Chapter 4 - Sitting Three Seats Away
The next evening, I found him alone in the hotel lounge. I'd learned by then that his room sat one floor below ours, though I still had no idea how long he'd been living as "Dean."
I sat at the far end of the bar in glasses and a light jacket, close enough to watch, far enough not to be recognized. Paige, apparently, had walked off after another argument. He was alone, nursing a drink.
Eventually he glanced over. "You look like you're having a better night than I am."
The absurdity of it nearly made me laugh out loud — the husband I had mourned for three years, making small talk with me because he genuinely didn't recognize his own wife. I'd changed too, I supposed. Shorter hair. Fifteen pounds lighter. The woman he remembered had been anxious, exhausted, always apologizing for taking up space.
That woman didn't live here anymore.
"Maybe I just stopped letting disappointing people ruin good evenings," I said.
He gave a tired smile. "That sounds like it comes from experience."
"It does."
He lifted his glass. "Relationships. They get complicated."
I looked at him steadily. "Only when people refuse to tell the truth."
Something shifted behind his eyes.
"Sometimes," I went on, "people convince themselves that running is easier than facing what they've actually done."
His smile disappeared completely. "Have we met before?"
I stood, unhurried. "Maybe I just remind you of someone you left behind."
May you like
He stared at me for several long seconds. I watched recognition creep across his face in slow motion.
I walked away before he could say my name out loud.
