Chapter 2: The Party

When I heard Rachel was back in town, I was changing my daughter’s diaper.

The baby squirmed on the changing pad, legs kicking. My hands froze mid-wipe. I felt a weird, cold panic—like the old Aubrey and the new one were staring each other down in the mirror. The faint notes of some indie band drifted from the hallway radio, but my mind was stuck on Derek’s words. Rachel—back, here, now. Of course she would be.

My hands froze. "She’s coming to the party tonight too?"

I looked up at Derek, searching his face. A tiny muscle twitched at the corner of his eye. In the background, the humidifier hummed, and Maddie cooed, oblivious to adult drama.

Derek was buttoning his shirt cuffs, the gold glint of his wedding band catching the light.

He always dressed sharp, even for a casual get-together—pressed shirt, slacks, and that cologne I bought him last Christmas. The wedding band looked heavy. I wondered if it felt that way to him, too.

"Yeah. She and Noah go way back—he’s throwing this whole thing for her."

Derek’s tone was almost casual, but I could hear the effort in it. He kept his eyes on the last button, refusing to meet mine. That old, heavy name lingered between us.

"Are you going?"

He asked like he always did.

Every time something came up, he gave me the choice. I almost never took him up on it. But this time, there was a real hesitation in his voice, like he already knew the answer. The baby gurgled, grabbing for my sleeve.

Ever since Maddie was born, I’d stopped going out with him much—he didn’t really expect me to say yes.

His eyes drifted to the window, watching a squirrel dart along the fence. Most nights, it was easier for him to go alone. I’d become the invisible half of the marriage. That role suited me—until tonight.

But instead of my usual no, I surprised myself and said:

"Let’s go."

The words slipped out before I could take them back. Even Maddie seemed to sense something had changed, quieting for a second as I snapped her onesie shut. I didn’t know what I was trying to prove—just that I needed to see Rachel and watch Derek’s reaction with my own eyes.

Derek looked surprised.

His eyebrows shot up, a flicker of something—relief?—breaking his poker face. He nodded, almost gratefully. It was the most emotion I’d seen from him in days.

But he quickly slipped back into calm.

Derek was the king of cool. You could set off fireworks in the living room and he’d barely flinch. But tonight, I caught the ghost of a smile—gone before I could be sure it was real.

"Alright. I’ll wait for you downstairs."

He left with his usual quiet confidence, his footsteps soft on the old wood. The baby babbled, and a wave of nerves twisted in my stomach. I dug out my one decent lipstick from the junk drawer, praying I still remembered how to use it.

When Derek and I walked into the steakhouse’s private room, conversation stopped.

The restaurant was dimly lit, all dark wood and framed sports memorabilia. A neon Miller Lite sign flickered over the bar, and the air smelled faintly of onion rings and steak sauce. Our entrance drew a few curious glances. For a split second, I was that new girl at a high school dance. My palms went sweaty on Derek’s sleeve. I prayed nobody would notice the baby spit-up stain on my jacket.

After we sat down, a woman with long hair and that effortless kind of grace at the center of the group tilted her head toward us.

Rachel was the kind of beautiful that made you instantly aware of every flaw. Even the waitstaff snuck looks as she reached for her glass, her movements casual but deliberate, like she was used to being watched.

"Derek, long time no see."

Her voice carried across the table—clear, confident, the kind of tone you get from talking in front of cameras. She owned the room.

Derek looked at her, smiled, and put his arm around my shoulder.

He squeezed my shoulder, just a little. His smile was polite, distant—the way he smiled at coworkers he didn’t trust. He was staking a claim, subtle but unmistakable.

"Rachel, don’t you recognize my wife?"

His tone was easy, but I heard the steel underneath. I felt the weight of his hand, grounding me. For the first time in forever, I felt like he was proud to have me there.

Rachel let out a soft, "Oh—wow, I didn’t even recognize you at first. Hey, Aubrey."

She barely met my eyes, her smile thin and apologetic. Maybe the red in her eyes was whiskey, maybe not.

I gave a small smile and nodded. "Hey."

I tried to keep my voice casual, but it came out just a little too high. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, wishing I’d remembered more makeup.

Before I could say more, Rachel turned away, the corners of her eyes looking a little red.

She didn’t linger, her attention shifting back to the crowd. If she was rattled, she hid it, but I caught the tension in her jaw as she stared at her napkin.

"You can’t blame Rachel for not recognizing her right away. Aubrey’s changed... a lot."

Noah, the rich guy hosting the party, glanced over, eyes flicking over my face.

Noah’s words hit like a slap, even though he smiled as he said them. He was the kind of guy who poked old wounds for fun. Rachel was his childhood friend—he’d never liked me.

I’d known since the first backyard BBQ he saw me as an outsider. I could almost feel the invisible line between Rachel, Derek, and everyone else—with me standing just outside it.

My cheeks burned. I fiddled with my sleeve, picking at a loose thread.

Suddenly, every insecurity felt ten times heavier. The fabric was too tight, the room too warm. I stared at my glass, wishing for something stronger than water.

After having Maddie, my weight had jumped from 96 to 130 pounds. My once-slim frame was now broad-shouldered, thick-waisted, my face blurred at the edges.

I remembered shopping for dresses with my mom in high school, squeezing into size fours. Now, my old jeans gathered dust in the closet. My face—once sharp in the right light—now felt smudged by motherhood.

That’s why I’d avoided going out these last few years.

Every invitation felt like a test I’d already failed. It was easier to stay home, bake banana bread, and scroll Instagram from the safety of my couch.

"Dude, what the hell?"

Derek flicked the lighter across the table—just hard enough to make a point.

Derek’s move was casual but pointed—a warning shot. He flashed a tight smile, making sure Noah knew the joke wasn’t funny.

Noah looked at me, shrugged, and downed his whiskey. "Alright, I was out of line. I’ll drink for it."

He raised his glass in a lazy salute and knocked it back. A few people chuckled, the conversation moved on, but I caught the quick glance Derek shot me—a silent check-in.

Everyone started chatting, asking Rachel about her life since she’d left.

People leaned in, hungry for stories from exotic places. The table buzzed with excitement. Someone ordered another round, and laughter rippled down the line as Rachel smiled, cool and unruffled.

She was a big deal now, fresh off an international award for a photo series on Africa.

Even the waitstaff lingered to hear her stories. She talked about the wildlife, the heat, the chaos—making something beautiful out of danger. Her accent had a soft London lilt now.

"Remember when Rachel used to follow Derek around everywhere with her camera? Now she’s not just a top photographer—she’s a huge influencer. She just started an Instagram and already has over a hundred thousand followers!"

The awe was unmistakable. Phones slid across the table, people scrolling through her feed, oohing at shots of sunrises and distant villages. Someone showed me a photo, the likes racking up by the minute.

"She’s totally transformed. When I saw her today, I barely recognized her. I thought, who’s this movie star?"

Compliments flowed like wine. Rachel laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, the picture of humblebrag perfection. She wore attention like a second skin.

Rachel listened with a gentle smile, holding a slim cigarette between her fingers, hair tumbling over one shoulder. The fitted leather jacket made her look both edgy and elegant.

She didn’t smoke, just twirled the cigarette absently, letting it dangle. The jacket hugged her frame, the soft leather catching the light. She looked like she belonged in a music video, not a steakhouse in the suburbs.

I glanced down at myself.

I traced the scuffed toe of my shoe against the carpet. My hands twisted the hem of my jacket. I tried to remember the last time I’d bought anything new that wasn’t for Maddie.

Flat shoes, wide-leg pants, an old blazer dragged out just to look halfway presentable.

Everything screamed "mom on a budget," not "director’s wife" or "college it-girl." I’d put on mascara in the car, but it already felt smudged. I missed the girl who wore red lipstick just because it was Tuesday.

Among this crowd of stylish, polished people, I felt like a punchline.

The laughter and small talk blurred into a background buzz. I sipped my Diet Coke and stared at the condensation, fighting the urge to slip away to the bathroom and hide.