Page 312 of The Havenport Collection

Maeve

She had a white picket fence and window boxes that overflowed with seasonally appropriate flowers.

If she weren’t my sister I would barf, but it made her so happy.

Just like the baking. Today it was chocolate chip cookies, which had burned the roof of my mouth when I ate them directly off the cookie sheet.

She had just returned home from work, dressed in a bright A-line dress and matching cardigan.

Alice was the vice principal at the Havenport Elementary School.

She had started her career as a first grade teacher and then moved to administration after getting her master’s degree in education.

She had a friendly, round face, rosy cheeks, and soft brown curls.

In her current outfit, it looked like mice and birds helped her get dressed every day.

She was devoted to her students, staying after school to run every conceivable program and get to know every single child.

Although I could not understand her, I admired her.

I could never do what she did. I loved numbers and data and the tax code, not Chicka Chicka Boom Boom and multiplication tables.

“I see you, Maeve. And I see that empty bottle of wine. What happened?” Alice, despite her fairy-princess qualities, noticed everything.

I suppose it was the vice principal in her.

She looked the same way she did every Friday night, weary and tired.

I know the parents, teachers, and kids took a lot out of her.

I threw my hands up. “What happened? What fucking happened? I am taking medical leave.” I make air quotes with my hands. “The partners think I’m ‘volatile right now’ and ‘need a break.’”

“Sit down,” she said, walking toward me and holding out a hand.

I collapsed on the couch.

“Back up,” she said softly. “Start at the beginning. Did something specific happen today?”

I looked away. “Maybe.”

She raised one eyebrow and I found myself spilling my guts. “I’ve made a few mistakes in the past week. You know I’ve been distracted.”

“Of course. But are we talking legitimate distraction due to emotional distress? Or you missing a meeting because you were having one hundred dildos sent to Tristian’s house?”

I rolled my eyes. “That was one time. And it was amazing.” I had paid the teenaged boy next door to unpackage all of them and pile them up on the doorstep.

He even took a video of Tristian walking outside and tripping over the mountain of dildos.

“The video is doing well on TikTok,” I said, holding up my phone. “It’s hilarious.”

“You know,” I mused. “In hindsight, I shouldn’t have run out. I should have cut holes in all his boxers and ripped all the buttons off his shirts and pants. That would have been great…”

Alice shot me her best “be serious” look and I quieted down.

“Also, today, I maaaay have told a client to stop staring at my tits.”

“What?”

“In my defense, he was. And for years I’ve put up with it, convinced I had to tolerate this crap as a woman in the corporate world.

But I couldn’t stand it. I was outlining a strategy to save his company millions and make his shareholders really fucking happy, and instead of listening to my words and ideas he was drooling over my body. ”

“I mean, they did sort of get huge,” she offered.

I threw a pillow at her.

“I don’t know how this happened. I gain twenty pounds and all of a sudden I’ve got tits. I blame you. You’re always baking and cooking meals and shit.”

“Yes, Maeve, human people eat meals. It’s okay not to eat protein bars for dinner every night.”

“No, it’s not. I used to be skinny.”

“You are still skinny. But look at Mom, look at Sylvie, look at me.” She patted her ample hips. “It’s the Bernardi curse. The T I had no time for her maturity bullshit. “So then Morris pulled me into his office and said the partners were worried about my recent erratic behavior.”

“And I reminded them of my decade of extraordinary work. My billables, my client relationships, and the fact that I’m the chair of not one, but two firm committees. Then they did that thing. You know, the patronizing man shit?”

Alice nodded. “Pretended to be all concerned and spoke to you like a four-year-old?”

“Yup. And then they brought up my broken engagement. Morris was like, ‘I know you’ve been under a lot of strain, what with your engagement and all.’ And I wanted to tell him I was under strain because I was clocking seventy-hour weeks to make partner in this bullshit boys’ club.

Not because my ex humiliated me by fucking the town skank. ”

What I didn’t say was that it had been three weeks and I was still crashing with my sister. I couldn’t go back. Tristian was living there, and the thought of even walking through the door made me want to vomit. Good luck paying the rent on your own, asshole .

And my parents, unsurprisingly, had urged me not to make a fuss or cause a scene.

The broken engagement and canceled wedding were embarrassing enough for them, so me going off the deep end and demanding he vacate the home I paid for and furnished was a bridge too far.

Eventually I’d find my own place, but right now, I liked being here.

Alice and I had never been super close, and I enjoyed being roommates with her.

She drove me crazy in that way that only a younger sister could, but I appreciated her.

“Don’t you think you should have taken some time off?” she asked. “Especially because tomorrow…”

“Was supposed to be my wedding. Yes, I am aware of the date. And no. I have shit to do and goals to crush. Sitting around being sad is a waste of time. I just need a distraction.”

“Let me get the blender out. How about margaritas?” she asked.

“Aren’t margaritas filled with calories?”

“Yes. And they are also filled with alcohol.”

“Good enough. Get to work. I think I’m going to get drunk tonight.”

“Maeve Alexandra Watson, I am shocked, appalled, and more than a bit intrigued. Also you might be there already.”

I laughed. I never drank and had never been actually drunk, a fact both my sisters loved to tease me about.

Yes, I had a stick up my ass, and I was beginning to realize that maybe it was time to finally remove it.

My canceled wedding was supposed to be tomorrow.

The elegant, intimate event I had spent almost a year planning.

The event for which I lost almost every deposit I had put down. I deserved a night of debauchery.

My mind flashed to Oliver. What he felt like on top of me, inside me. I had thought of little else for the past few weeks. Our night together was seared in my brain and I found myself reliving the scorching-hot moments at the most inopportune times.

“Haven’t you heard?” I asked, giving my hair an exaggerated flip. “I’m a bad girl now.”

Alice laughed. “One hot night with Officer Sexypants really changed you, huh?”

Since I showed up at her house at two a.m. with sex hair, Alice had not let me live this down. And I’m not sure I wanted to. My first and only one-night stand was one for the record books and helped me realize all the things I had been missing by being so obsessed with perfection.

By my third margarita, the sadness was slowly slipping away, but rage seemed to be replacing it. I felt even more angry at Tristian—for violating my trust, for humiliating me, and for being a selfish asshole.

Alice squinted at me, clearly a bit tipsy. “Do you think that maybe you were settling? You don’t seem heartbroken about Tristian. More mad about the way he treated you. Not that anger’s not healthy, of course!”

I didn’t even have to think about her question. “Of course,” I replied, almost shouting. “Ugh. I was settling. Did you think that I was madly in love with him?”

Alice winced. She had no poker face. “I guess I sort of did, since you were engaged and all.”

“Not a chance. We got along. So I did the math. I’m thirty-five.

Odds are not good I’m going to find another person to put up with me before all my eggs are dried up.

And unlike previous boyfriends, Tristian accepted me.

He never questioned how much I worked or how intense I was.

If I pulled an all-nighter at the office, he was cool with that. ”

“That’s a red flag. If he loved you, he would be concerned about you.”

I waved my hand at her. “Whatever. He’s good-looking and of above-average intelligence.

He seemed to like kids and dogs and sailing, all excellent qualities for our future family life.

He was a good bet. Trust me, I analyzed the shit out of this situation.

And if there is one thing I can do, it’s work the numbers. ”

“Jesus, Maeve.” She drained her glass. “Do you hear yourself? You were going to marry him?”

“Of course I was. Don’t be dense.”

She took the glass out of my hand, depriving me of the delicious sugary magic. “Stop being such a bitch. I’m trying to help you. But it doesn’t seem like you want to be helped. You want to cling to your delusions and just feel sorry for yourself.”

She was right; of course she was. But anger was so comforting. It wrapped me up in a thick, protective shell and allowed me to avoid all the ugly truths about my failed engagement.

“Listen,” I said, shifting into big-sister lecture mode, “there is nothing wrong with settling. I did the adult thing. I took a look around, assessed my options, and made the best choice given the circumstances.”

Her eyes widened. I could tell she pitied me, which I hated. I needed to make her understand.

“Listen, you could spend your whole life riding a bike and wishing for a Ferrari. But then you’re riding a bike. Or you could just give up the dream, buy a Honda, and be able to drive to work every day. The Honda is nice, it’s dependable, and it has air conditioning and satellite radio.”

“That’s weirdly specific but also not that great of an analogy. You’re drunk and trying to justify marrying someone you don’t love. I’m not buying it.”

“This is why you’re still single. Because you believe in all that true love shit.” Alice was a head-in-the-clouds romantic. She adored Hallmark movies, romance novels, and all that girly shit. She had all sorts of delusions about passion and romance, and shockingly, she was still alone.

“But me, I’m the practical one. I had everything figured out.

And now I’m just so pissed. Because it’s not just the canceled wedding or the cheating.

He wasted my time. Precious time I spent with him when I could have been finding someone better.

I’m thirty-five, and my odds of a husband and family are probably shot.

I bill by the hour; time is incredibly valuable to me. ”

Later, I lay on the twin bed in Alice’s guest room, boiling with rage. Two years. Two years wasted with Tristian. Two years gone. At this rate I’d never be a mom. I’d never achieve all my goals. And she was right, I wasn’t mourning the loss of him; I was mourning the loss of the life I envisioned.

And that was why I was so mad. Because I was the one sitting here, suffering and doubting myself and my future, while he was probably holed up in my apartment living his best life.

These last few weeks had been filled with anger and sadness, but right now, all I could feel was rage. I didn’t want to feel numb and sad anymore. I wanted to feel powerful.

I wanted him to hurt too. I wanted him to feel this pain—this frustration and loss.

And a plan began to take shape. I tiptoed out of my room to the kitchen, where I helped myself to some more cookies and a glass of wine. I was going to make that asshole pay.