237 Ks Zero Fs Chapter 02
Conor’s video call woke me up.
He stood in the open-plan kitchen, watching a YouTube tutorial while blending an elaborate green smoothie, simultaneously strumming his guitar to lull Hailey to sleep on the other end of the line. She was complaining about insomnia.
A true master of time management.
Conor spotted me approaching the kitchen island and ended the call.
“Your warm water’s on the table.”
I ignored him.
I settled onto a bar stool. The apartment had finally gone quiet, and the pounding in my temples eased a bit.
“Wake up. Time for breakfast.”
He set a bowl of oatmeal in front of me with meticulous precision.
I reached for the spoon. His hand shot out and smacked my wrist away.
“Wait. Let me get a picture first.”
Click. He slapped a filter on the oatmeal shot, posted it to his Instagram story, and tagged Hailey.
Then he slid the spoon back toward me. “Eat.”
My stomach lurched. Appetite gone.
I leaned back against the chair. “Why did you send that to her?”
“She wanted to see it.” Conor shrugged, indifferent. “Gen Z girls, you know. Everything’s new to them. She even badgered me on FaceTime about that silk pajama set I bought you at Nordstrom.”
“So you sent her the link.” My voice was flat.
Conor paused, maybe picking up on the ice in my tone. He didn’t respond.
“I saw the Polaroids. From the party at her apartment. She was wearing the same set.”
A low-cut lace-trimmed silk camisole. In the photo, the blonde girl had her arm hooked through my husband’s, leaning in close. A slight tilt of her head and the view was generous.
Hailey was like a parasite, slowly sucking away every trace of my life, using it to outshine me. She’d gone to the salon and gotten the same balayage highlights. The same lipstick.
Even the hand-stamped leather coasters Conor and I had made together at a Navajo workshop during our Sedona road trip—she’d begged for an identical set.
They were one-of-a-kind. Obviously, there was no identical set.
So the girl wheedled on the phone a few times, and Conor secretly swapped mine out.
The coaster I’d personally stamped on the underside with our wedding anniversary initials ended up on another woman’s coffee table. In plain sight.
“I don’t like this.” I stared directly into his eyes.
“Jesus, is it really that big a deal?” Conor frowned. “Don’t be so small-minded. She idolizes you. Says you’re her role model at the company. What’s wrong with her buying the same things?”
I had absolutely nothing left to say.
I should have been angry. I should have smashed the oatmeal bowl, screamed at Conor until the roof came off. Like I would have a few years ago.
But my heart was like Puget Sound in a Seattle winter now. Gray. A dead stretch of water. No matter how the freezing wind cuts across it, not a single ripple rises.
“Yeah. You’re right.” I nodded, picked up the bowl of oatmeal, and dumped it into the garbage disposal in the sink.