My entire family, actually. My nephew, Moishe, is having a birthday party and my parents told me I could only attend from noon to two o’clock because after that was Vanessa’s turn. Fucking Vanessa. I swear she’s going to torment me until the end of time. I say this aloud to my friend Chris, who shakes his head and laughs.

“You two are a fucking mess.”

“There is no us two. We don’t even talk. She won’t even answer my phone calls to discuss this ridiculousness!”

“That’s because she knows you’re dating Cindy.”

“How does she know that?” My heart stops. “Who told her?”

“Who cares?” Chris shrugs. “You’re divorced.”

I search his face for a moment to make sure he’s not hiding anything underneath the thick beard on his face, and then I focus on my beer. If Vanessa knows I’m dating Cindy, that means she’ll probably go and date someone as well, and if she goes and dates someone while I’m dating someone, it means the chances of us getting back together are slim. Slimmer than they were before. For some wild reason, that sends a piercing shock through my heart.

“You do realize you got a divorce, right?” Chris asks. I meet his gaze again.

“Obviously. I’m paying her every month.”

“I thought she declined that?” He frowns.

“You are some nosey motherfuckers.” I roll my eyes. “I send the money to the school for supplies and aftercare and shit.”

“For . . . other kids . . . even though you made it clear that you didn’t like or want any kids, which was the reason for the divorce to begin with . . .”

“I know it sounds ridiculous.”

“Like I said, you’re both ridiculous. You were made for each other, whether you want to see it or not.”

“Well, the way she signed those papers and got out of the room as fast as possible that day would say she doesn’t agree with that sentiment.”

“And the way you brought it up to begin with says you do?” He narrows his eyes. “Because that’s what I heard.”

“So? She kept talking about kids and kids and kids and I don’t want kids, so what was I supposed to do? Keep pretending? I’m not an asshole.”

“You kind of are, but whatever.” Chris finishes off his beer and sets down the glass. “So, the gala. Are you going this year? Take Cindy.”

“Is Vanessa going this year?”

“I haven’t asked.”

“Well, let me know when you know, and depending on that, I’ll think about it.”

“What difference does it make? The Morellis are throwing it, so you know it’ll be huge. It’s the only gala we’re ever invited to where we don’t have to make a major donation.”

“Anything that involved Lucian Morelli involves a major donation.” I raise an eyebrow.