“All part of that long story I hinted at earlier. My ex driving me up the wall.” I try to block out the negative thoughts by folding my lips into a big smile. It doesn’t really work, but the story of my separation from Rebecca is not something to impose on my Airbnb guest. “I should probably leave you to it now.” I took the day off so I could mentally prepare for this meeting. I haven’t seen Rebecca in months. “You have my number. Please call me if you need anything at all.”

I rise and so does Camille.

“Thank you for the coffee and croissants. I appreciate the gesture.”

While we shake hands, I say, “Maybe I’ll see you around before you leave. If not, I hope you have a wonderful stay.”

Our hands linger. I glance at her face—so pleasant and relaxed—one more time, then head out the door.

Chapter Three

“Can we talk in private?” Rebecca asks after the meeting has drawn to a close. I tuned out for most of it. Even though Rebecca and I are not legally married, we own a house together and everything we have is tangled up with each other. But she’s the one who cheated, left me, and moved out. For my lawyer, it seems to make all the difference as to who gets what.

But I’m not interested in hanging onto any material possessions we shared. Neither is she, apparently. She was quick to agree to sell the house. Now that we’ve both signed the agreement, we can finally put it on the market. I can move on for real.

When we bought the rental apartment, the accountant advised us to put it in my name, so I’m stuck with that. Rebecca didn’t even flinch when it came up in the meeting, even though she’s the one who did all the work. She’s probably feeling guilty.

“Yeah, sure,” I say.

“Do you want to go for a coffee?”

“Do you have time for that? You asked to move the meeting an hour earlier.”

“Because I wanted to have time for a chat with you. We haven’t talked in so long.”

I scoff. “And whose fault is that?” I hope she doesn’t spin me a line asking to remain friends or something outrageous like that.

“Maybe something stronger than coffee?”

“Fine.”

We say goodbye to our lawyers, who are getting a big fat check for not doing much at all, seeing as at least this part of our separation is very amicable. It’s the other, non-material parts that have been the most violent.

I follow Rebecca to a bar down the street, suspecting her of having scouted it beforehand, because she doesn’t even have to look around to find a place for us to have that drink.

“How’s Julie?” I ask, my voice dripping with sarcasm.