Now, looking back, it should have bothered me more how often he spoke about money as if it were a personality trait.
The oven timer still had six minutes left when my phone buzzed against the counter.
Brett.
I smiled before I answered because that was habit. “Hey, honey. You are cutting it close. The Wellington turned out perfect. I opened the wine so it could breathe.”
There was a pause on his end, and behind it I heard something metallic and echoing. Wheels on polished floor. An announcement so garbled it sounded underwater. Then Brett cleared his throat and said my name in that performative, careful tone people use when they know they are about to lie.
“Valerie. Hey. Babe, I’m so sorry. Something huge came up with the downtown commercial project. Investors are freaking out. I have to fly to Chicago tonight.”
