“Oh, Clover, I’m so sorry,” he whispers. That one comment snaps me out of the warm abyss of our embrace. I place my hands on his chest and push him away.

“I’m not Clover anymore. I’m not your Clover anymore; you ruined that.” My anguish that has twisted into anger is boiling. The sound of a name that represents my previous life with him has turned my veins to ice. “You don’t ever get to call me that again; you shattered that girl, and I’ll never be her again.”

My hands are shaking with adrenalin, and my tears are now dried streaks on my face. I turn away from him before he can say another word, walk as quickly as I can to my group’s table to collect my purse, and bolt towards the exit.

Thankfully, Brooks doesn’t follow me. No one does. I climb into my car and sit in the driver’s seat, desperately trying to steady my breathing. Pulling out my cell phone, I text Jen that I’m leaving.

Jen: We’re gathering our stuff. We can leave with u. Do Carly and I need to put into effect Operation Brooks’ Balls Smash before we head out?

Me: No, but thx. I’m ok. I just want to go home and go to bed. U guys just stay and have fun; I’ll see u at the coffee shop in the morning.

Jen: Ok, babe. If ur sure, see u in the am. <3 u!

Me: <3 u 2.

After I text the final message to Jen, I throw my phone into my purse and hail a cab to go home. Everyone is asleep, and I’m able to easily escape to my room once I get home. I don’t even bother changing clothes; I just slip off my shoes and collapse into bed, pulling the duvet over my head.

My hope is that when I wake up, the past four hours will have never existed, and I will get a complete do-over–one that doesn’t include Brooks Ryan.

Vivian

Amanda is planning to take the kids out for breakfast, so I am able to sleep in before getting ready for coffee with the girls. I shower, throw on some yoga pants and a sweatshirt, and toss my wet hair into a messy bun on top of my head. I’m in no mood to impress anyone this morning, and if my guess is correct, I will be the most dressed up of the three of us.

A Scone’s Throw, our favorite little coffee shop, is just a five-minute walk from my house, so I slip into my sneakers, swipe on a little strawberry lip-gloss to complete the look, and start my walk toward what I assume will be a friendly inquisition.

The coffee house is packed to the brim with morning caffeine junkies in need of their espresso fix to function through their various Saturday activities. I wait in line for my white chocolate mocha and raspberry scone, and find that Jen and Carly are already sitting at our usual table in the back of the store.

The scene before me is quite pitiful, and I can only shake my head at the pair as I approach the table. Jen is rubbing her temples, and her eyes are closed like she is trying to meditate her hangover away. Carly, on the other hand, looks as though she has completely given in to hers. Her arms are folded on the tabletop, and her head is resting on her forearms, completely hiding her face from public judgment.

“Wow, I’m glad I left when I did,” I say as I take a seat. “I think I saved myself from the pure hell that it looks like you two are experiencing right now.”

“Shhh, not so loud,” Jen mutters. “I would chop off my own head to save myself from this misery if I could.”

“That bad, huh?” I laugh.

Jen finally opens her eyes, but continues to rub her head. “I’m not as bad as Carly; she threw up for an hour after we got home last night.”

I look over to Carly, who still has not moved. She finally turns her head, remaining on her arms, and croaks out a defense. “True, and Jen wouldn’t even hold my hair back. She just gave me a ponytail holder and bottle of water, and told me ‘good luck with that.’”

“Hey, you both know I’m a sympathetic puker,” Jen insists. “We all know that the caretaker role is your job, Viv. I did the best I could with what I had.”

“Well, if we ever decide to revisit our youth again, I’ll be sure to be available for hair holding and aspirin retrieval,” I tease.

Jen takes a huge gulp of her venti cappuccino and then sits back in her chair, slouching her shoulders to settle in for what will be the inquiry of my life. Carly has since removed her arms from under her head, and has let her face settle on the tabletop, letting her breath fog over the Formica.

“Ok, chica, spill it.”

“It was nothing, guys. Brooks showed up at the bar and asked me to dance. We agreed to disagree on the fact that he’s an asshole, I told him about Will, I had a brief meltdown, and then I left.”

Jen scowls at me, and I can tell that the short version of the story is not going to cut it for her. I sigh, feeling an emotional hangover coming on.

“I don’t want to make a big deal out of it, okay? Besides, I’ll probably never see him again. I said all the things that I needed to say ten years ago but never got the chance to, and now I’m over it. I refuse to let it bother me anymore.”

Finally showing signs of life, Carly pops her head up and props her chin on her palm. “What did you say? Did the piece of shit even care what you had to say?”

“He just said that he was sorry, and that he was trying to protect me.”

“What?” Carly exclaims. “Protect you from what, gonorrhea? Because I wouldn’t doubt it if that slut Amber had some kind of STD.”

“It’s been a freaking decade; I shouldn’t be conflicted by this anymore. I don’t know what it is about him, but for some damn reason, whenever I’m near him, I let my guard down, and time and time again, he just slices me open and lets my heart spill out. The jerk called me Clover; can you believe the nerve?”

Carly and I turn our attention to Jen, who is staring out the window like she has completely zoned out of the conversation. “Really, you have nothing to say Jen? You were the kick-him-the-nuts-mission co-founder last night, and this morning you aren’t going to chime in on this special edition of Brooks bashing?” Carly inquires.

Jen turns her head to looks at us. “Did he really call you Clover?” she quietly asks. Her sullen expression has my nerves on edge.

“Yes, why?” I rasp out slowly.

Jen looks down at the table, refusing to meet my eyes. Her uneasy behavior has me freaking out; my stomach is beginning to tie itself in knots. I slide to the edge of my chair and lean towards her. “What the hell is going on, Jen?” I demand.

She rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands and takes a deep breath. Fuck, I know this move; this is Jen gearing up to shake our world.

“I need to tell you something, but I need you to hear me out before you say anything.”

“Okay, start talking.”

“I’ve kept this secret for a long time. At first, I believed Brooks was protecting you; then when you married Will, I didn’t think it mattered anymore. But things are different now. Will is gone and I know that Brooks loves you; he probably never stopped loving you.”

“What are you talking about? He doesn’t love me; people in love don’t cheat. When you really want someone, you don’t want someone else,” I argue.

“He never cheated, Viv!” Jen shouts, cutting off my rant.

“Um, I’m sorry, did the lemon drops kill one too many brain cells last night? Jen, you were there; we all were. We all saw Amber walk out of his room.” I feel my temper brewing below the surface, and I have to force myself to keep calm and lower my voice.

Giving me a second to recover, Carly begins a round of questioning. “You’re going to have to explain why you think he didn’t cheat, Jen; he never put up even a little bit of a fight.”

Jen lets out a deep exhale, her eyes on me pleading for understanding. “After everything hit the fan, and Will had you settled in your room, I went back to Brooks’ dorm to bitch him out, and possibly punch out a few teeth. When I barged through the door, I found him sitting on the couch crying…crying, Viv. I asked him how he could throw it all away, and he told me he lied. That he set the whole thing up to make it look like he cheated.”