We managed to accomplish that, and I slept off and on, rather fitfully through the night, wondering if my husband would even show up to said dinner since I hadn’t heard from him at all. For all I knew, he could be dead, and I’d just inherited his entire fortune and now his family would have to wine and dine me in order to get it all back. I laughed at the thought. Wouldn’t that be something?

Granted, I already knew that the Brightons had the money and businesses set up so that only a male heir could inherit, which was absolutely ridiculous. And so, my mind wondered down crazy paths with the thought. What if we had to do IVF to ensure that we were producing a male heir and not a female? Was that possible? Did people produce designer babies yet? I cringed at the thought. I was one of those people who never even wanted to know the gender until the baby was born. I wanted it all to be a surprise.

Not that I was bound to ever have that experience anyway. Well, maybe, if I divorced by 25 or 26, I would still have time to meet someone, make babies, and experience all of that before I hit my thirties.

I was wearing a black, Fluid Modern Blazer overtop of a silk, green camisole, with black, button front, high rise jeans courtesy of a trip to Loft. The black mule shoes were already ones that I owned, and again, I eschewed the sexiness of a heel in favor of comfort. My hair was pinned up in a chunky braid updo that was difficult to obtain, considering how slippery my silky hair always was. I didn’t even care that a few strands had escaped the carefully crafted look to fall around my face. I kept my makeup light with just a hint of green eyeliner to match my shirt and make my eyes pop a bit, mascara, and gloss that smelled like a good day at the beach.

I grabbed my purse, threw my phone in it, even though I’d had the damn thing turned off since I first received my dinner summons and begged my sister for help. Okay, so I was a coward, and didn’t want to know if he had called me or decided to just throw me to the wolves for this dinner. Since I hadn’t heard a word from him before then, I figured nothing much would change. With my purse slung over my shoulder, I moved to the door, ready to head to my parent’s house where the dinner was being hosted.

I admit, I was a little thankful that it would be done on my family’s turf. It made things a bit easier to swallow, especially since I had no clue if my missing husband planned on attending. I managed to get all the way down to street level, ready to jump in my Uber, that said it would be there in three minutes, when I ran into the first snag of the evening.