Chapter 2

Hayley lowered her head, her blonde hair falling to cover her slightly reddening ears.

The booth burst into laughter.

"Damn, Brad, you're implying something there!"

"Isn't it obvious? Everyone knows about what happened at prom!"

Hayley's face grew even redder, and she scolded the person next to her with a push. "Stop talking nonsense..."

Sean neither admitted nor denied it. He just deepened that smile at the corner of his mouth.

Eight years, and I could read every micro-expression of his clearly.

What that smile meant — it meant he didn't dislike the insinuation. It meant he tacitly allowed everyone to tease him like that. It meant Hayley's thoroughly red ears greatly satisfied some part of his ego.

The glass in my hand sent the chill of the sparkling water from my palm straight to my heart. Then, that chill turned into a kind of absolute clarity.

"Dude, say something!" someone urged impatiently.

Sean finally spoke, his voice lazy. "Say what?"

"Say whether you've been waiting for her!"

He chuckled, set his empty glass on the table, and said, "What answer do you want to hear?"

That was even more suggestive than a direct admission. The booth instantly felt as lively as watching the Super Bowl.

Hayley pressed her lips together in a smile, her eyes shining.

I once had that light in my eyes too. But I didn't know when it started — that light had dimmed bit by bit.

Dimmed to the point where I sat there, like an outsider, coldly watching my boyfriend flirt with another woman.

"Alright, alright," Marcus cut in at just the right moment. "Don't embarrass the girl. Come on, let's have a toast!"

Glasses clinked again.

I also raised my glass of melted sparkling water.

Hayley accidentally choked on her drink and coughed a couple of times. Sean glanced at her, casually took her glass away, and waved over a server to swap it for a glass of warm water.

I looked down at the water stain on the coaster.

Our group gathered every year before Thanksgiving.

Year after year, the topics changed, but only one thing remained the same over those eight years —

He never once handed me a napkin at these gatherings, never pulled out a chair for me, and never once called me by my full name in public.

Because he wanted to "keep a low profile."

He said he was too busy with work at the law firm to go public, afraid of too much gossip from the high school alumni circle, afraid of this or that trouble.

I believed him. And I waited. For eight years.

Until I got used to sitting a little farther from him in the booth, used to him walking past me without a glance, used to being just a proper "old classmate."

Until today, when Hayley finally ended her marriage in California and returned home, showing up at our gathering —

I finally realized that the one he was willing to let the whole world see was her.

I opened my phone; on the lock screen was that glaring message from him: "Don't say anything stupid."

I stared at those two words. My eyes, which once would have stung with bitterness, were now so dry I couldn't squeeze out a single tear.

My fingers unconsciously traced the scar on the back of my hand.

Eight years, and it no longer hurt. It just felt absurd.

"Oh, speaking of which—" a female classmate suddenly spoke up, "Hayley's settling back in Chicago, so she really needs to get on it."

"Her parents said if she doesn't find someone reliable and settle down soon, they'll nag her every day to swipe on Bumble, and even pressure her with egg freezing."

"That won't do!" someone immediately replied. "With so many quality single guys in our class, how could we let her go through that?"

Hayley pressed her lips together in a smile and didn't respond.

"Isn't there a ready-made one right here—" Brad's gaze flicked toward Sean.

The teasing erupted again instantly.

Hayley blushed and was nudged closer to Sean. She didn't say anything, but she didn't move away either.

Sean wore that unreadable smile. He didn't say a word.

But his silence was already an answer.

I suddenly remembered something and opened my mom's iMessage thread, answering the question she had asked countless times:

"Okay. I have no objections to next weekend's slot at the country club."

I had just turned my phone face down on the table.

Jessica, sitting diagonally across from me, suddenly leaned over.

"Slot? Vanessa, you're getting married?!"

Her voice wasn't loud, but at that exact moment, the teasing in the booth just happened to die down.