A Toast to a Stranger

Blair flinched, clutching the cat and shrinking behind Felix.

"Avalon... what are you doing here?" she stammered, her eyes already welling with tears.

Felix spun around. The warmth on his face evaporated, replaced by a glacial frost the moment he saw me, drenched and dripping on his marble floor.

"Were you following me?" he demanded, his brow furrowed as he strode toward me.

I ignored his question. My gaze drifted past his slightly wrinkled shirt, past the open collar, and landed on the few stray cat hairs clinging to his fingertips.

A severe allergy, he’d claimed. He used to make me wash my hands if I so much as looked at a stray for too long.

But he was perfectly fine with that Ragdoll nestled in his arms.

So it wasn't an allergy. It was a lack of love.

"Avalon, did you really have to follow me out here just to start a fight?" His voice grew colder, seeing my silence. "Blair is in a fragile state. She's afraid of being alone."

Boom!

A crack of thunder split the sky, the flash of lightning illuminating my trembling, rain-soaked fingers.

The antique grandfather clock on the wall began to strike eleven.

I watched him start to drape his suit jacket over Blair's shoulders and felt the corners of my mouth pull into a smile.

"So, it's eleven already." My voice was steady, my expression unnervingly placid. "Felix, Vera Wang closes at eight."

The fury in Felix's eyes froze. His hand, mid-gesture, hovered in the air.

From behind him, Blair tugged at his shirt, her voice a choked sob. "Felix, don't be mad at Avalon. It's my fault. This house... it's full of my parents' memories, I was so scared... I promise I won't be a bother again."

Felix took her hand, patting it reassuringly.

He turned back to me, his eyes as cold as if he were looking at a stranger.

"This jealous act is completely out of line." He gestured sharply toward the door. "Go home. Now. Don't make a scene here."

I looked at him, standing there, a human shield for his old flame.

"Fine."

No screaming. No hysterics. No curses for Blair.

I turned, stepped back over the threshold, and opened my black umbrella.

I heard the door slam shut behind me.

A gust of wind spattered my cream skirt with mud, a fitting stain on the five years of my life I had so carefully devoted to him.

The next morning, the beep of the digital lock broke the silence of the apartment.

Felix walked into the bedroom, carrying the chill of the late autumn morning with him.

In his hand was a paper bag from that cult-favorite croissant shop on the Upper West Side.

The same croissant I’d once idly mentioned wanting. He’d braved a blizzard and a two-hour line for it then, carrying it back inside his coat to keep it warm.

He placed the bag on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed.

He reached out, his fingers moving to tuck a stray piece of hair from my cheek.

Just before his fingertips brushed my skin, a faint, familiar perfume wafted toward me.

Blair's signature scent.

He had draped his suit jacket over her last night.

My body reacted before my mind could. I flinched, turning my head away from his touch.

His hand froze in mid-air. His fingers curled slightly, then he casually retracted his hand.

"I was out of line yesterday," he said, his pride yielding to a tone of weary tolerance. "But you have to understand. The Vanderbilts went bankrupt. She has nothing, her mental state is fragile, she's been suicidal."

"I can't just stand by and watch her die, can I?"

He opened the paper bag, cut a piece of the still-warm croissant with a small fork, and held it to my lips.

"Here, eat. We'll reschedule the fitting after you've had something."

The rich, buttery aroma mingled with the ghost of that perfume, a cloying, sour combination in the air.

I didn't lose my temper. My body moved on autopilot, the muscle memory of five years of compliance taking over. I reached out and took the small fork from him.

A relieved smile flickered across Felix’s face.

But in the next second, I turned and, with one smooth, deliberate motion, dropped the entire croissant, fork and all, into the wastebasket by the bed.

A soft thud.

"It's cold," I said, pulling out a sanitizing wipe for my fingers without looking at him. "And I've lost my appetite."

The smile on Felix’s face vanished.