Perfect Together by Kristen Ashley

Okay, now I wasn’t ticked.

I was mad.

I was also freaked at her second point.

And those, for me, were not a good mix.

“I can’t even begin to imagine why you’d remind me Remy was the one who divorced me,” I stated coolly.

“Because it’s like you forgot he ripped your heart out and crushed it under his boot, this after he’d kicked it around for ten years.”

“And as a friend you feel it’s your job to remind me of that?” I asked.

“Well, yeah,” she answered.

“I think we need to stop talking,” I told her.

“I disagree, since you’re driving over to his house because Sabre is growing up to be a chip off the old block.”

Oh no.

Hell no.

“Think about what you just said to me,” I whispered.

But I wasn’t done.

Boy, was I so not done.

“Now, I listened to you verbally abuse my husband for ten years,” I continued. “And I’m going to have to have a think about that. But do not mistake me and do not miss this message, Bea. Listen carefully. Never…ever…speak badly about my son, to me or anyone.”

With that, I hung up and I stared at my dash, fuming.

Bea rang right back.

I refused the call.

Okay.

Okay, okay, okay.

Heck, now my mind was working quadruple-time.

Put this aside, Wyn, I cut into my own raging thoughts to tell myself. Get it together. Get to Remy’s. You’re running late. You always run late. He hates that.

He did.

He’d tease me about it in the beginning. The first three, four, five, ten (okay, fifteen) years of our marriage.

Then, it annoyed him, and he let that show.

Not long later, around about the time he left, it pissed him off, and he let me know.

My response?

I took it as my tall, dark, gorgeous husband still being tall, dark and gorgeous, and I was the mom of three babies. I still carried baby weight even after they were nowhere near being babies. He was no longer doing the appreciative up-and-down that told me the extra fifteen minutes were so worth it, and he was going to show me just how much when we got home.

No, I was no longer his hot wife he couldn’t keep his hands off.

I was the fat mother of his kids he didn’t have any patience for.

I was also the starting-her-own-business woman who suddenly needed ten more hours in the day to continue to fold his laundry, get the grocery shopping done and look decent for his client dinners.

The interior of my Range Rover rang again, and as it was Bea, I didn’t accept the call.

But I made one to someone else in our posse, top spot bestie shared with my other top spot, Bernice.

The call was to Kara.

She picked up on ring three.

“Oh hell, a call before Sabre’s meeting,” she said as greeting. “Are you okay?”

That was Kara.

It would be Bernice too.

Are you okay?

Not, Typical Remy bullshit.

“Do you think I haven’t moved on from Remy?” I blurted.

“Uhhhhh,” she drew that out then asked, “Let me guess, Bea phoned.”

I blinked.

“She’s blowing up mine, by the way,” she said.

“I just told her off,” I shared.

Kara said nothing.

“She was ranting about Remy,” I continued.

“How am I not surprised?” she muttered.

“Right?” I stated. “Is she like, unhealthily committed to bitching about my ex-husband?”

“She is not a card-carrying member of the Remy Gastineau fan club, no.”

I forged ahead, even if it was tentatively, “And has she not been that for a very long time?”

Kara again was silent.

“She hates him,” I said softly. “Things fell apart with him and that’s bad enough for me. I don’t need her being really mean about it.”

“Bea is a woman who has no issues speaking her mind,” Kara noted.

“Yes, and that should be encouraged, but filters also should be in place. For instance, not bitching about my ex then rolling that into priming herself to begin bitching about my son who you think is acting like my ex.”

“She didn’t,” Kara breathed.

“She did,” I confirmed. “It wasn’t overt, but considering she can’t stand Remy, calling Sabre a chip off the old block, I got the gist.”

“Holy crap.”

“Yeah,” I agreed.

“Sabre is a chip off the old block, so is Yves, but in very good ways because you and Remy didn’t work out, but…”

She hesitated.

It felt like my ears might start bleeding, I was listening so hard.

“When he wasn’t being up his own ass, Remy was a really good guy,” she finished carefully.

I stared at the building that sat in front of my car.

“I’m gonna call Bernice,” Kara said gently. “I think we need a Cock and Snacktails night.”

Bernice, in a previous incarnation, had been a flight attendant. And she’d been on a flight where one of her colleagues had screwed up the cabin announcement once they’d leveled off, not stating the attendants would be serving “snacks and cocktails,” but instead that they’d be serving “cock and snacktails.”