Becoming My Ex-husband’s Mistress

Chapter Seven

The address Nora sends is in Riverside Heights, one of those neighbourhoods that would cost an arm and a leg to live in. I almost turn back twice on the drive over.

The lobby is quiet. The man at the front desk smiles politely at me as I reach him.

“Mrs. Walter?” That picks at something in me but I let it go.

“Yes.”

“Miss Carter is expecting you. Fourteenth floor.”

The elevator opens directly into the apartment. I step out slowly, taking a deep breath. The minimalist furniture takes me by surprise, contrasting my expectations. A large window at the far end overlooks the whole city.

“You came!” Nora appears from around the corner in an oversized shirt and socks, her hair piled messily on top of her head, holding a spatula.

“I almost didn’t,” I say honestly.

“I know. That’s why I didn’t text to confirm.” She waves me in. “Come, I’m making eggs. Do you eat eggs?”

“Yes.”

“Good, because I already made them.”

I follow her into the kitchen. It’s big but lived-in, a dish towel on the counter, a half-drunk cup of coffee by the stove, a potted plant that’s slightly overgrown.

“Have a seat,” she says, nodding toward the island. “There’s coffee, help yourself.”

I pour a cup and settle on one of the stools. She moves around the kitchen busily.

“How’s your head?” I ask.

She laughs. “Embarrassing. I don’t usually drink like that.” She slides eggs onto a plate. “My friend got engaged last night and I got carried away celebrating.”

“That’s a good reason.”

“She deserves it. Ten years with that man.” She sets a plate in front of me and leans on the other side of the island with her own. “So. How are you actually doing?”

“Better than last night,” I say.

She nods, not pressing further.

We eat in a comfortable silence for a moment.

“Do you have siblings?” she asks.

“No. Only child.” I wrap both hands around my mug. “My parents always said I was enough trouble for three.”

She grins. “Mine said the same thing about James.”

“James?”

“My older brother.” She says it the way you say the name of someone who both exhausts and delights you. “He’s a lot. Brilliant but a lot. He once showed up to Christmas dinner three hours late because he’d been on a call, didn’t try to apologize, just sat down and ate like nothing happened. My mother still brings it up.”

I smile. “And your other brother?”

Something in her expression warms.

“Alex is the levelheaded one. Always has been. Even when things were hard, he just…” she pauses, searching for the word. “He showed up.”

I can tell she loves him.

“You’re close,” I say.

“Very. He’s the reason I moved back to the city actually. I was in Paris for a few years, doing textile consultancy work, and then things got complicated for him and I uhm—” she shrugs one shoulder. “Came home.”

“Complicated how?”

She looks like she is considering telling me. “He lost someone. His wife.”

“Oh.” I set my mug down. “I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.” She says it without dismissing the weight of it. “He managed just fine. His kids helped, I think. Kids have a way of not letting you disappear into yourself.”

“They do,” I say, and I mean it. There have been mornings where the only reason I got up was because Mia was already standing next to my bed telling me she was hungry.

Nora tilts her head. “How old is yours?”

“Four. Almost five.” I feel myself smile properly for the first time in two days. “She woke my father up at six this morning to show him a drawing she did of a horse. It looked nothing like a horse.”

Nora laughs loudly. “What did it look like?”

“A potato with legs. But she was very serious about it, so we were very serious about it.”

“That’s the correct response.” She points her fork at me. “My niece went through a phase of drawing every family member as circles. Lizzie, she’s six, she presented them at dinner one night. This circle is uncle James, this one is daddy. We all just nodded.”

“Did she label them?”

“She did not. We had to guess.” She’s laughing now and so am I, and for a moment the whole weight of the last two days falls off.

We finish eating slowly.

“Your brand,” she says, settling back. “Maison Claire. I found it through my brother. But I looked it up myself afterwards and honestly,” she shakes her head. “It was stunning work. The resort collection especially.”

I look down at my mug. “Thank you.”

“What happened to it?”

I don’t answer immediately.

“It’s a long story,” I say. She doesn’t pry further. I appreciate that.

“Have you thought about starting something new?” she asks instead.

I turn my mug slowly. “Briefly. In passing.”

“You should.”

“Maybe,” I say. “One day.”

She gives me a look but says nothing more.

“You know what’s funny,” I say, before she can respond. “I haven’t actually sat down and sketched anything in years. Not even for myself at least.” I say it out loud and it surprises me a little, how long ago that feels. “I kept telling myself I’d get back to it, but somewhere between everything else it just…it stopped.”

Nora is quiet for a second. “Do you miss it?”

I think about it honestly. “Yes. I think I do.”

She nods slowly, turning her mug in her hands. “There’s a graduate fashion programme at Whitmore. One of my friends teaches there, she speaks very highly of it.” She says offhandedly. “It’s not full-time. Evening cohort, mostly working professionals and designers who want to come back or go further.”

I look at her. “Graduate school.”

“Just putting it out there.”

I let the idea sink in. It’s actually a good one. But I’m already carrying so much that adding one more thing feels like a gamble.

“I’ll think about it,” I say.

She smiles, unbothered by the non-commitment. “That’s all I said.”

I gulp down the last of my coffee.

Outside, it’s already mid-morning now, the city is louder. I should get back. Mia will be up and mom will be doing too much, and dad will be working.

I pick up my bag. “Nora.”

She looks up.

“Last night, you said you knew about Grant showing up.” I keep my voice even. “How?”

She holds my gaze, thoughtful.

“I like to stay informed about things that concern my friends,” she says.

I don’t know what to do with that.

“You don’t know me,” I say. She smiles.

“You’d be surprised,” she says, almost to herself.

I stand for a moment, waiting to see if she’ll add anything but she doesn’t.

I’m stepping into the elevator when she calls after me.

“Tell your father Car says hi. That’s what he knows me by.”

The doors close.

But he never mentioned her.