slightest thing goes wrong. Is that why you’re so late?”
“Excuse me?”
“The traffic, Carter. I’m talking about the traffic.”
“There was no traffic, Mother. I’m late because I gave Becky Roth a lift home.”
She drew her lips into a tight curl. “Oh, Rebecca. Yes, I heard she was back in Middlewood, living with her parents. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her or her people. I understand that her brother Daniel bought his own pharmacy. I’m sure he’ll do well—but those people always do, don’t they?”
“His name is David. And he and his people are fine.”
“You needn’t take that tone. You know what I mean.” She took a sip of her wine. “You haven’t touched your coq au vin. Should I ask Martine to prepare something else? You haven’t met my new housekeeper, have you? I think I’ll keep this one. She’s a real gem.”
You mean you hope she doesn’t quit like all the others before her, Carter thought. He put down his fork and stared at his plate. “The chicken is fine. I’m just not hungry.”
His mother continued speaking, but Carter barely heard her words. Yet it wasn’t his mother who was the cause of his distraction. At the moment the only person on his mind was Becky. She was acting as if he’d been responsible for what had happened that night three months ago. Hell, she’d known what she was doing—she was twenty-seven, not some blushing schoolgirl. Okay, so maybe afterward he’d been a jerk, but he’d apologized for his crude remark, hadn’t he?
“She wants you to call her.”
Carter looked back at his mother. “Excuse me?” he asked again.
“You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve been saying. I said that Wendy called. She wanted to know when you’d be back.” Eleanor took another sip of her wine. “This is a 1976 Chateau d’Yquem, in case you’re interested. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.”
Carter regarded her with suspicion. “What special occasion?”
“I’m celebrating your homecoming. That and the New Zealand job. Can’t a mother show pride in her son? As much as I hate to see you gone for two years, I know what this project means to you. You’ll finally be made a full partner, something you’ve wanted for a long time. Anyway, I can come down at Christmas to visit, if you’d like. It’s summer then, isn’t it? I’ll even stay the whole season.”
Good Lord, was there nowhere he could go to escape her? “The partnership is not the primary reason why I’m going,” he said curtly. He immediately regretted his tone. Eleanor was just being Eleanor. After thirty-two years he should be used to the way she tried to run his life—and the lives of everyone around her.
But either the insult had evaded her or she had chosen to ignore it. “Of course it’s not the main reason,” she said. “I know how much you enjoy your work. But you have to admit, the prestige that goes along with being a full partner is a definite plus.”
“Tell me something, how many country clubs are there in Middlewood? And what’s the sense of joining if I’m never here?” He was sorry he’d told her about the trip in the first place. He should have known she’d zero in on the partnership. Even though the promotion wasn’t contingent on his going to New Zealand, it was true that the trip would cement it. He removed his napkin from his lap and tossed it onto the table. “I should go home. It’s getting late and I still haven’t finished unpacking.”
Eleanor looked up at the grandfather clock behind him. “But it’s still early! What about dessert? We’re having your favorite, crème caramel, in honor of your return.”
“I’m sorry, Mother, but I’m tired and I have a lot to do tonight. But thank Martine for me, will you?” After unpacking, he wanted to review his notes on the Denver project. The school for the performing arts was small potatoes compared to the New Zealand job, but it was coming up fast. Even though tomorrow was Saturday, he and Mike Walters, one of the firm’s two senior partners, were meeting in the morning to go over the plans.
“I insist that you stay, Carter.” Once again she glanced at the clock.
And once again Carter eyed her with mistrust. “What is it, Mother? Are you expecting someone?”
“Promise me you won’t get angry. I invited Wendy for coffee. She happened to be in town visiting her parents, and I thought that inviting her would be the decent thing to do.”
“Right. She happened to be in town.” He stood up and headed toward the hallway, then abruptly turned around. “The decent thing to do? Now that’s almost funny. I don’t think Wendy would recognize decency if it slapped her in the face. I’m going home. Make my apologies for me, will you?”
“Come back here!” Eleanor called after him, a note of panic in her voice. “What am I supposed to say to her?”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something. You always do.”
She shouldn’t have delivered the news that way. Becky had been sure that Bubbe would drop her teeth, right there at the table, into her soup. The last person she ever wanted to hurt was her grandmother, dear Bubbe, whose entire world revolved around her family, but Becky had had enough. Her mother was driving her crazy. Becky knew she’d have to move out soon, or she’d end up in a strait-jacket.
She trudged through the blowing snow, hugging her chest as if at any moment she would be lifted up and blown away. She could feel the wind right through her jacket. Her leg still felt tender underneath the warm camel slacks she’d changed into before dinner, but at least the sting was gone. A person needs snowshoes in this weather, she thought, not two-inch-heeled boots from Macy’s sale catalogue.
No one else was out walking tonight—in this weather who in their right minds would be?—and for a moment she imagined herself alone and lost, trying to find her way out of a forest. Worried about the future, her fears assailed her as she walked without aim, her boots crunching rhythmically on the frozen snow.
Lions and tigers and bears, oh my! Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!
Pregnant, unmarried, unemployed, oh my!
Not that she didn’t want to be a mother. On the contrary, she wanted to be a mother more than anything in the world—someday. But right now there was this one small detail. She wasn’t married. It wasn’t the stigma that bothered her; she was terrified at the prospect of raising a child alone. She couldn’t even support herself, never mind a baby.
I do have some skills, she’d told her mother. Unfortunately, she just hadn’t discovered what they were. She’d studied Greek mythology in college, but these days there wasn’t much of a need for Greek mythologists, especially in a small town like Middlewood. After graduation she’d flitted from job to job, trying to make ends meet. I’m just not cut out for office work, she’d told herself. Was it her fault she didn’t have the filing gene? Or the answer-the-phone-without-alienating-the-customer gene?
Anger filled her as she pushed on, fighting the wind. Nothing had gone according to plan. She was supposed to help put Jordan through medical school, and once he was on his feet, it would be her turn. Maybe she’d go to graduate school. Maybe she’d start her own business. Or maybe she’d be a stay-at-home mom. But all those dreams had ended. During his first year of internship—after four years, eight months and three weeks of marriage, not that she was counting—Jordan had up and left.
How did one fall out of love, precisely? The salon-bought redhead with the surgical bosom had nothing to do with it, her husband had insisted while packing his new Louis Vuitton suitcase. Becky had even helped him pack, making sure everything was folded just right. Was that new underwear? she’d wondered absurdly. Not only had the redhead bought him new luggage, she’d bought him new shorts. Designer underwear with the labels sewn on the outside so they wouldn’t chafe.
“Fold your own underwear,” Becky had said defiantly. There. That would teach him.
At this time, however, concerns other than her ex-husband’s preference for designer shorts and big-breasted redheads demanded her attention, and she forced her anger aside.
How would she raise this baby alone?
She didn’t want Carter in her life as the father of her child. What kind of parent would he make, spending most of his time gallivanting away from home? She didn’t want him in her life under any circumstance. He’d already walked out on one wife, and Becky had already been there, thank you very much. Not that she expected him to propose once he learned the truth. He was a man who relished his freedom. He went through women the way she went through jobs.
She plodded along aimlessly, snow swirling in front of her eyes as thoughts of Carter swirled in her head. What had she been thinking that night? She knew exactly what she’d been thinking, all right, as they’d faced each other under the wedding canopy. She’d been thinking of his smoky-gray eyes, his lean, sexy body, the way her insides would turn to matzo meal whenever his gaze met hers. But the whole insanity—the whole mishegoss, as Bubbe would say—had started before the family had even left for the synagogue:
Becky had been getting ready for her brother’s wedding, thinking that for the first time in a long while she wasn’t miserable. Here it was already September and she’d been working at the same job for more than a month. She’d even started thinking about getting her own apartment. She couldn’t sponge off her parents forever, not that her mother believed the situation was permanent. “Jordan has lost his senses,” Gertie had kept insisting, “but he’ll come around.” But it had been six months since Jordan had misplaced his senses and he still hadn’t found them. At first Becky thought she’d disintegrate, but a half year later, to her surprise, she discovered she was still in one piece, getting on with her life.
And then her bubble had burst, the day of David’s wedding. She’d stepped outside the house to pick up the mail, expecting letters and cards from the out-of-town relatives who wouldn’t be attending the wedding. Recognizing the court insignia, she’d ripped open the envelope, and the pain she’d felt upon Jordan’s departure immediately resurfaced.
After nearly five years of marriage Mr. and Mrs. Jordan Steinberg had become a statistic. Their marriage was over. Finally, officially and irrevocably over.
Tucking the letter in the pocket of her bathrobe, she’d returned to the house. “You look as wrung out as a shmatte,” Gertie said. “It’s that horrible diner that’s turned you into a rag. I don’t know why you insist on working there—it’s not even kosher. Jordan will soon be a bona fide doctor. How does it look, a doctor’s wife working in a place like that?”
“You know I don’t keep kosher,” Becky reminded her, “and Jordan’s not coming back.”
“If it’s a hobby you need, what’s wrong with canasta? All those germs in that dirty place, no wonder you look the way you do. Stay away from Hannah. A bride doesn’t need to catch something just before her wedding. Is there any mail?”
“Just bills,” Becky replied.
How could she play the role of matron of honor? she’d thought miserably, the idea of matrimony leaving a bitter taste on her tongue. After receiving her final divorce papers, no woman should have to march down the aisle.
Yet in spite of her mood, four hours later she’d found herself smiling as she waited for her cue to walk to the altar. She was filled with happiness for her brother and Hannah. They were a perfect match, even though it had almost taken a bulldozer to get him to the altar. Hannah, his longtime girlfriend, normally quiet and shy, had decided that her biological clock was ticking away and had given him an ultimatum, and David, self-proclaimed bachelor at the ripe old age of thirty-two, after being nagged ad nauseam by Gertie, had finally given in. Mrs. Gertie Roth wanted a grandchild, and since Becky didn’t seem to be in a hurry to provide one, the spotlight had fallen on Hannah.
But everyone knew that David and Hannah belonged together; he’d just needed a little push. David loved her, everyone could see that. Becky could see it in his eyes every time he looked at her. She had no doubt they would have a long, strong marriage, once he got used to the idea.
Why was it that the men who balked most made the best husbands?
Becky walked down the aisle, following her parents and David, and took her place under the chuppah. Carter, David’s best man, was waiting at the other side of the canopy. Becky had almost forgotten how good-looking he was, and now, seeing him standing there, tall and striking in a tuxedo, a red boutonniere on his lapel, she felt a familiar pang.
And then her mood sobered. He was a statistic, just like her. Another marriage gone under. Another example of love gone sour. Maybe it had been better in Bubbe’s day, she thought. A friend or matchmaker introduced you to a suitable partner, and the marriage was based on respect. “We learned to love each other,” Bubbe always said. “Chaim was a good man, may he rest in peace. What was not to love?”
“Hey, stranger,” Carter said quietly. “It’s been a while. I can’t remember the last time I saw you. You’re looking good, princess.”
Aware of his eyes sweeping over her in appreciation, she felt herself blushing. “You’re looking snazzy yourself,” she answered back, and for an instant she was a teenager again, flirting with him, yearning for his attention.
Then came Hannah’s parents, and after that the organist began to play the wedding march. All heads turned toward the double doors. Hannah appeared, exquisite in a gown of satin and tulle, her skirt made up of several layers of the flowing material. As she walked down the aisle, the crystal beads of her bodice glistened in the soft lighting. Bubbe had wanted the bride to walk with her parents, as in a more orthodox ceremony, but David had insisted that his bride share her moment of glory with no one. “We’re Reformed now, Bubbe,” he tried to explain. “We choose the laws and traditions we want to follow.”
Tears welled in Becky’s eyes as she watched Hannah walk down the aisle, tears of happiness for Hannah, tears of sadness for herself. She thought about her own wedding, remembering the promises that were made and then later broken.
At the chuppah David met his bride and put his arm through hers. Becky barely heard the ceremony. Afraid she would break down entirely, she held her head low, looking up only when it was time for her to perform her duty as matron of honor and lift Hannah’s veil.
After the bride and groom each took a sip from the cup of wine, the rabbi wrapped the glass in a cloth and placed it on the floor. “Mazel tov!” the guests cheered after David had stomped on the glass, smashing it to pieces. The tradition of the breaking glass was supposed to be a solemn reminder of the fragility of life, but now that the ceremony was over, all somberness was to be banished.
“On with the festivities!” Aaron called jovially, then led the way to the reception hall.
After the meal, the hall was cleared for dancing. The guests formed a circle around the bride and groom, who were seated on chairs, holding opposite ends of a handkerchief as the custom dictated. “To the king and queen of the night!” someone called out, and when Hannah and David were lifted in their chairs into the air, Becky quietly sneaked away.
She was in no mood for a party, but she could hardly leave her brother’s wedding. She hid out in the bride’s lounge, drinking glass after glass of champagne, emerging every now and then to make a brief appearance, resolving, for Hannah’s sake, not to reveal her misery. All she wanted was to be left alone, and when the reception was finally over, she told her parents she planned on walking home.
“You want to walk in those heels?” Gertie chided.
“We live just down the block,” Becky reminded her mother. “Besides, there won’t be any room for me in the car after you’ve packed it up with leftovers.”
Outside, the September air was cool and crisp, a preview to the coming fall. Her head ached from too much champagne, and she wanted to be alone. A walk will do me good, she thought, even though it’ll be a short one.
“Bailing out?”
Becky jumped. “Carter! You shouldn’t sneak up on a person that way.”
“Is there any other way to sneak up on a person?” He tilted her chin with his fingers. “Hey…what’s the matter, princess? Those aren’t tears of happiness.”
His soft caress was enough to break the last of her resolve, and before she could stop herself, she began to sob against his shoulder.
He wrapped his arms around her. “It can’t be that bad. Just think of that old saying, ‘You’re not losing a brother, you’re gaining a sister.”’
“You have that all wrong,” she managed through her sobs. “The saying is, ‘You’re not losing a daughter, you’re gaining a son.’ But that’s not why I’m crying.” Suddenly embarrassed, she pulled away from his embrace. Not meeting his eyes, she wiped at the moisture on his jacket. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me.”
“Don’t apologize. The tux can be cleaned.” A fresh stream of tears rolled down her cheeks, and he said, “Aw, I’m sorry, princess. I shouldn’t have been so flippant. David told me what happened between you and Jordan. If it means anything, I understand what you’re going through.”
She stopped sniffling and looked at him warily. Of all the people in the world who could offer consolation, she had to get stuck with Carter Prescott, III, deadbeat husband and playboy of the Western Waspy World. “I don’t think so! You left your wife—it wasn’t the other way around. Why am I even talking to you? You’re the last person who could understand what I’m going through.”
“You seem to forget there are at least two sides to any story,” he said softly. “Did you ever consider that there might be two sides to mine? Maybe I’m not the big bad wolf you make me out to be. Personally I think Jordan is a complete idiot, leaving you. Someone with such poor judgment isn’t even fit to shine your shoes.”
