Chapter 86 Bestie
Cassie
Meagan had always possessed an uncanny ability to appear exactly when I needed her most, and today was no exception. I was hunched over my laptop in the agency's break room, picking at a sad desk salad while reviewing client feedback on our latest campaign, when she appeared beside my table with two takeaway containers from that expensive sushi place in Hyde Park.
"You look like hell," she announced, settling into the chair across from me with characteristic directness. "When's the last time you ate something that didn't come from a vending machine?"
I looked up at my best friend, all five feet two inches of perfectly coordinated in green corporate chic, her red hair styled in that effortless bob that probably took her an hour to achieve, her expression equal parts concern and determination.
"I'm eating," I protested, gesturing at my wilted salad.
"Rabbit food doesn't count." She pushed one of the containers toward me. "Salmon teriyaki, brown rice, and actual vegetables. Eat."
The smell that wafted from the container was heavenly, making me realize I was actually starving. I'd been running on coffee and adrenaline for days, too caught up in work to pay attention to basic human needs like nutrition.
"What's the occasion?" I asked, accepting the chopsticks she offered.
"Can't a friend bring lunch without needing an occasion? Besides, you've been avoiding my calls for three weeks. I figured if you were ignoring me I'd come to you and bother you..."
Guilt twisted in my stomach. Meagan had been trying to check on me since Grey left, and I'd been dodging her attempts at contact the same way I'd been avoiding everyone else who cared about me.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I haven't been very good company lately."
"Grief isn't supposed to be good company. That's not the point." Her voice was gentle but firm. "The point is that you don't have to go through it alone."
We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the familiar rhythm of friendship settling between us. Meagan had been my anchor through the divorce from Dante, the one person who'd never asked me to forgive and forget, who'd simply shown up with wine and tissues and the kind of unwavering support that didn't require explanation.
"So," she said eventually, her tone carefully casual, "want to tell me why you're holed up in your office like some kind of grieving hermit instead of dealing with your emotions like a normal human being?"
The question hit closer to home than I was comfortable with. "I am dealing with my emotions. Through work. Through staying busy."
"Bullshit." The word was delivered with surgical precision. "You're avoiding your emotions by drowning them in creative briefs and client presentations. There's a difference."
I set down my chopsticks and really looked at her for the first time since she'd arrived. Meagan had known me for eight years, had seen me through career changes and heartbreak and the strange metamorphosis that came with learning to trust someone new after betrayal. She could read me like a well-worn book.
"It's complicated," I said finally.
"The best stories usually are. Talk to me, Cass. What's really going on?" Suddenly, inexplicably, I was talking. Telling her about Dante's unexpected appearance at my apartment, about the shock of seeing him and Ella together with their daughter, about the strange mix of emotions that had left me feeling abandoned and confused.
"They have a baby," I said, the words feeling heavy in my mouth. "Five years old. Beautiful little girl named Gia."
Meagan's expression didn't change, but I saw her hand tighten slightly around her chopsticks. "How do you feel about that?"
"I don't know. Empty? Relieved? Angry that nobody told me?" I pushed rice around my container, trying to organize thoughts that felt too big and complicated for words. "Part of me is happy for them. They belong together, I can see that now. They're both selfish enough to justify anything if it serves their needs. They're well-matched in their ability to hurt people and then rationalize it as destiny or fate or whatever narrative helps them sleep at night."
"That's a very mature perspective."
"Is it? Because I also wanted to scream at them. I wanted to demand to know why they thought they had the right to build a family on the ruins of my marriage and then invite me to dinner like we were all old friends catching up."
Meagan was quiet for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "Do you regret not staying? Not trying to work things out with Dante after you found out about the affair?"
The question surprised me with its directness. "No. God, no. Leaving him was the best decision I ever made. If I'd stayed, if I'd tried to forgive and forget, I never would have met Grey. I never would have experienced what it felt like to love someone who actually deserved it."
"Past tense?"
"What?"
"You said 'deserved.' Past tense. Do you still think Grey deserves your love?"
I stared at her, processing the grammatical slip that revealed more than I'd intended. Did Grey still deserve my love? He'd abandoned me when I needed him most, had chosen his own fear over our marriage, had left me to grieve alone while he disappeared to another continent.
He'd also come back. He was in therapy, trying to understand his patterns, trying to change. When I'd seen him in my office, underneath the desperation and the poorly thought-out grand gestures, there had been something different. Something that looked like growth, or at least the willingness to grow.
"I don't know," I said honestly. "I think he wants to deserve it. I think he's trying to become the kind of man who deserves it. Wanting and trying aren't the same as succeeding."
"Fair enough. Cass, if he does succeed, if he proves that he's changed, that he's capable of staying instead of running, would you be able to forgive him?"
The question hung in the air between us, loaded with implications I wasn't sure I was ready to face. Could I forgive Grey? Could I trust him not to abandon me again the next time life got complicated?
"Maybe," I said finally. "Forgiveness isn't the same as reconciliation. Even if I could forgive him for leaving, I'm not sure I could trust him not to leave again."
"That's fair too." Meagan finished the last of her sushi and fixed me with the kind of direct stare that had made her legendary in client negotiations. "I have to ask, are you making decisions based on fear or wisdom, because sometimes they look exactly the same from the inside?"
The observation hit me like a physical blow. Was I being wise by protecting myself from further hurt, or was I being cowardly by refusing to risk my heart again? Was there even a difference?