Quickie

“Sandy, let me explain—”

“How. Much.” My voice echoes through the kitchen.

Will swallows. “Three hundred million.”

“Wow,” I say. “That’s a lot. Sorry you won’t be getting it. Because this is over.”

I toss the letter and the license on the ground and head for the door. I grab my bag and my heels. Maybe I’ll get lucky and Simon will still be around. Doesn’t matter, I can always call a cab.

Will is following me. “Please just let me explain,” he begs.

“Why should I? After everything you know that I went through, I actually meant nothing to you. I was just a pawn. A means to an end.”

“That’s not true,” he says, catching my arm at the door. “It’s not.”

I glare at him. “Let me go, Will. You can’t force me to stay married to you. I wasn’t sold on it in the first place, and now that I know the whole thing was fake my decision just got a lot easier, so thank you for that.” Will drops my arm, and I put distance between us, walking onto the grass and looking to see if I can spot Simon.

“I had to. I swear that I did. The inheritance isn’t just the money, it’s my life. It’s the company, it’s my homes. If I didn’t get married, I was going to lose everything.”

“So I’m supposed to feel sorry for you?” My voice rises. “The poor little millionaire?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Not that, I just want to explain.”

I laugh, even though nothing about this is remotely funny. “Go ahead. Explain. It seems like all you’ve ever had to do is explain. Explain what happened that night. Explain why us staying married is a good idea. Explain like you had to use me to get all your father’s money.” I push him away from me and head out onto the grass.

“Sandy, please.” He sounds desperate, and I suppose he is. Three hundred million dollars is a lot to lose.

I’m about to turn around and tell him to once again go to hell when there’s a shrill, piercing noise from behind us. Turning back, smoke is pouring out of the doorway, and the smell of something burning suddenly becomes overwhelming. “Shit,” Will says, pulling his cellphone from his pocket.

I should probably stay and help. I should probably make sure that he’s okay. There are a lot of things I should probably do. But fuck those things. They’ve never done me any good. So, while Will is watching his house catch fire, I turn and walk away.

10

Anna doesn’t even say anything when she opens the door; a single, once-over glance is enough to tell her everything. Or at least for her to go get the vodka and the ice cream. It’s always been this way with us, we know what the other needs.

It takes half a drink, half a pint of ice cream, and half a chick flick for me to be ready to say anything, but I do tell her. Everything about how I really am falling for him and how he used me for his money. It sucks.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” I ask her. “Is there some beacon over my head that only attracts men that are going to massively screw me over?”

Anna steals a spoonful of ice cream. “It has nothing to do with you. Some men are just assholes.”

“Yeah.” I stab the ice cream with my spoon. “Well, the amount I’ve run into that are assholes seems to be a lot.”

She makes a face. “I can’t exactly argue with that. I’m sorry, babe.”

“Me too.”

We watch the rest of the movie in silence, and at the end, when the couple kiss and seem like the happiest couple alive I can’t even pretend that I’m not a mess. Anna hands me a box of tissues. I feel like there’s a hole blown through my chest. Just a ragged space where grief and anger are swirling, and now that I’ve started crying, I don’t feel like it’ll ever stop. “Sorry,” I say to Anna.

She rolls her eyes. “Why are you apologizing? I’m amazed you haven’t had a breakdown before this.”

This is what I love about Anna. She’s not afraid to let you feel, and so I lean into the pain. I take the tissues and curl up on the couch next to her and let myself cry while she turns on another movie and strokes soothing circles on my back.

We’re halfway through movie number two when Anna clears her throat. “Okay, I’ve got to tell you something, and I’m not sure how you’re going to react.”

“Okay…” I say.

“When Wyatt disappeared,” she says, “you were pissed, and you had every right to be. I still think if I saw him again I’d chop his balls off.”

That makes me smile a little, even though I’m sniffling and can barely breathe.