I lightly laughed and said to Vincent. “It’s just a wedding dress. If she likes it, then let her have it.” Then I left them as I said, “I’ve got work at the lab. I’ll head out now.”
Vincent froze, watching me leave without another word.
***
Later that evening, Vincent came to pick me up for the first time in months. He brought a small mango cake with him, holding it out like a peace offering.
But, the problem? I’m allergic to mango.
It’s Zoe who loved mango, not me. After all this time, he still didn’t know the difference.
“I am afraid you’d forget to eat while working, so I brought this for you,” he said, as though the cake could smooth things over. He wanted me to take the bait, to play along like I always did.
So I did. I smiled brightly, pretending to be touched. “Thank you so much!”
Vincent looked surprised that I didn’t argue or complain.
On the drive home, he glanced over at me. “Claire, are you mad at me?”
I was preoccupied with thoughts about the lab—wrapping up my project, preparing my notes and ensuring I left clear instructions for my junior colleagues. I did not hear his words well, so I let out an ah.