CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER TWO

The sun might’ve stayed up late during the last weeks of June, but that didn’t matter. By the time Diana escaped the office, it was already pitch black save for the plentiful city streetlights. Traffic was lighter, not that it was ever really light in New York.

“Bea?” she called into her hands-free device as she pulled away from House of Phun with her carton of Pad Thai. “I hope it’s not too late for me to be calling you?”

“It’s lunchtime here, Mom,” she said. “I have a few minutes before my next class. What’s up?”

Diana never could get her head around the time difference in Japan. “Oh. Good. I was just wondering how you were doing?”

“Oh, great! Fine! There’s always something crazy going on here, you know.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“The girls at work took me to an izakaya—that’s a bar—in Tokyo where they locked us in a prison cell.”

“A prison cell?”

“Yeah, and all the drinks were served in test tubes and beakers with eyeballs floating in it. It was wild. And we were shut in for the night with all these crazy characters chasing after us!”

“Oh. Wow.”

“I know, I know, it’s not your thing. But it was fun!”

Diana smiled. Her daughter’s adventures could fill a very large book. There were so many places she visited, so many new things she learned . . . Diana used to love living vicariously through her daughter, seeing Bea living life to the fullest. But as Bea went on talking a mile-a-minute about how scared she was being chased by a knife-wielding madman during her dinner, a strange feeling pooled in Diana’s gut.

It was FOMO. Big time. No, it had never been her dream to be pursued by a murderer, but at least, it was

different

. Diana glanced at her reflection for a moment in the rearview mirror. Since when had she bothered to change her hair style? Not in twenty years. For that long, it had been the same—wake up, go to work, come home, and go to bed only to start it all over again in the morning. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done anything to break routine.

“That sounds so great, honey. I bet—”

“Sorry, Mom. I’ve got to go. My next class starts in five.”

“Okay. I’ll see you! Love you!”

“Love you, Mom,” Bea said, ending the call.

By the time Diana pulled into the driveway of her Oyster Bay house, it was just before eleven. Outside her front door, the bay was a swath of crystal, sparkling in the moonlight. Yawning, she climbed the stairs to the large colonial’s front porch, remembering how homey the house had been before. Back when the kids were young, her mother shared the house, they had a pet golden retriever named Max, and they employed a nanny—every room in the place would be awash in light when she finished the two-hour drive from Manhattan. She’d walk through the door, and Max would bound up to greet her followed by the children, hugging the life out of her. They’d all sit down to dinner and chat about their day, and the kitchen table would be full of laughter and smiles.

Now, the place was cold . . . dark . . . uninviting. Everyone was gone.

When she pushed open the door, she stood in the foyer, remembering how Beatrice and Lily used to screech her name excitedly as they’d grabbed onto the thighs of her pantsuit, nearly toppling her. Max would bark happily, not wanting to be left out.

Now, the grandfather clock struck eleven, and the sound echoed desolately through the empty rooms.

Yes, it had been tiring and frustrating and chaotic before . . . but it had also been nice.

Funny how one never realizes those things until the days are over,

she thought morosely as she kicked off her heels and went to the kitchen. She tried to think of the times she’d had to adjust the thermostat to make it more comfortable for Evan and the other residents. Or helped her kids with homework despite her throbbing migraine. Or made dinner because Jenny, the nanny, wasn’t much of a cook. Or taken Max for his walk because no one else wanted to go in the cold.

This is SO much better,

she told herself as she unpacked the Thai from the paper bag and poured it all out on the plate. She poured herself a glass of wine and took a sip.

I can have a nice, quiet dinner. No distractions. And I can eat as much as I want, without feeling judged.

She sat down to eat and twined the noodles around her fork. As she brought it to her mouth, trying to enjoy its spicy-sweet taste, she heard the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer. When had that gotten so loud?

Diana opened her phone and turned on some soothing jazz. Better.

More Thai. It really was delicious, a perfect blend of peanuts, sriracha, and brown sugar. She practically inhaled more. Was it sad that this food was, by far, the best part of her day?

Probably.

She took a sip of her wine.

I can also drink as much of this as I want. And likely, I will.

It made no sense. She and Evan had been on the rocks for over a year. He’d officially filed for divorce months ago. Four months ago, she’d found out he was dating one of Beatrice’s old classmates from high school. If there was ever a time to freak out about this arrangement, that would’ve been it.

And yet she’d been fine. Not a ripple. She’d thrown herself into her work, buried all her emotions.

But now? It was silly, but now she felt unsettled. Now something was gnawing at her gut. Now she felt a crazy desire to break out and do something wild.

And it had all started the second Macey told her about her solo trip to Spain.

“That’s because it’s your dream, Di,” she whispered to herself as she took a gulp of wine. “Well, not Spain. France. But Spain would be nice too. All of it, actually.”

Funny. She’d been building up the idea of traveling to Europe in her head all of these years

. . . and yet she was so busy taking care of everyone else, she hadn’t even realized it. But it was true. If she closed her eyes now, she could almost taste it like a warm buttered croissant—the historic buildings, the quaint villages, the culture, the food . . .

Grabbing her phone, she tapped on the Instagram app. Maybe she’d see a few pictures, and they wouldn’t be as spectacular as she’d pictured it in her head.

Yes. She had so much work to do at Addict. The place needed her. She needed to talk herself down from the ledge and focus on that.

She didn’t have much of an Instagram account herself; after all, she had no life. What would she do?—post pictures of her keyboard and her coffee mug? But she liked to follow the girls. This time, she barely looked at a photo of Beatrice in front of some theater in Japan before double-tapping the like. Then she tried entering Macey’s name into the search bar, but all she found were a bunch of other Maceys. No Macey who’d recently been to Spain. No sunny vistas and old churches and everything she wanted to see in Europe.

Annoyed, she swiped down to her husband’s account, and her jaw fell open.

She checked the name again to make sure she had it right. Yes, he was

ejstjames.

She stared at the picture again, wishing she could unsee it.

Evan hadn’t done anything terribly wrong to her. They’d simply grown apart until even Diana had to admit that, wrapped in their own careers, they’d become virtual strangers living under the same roof. Roommates. The passion, he’d said, was gone, and she had to agree.

She hadn’t minded it. She was in her fifth decade of life. She’d figured that if that was as good as it got, she was content. Everything was steady. Predictable. Fine.

But Evan, apparently,

did

mind it—big-time. So much so that he was prepared to make changes that, at this stage of Diana’s life, just sounded

exhausting

.

After that speech, six months ago, he’d moved out. Lawyered-up. Started the divorce proceedings. Came by every so often to get his fishing pole, his skis, the things he’d accidentally left during the first sweep. Usually he did so while she was at work, which really was most of the time.

But she didn’t hate him. In fact, she missed him. He was a man she’d shared the bulk of her lifetime with, and she loved him. He’d even said that to her, once or twice, too. Maybe it was just out of habit, but he’d often end their calls with “Love you, Di.” The one time she’d been there, he’d told her how much he

“missed us.”

Even though he’d never suggested getting back together, he’d put a hand on the small of her back and said that he was sorry about the way things had happened, and she was sure there was regret glistening in his eyes.

So she thought it was just a matter of time. This was a late-hitting mid-life crisis. He often entertained whims like that photography kick he went on or that steel pan drum he wanted for his birthday that one year. All that stuff ended up in the closet a couple months later. He just needed the time to work it out of his system.

Of course, it’d been a surprise when she found out he was dating Tilda. Having been in Beatrice’s graduating class meant Tilda was almost thirty years Evan’s junior. Not only that, Beatrice had always said she had a head like a hot air balloon. Young, beautiful, alluring . . . but nothing upstairs. And Evan was a surgeon . . . top of his class at NYU’s School of Medicine . . . used to hobnobbing with the best and the brightest. It wouldn’t last. After all, what did they have in common? Eventually, he’d grow bored.

But the photograph that greeted her now was far from boring.

In fact, it was downright scandalous.

It was Evan with his wild salt-and-pepper hair and his tanned, handsome face, wearing a godawful Hawaiian-print shirt, unbuttoned to reveal his graying chest hair and bulging tummy. He was standing in front of a crystal-blue Caribbean Sea with Tilda, who was wearing the tiniest of string bikinis. Their arms were wrapped tightly around each other with Tilda showing off her perfect manicure to the camera . . . and the giant honking eighteen-wheeler headlight of a diamond that made her hand look like a Barbie doll’s hand.

Diana just stared at it, sure she was seeing things.

They’re in Haiti. We used to go there all the time. Maybe,

she thought stupidly,

it’s a joke. Maybe it’s a fake she bought from the duty-free store or one of those street vendors.

Forgetting to breathe, she scanned underneath the photograph to find the caption:

Presenting the soon-to-be new Mrs. St. James! I’m so lucky to have you in my life, babe.

Diana frowned.

Babe?

Never in her life had he called

her

babe! Maybe because he realized with Tilda, he was completely robbing the cradle.

And the new Mrs. St. James? The divorce isn’t final yet. I’m STILL Mrs. St. James, you twit!

For a second, she thought about commenting that, but decided against it. There were over one hundred comments, all various forms of

Congratulations to the happy couple.

Diana scanned through it, hoping, wishing someone would’ve commented the obvious:

You’re an old man robbing the cradle, and you should act your age.

No such luck.

She lifted her phone, ready to throw it down and smash it into a million pieces. Her Thai food had gone cold, and now she no longer had the appetite for it.

Then she scrolled back up and caught sight of Evan. The look in his eye was a becoming one. Genuinely happy, the way he hadn’t been in a long time with her. He may have been a surgeon, but he wasn’t slick or pretentious in the least. No, he was a bit of a bumbler, the kind of guy who was so unassuming and down to earth. It was impossible to hate him.

You poor oblivious, deluded fool,

she thought to herself.

I hope she doesn’t hurt you.

But right now, she was the one who was hurting. She poured herself another glass of wine and navigated away from the pictures of people and their happy lives . . . right to the Delta website. She found a flight leaving for Paris in the morning that wasn’t too expensive. She added it to her cart and navigated to the checkout.

She hovered her finger over the BUY NOW button, playing a little game of chicken with herself.

Go on. I dare you.