“It’s really fine.” She nodded reassuringly, removing her towel to pull her tee shirt over her head. She took her time, knowing he would be enjoying the sight of her the way she’d enjoyed him. “And honestly, I’m kind of relieved to be here.” She untucked her curls from the neck of her shirt, observing him in the mirror. “You might not remember this, but being surrounded by extremely rich people when you don’t have money gets kind of exhausting after a while.”

He turned on the faucet, letting the water run over his hands before expertly combing them through his hair. “I remember.” He met her eyes in the mirror. “And by the way, that feeling never really goes away, even if you manage to make some money.”

She took in the painstaking care he put into his appearance, the rigorousness of it. They were both treading water in this social group, and although his head was more securely above the surface, it was only because he was kicking that much harder. A twinge of empathy ran through her heart.

“Well, now you know that,” she said, her voice soft.

He smiled in a slightly chagrined way, turning off the faucet and flicking his hands dry in the sink. “Are you really coming to the wedding?”

“Yes, of course. I wouldn’t miss Paul’s wedding.”

“Even if you can’t stand Guy?”

“I can stand Guy,” she lied, knowing that more unpacking of their fraught relationship was an exercise in futility. “And I’ve made plenty of decisions Paul didn’t agree with.” She folded the towel, hanging it neatly back on the rack. “But yes, I’m definitely going. I’m just going to spend a few days by myself first, go to Athens for a bit.”

“Solo travel.”

“It’s always kind of been my thing.”

He leaned against the counter, taking his time with his next words.

“You know, my mother still asks about you.”

“Really?” she answered, genuinely taken aback. “I only met her twice.”

He glanced down at his wrist again, clearing his throat. “Well, you made an impression. And, you know, she’s very female empowerment. She loves women who are ‘self-determined.’ Her words, not mine. Solo travel is the kind of thing she would have loved to do.”

His face assumed the familiar, tender expression it always did when he spoke of his mother. Alex pictured her working endless hours at the salon, watching other women live the adventures she couldn’t. And now, with her body failing her, it was probably too late.