My One and Only by Kristan Higgins Page B

origami. Sugar packets, toothpicks, asparagus spears—whatever was at hand, Nick would turn into a building, incapable of keeping his hands still.
    “That’s right,” I said coolly. God knows I’d heard every joke in the book.
    “Why that field?” he asked.
    “Well, as you may remember, Nick, divorcing someone you once loved can be difficult, and it’s easy to make a mistake. So I help people get the best result. Hold their hands and shepherd them through a sad time.”
    Nick raised an eyebrow.
    “What?”
    “I just find it…fitting.”
    “I know you’re hoping to insult me, but you’re not. I help people accept in their hearts what their heads already know.” For some reason, my motto sounded hollow tonight.
    “Wow. That’s some line.” The napkin had become a tiny house, complete with roof and folded door. Nick set it aside, then angled it to face the lake, ensuring that it had a water view.
    “It’s not a line, Nick,” I sighed. “If we’d done that, we might’ve stood a chance or avoided a disaster.”
    “That’s how you think of us? A disaster?” The gypsy eyes flashed.
    “Well,” I answered thoughtfully, “sitting here with you in this beautiful place, all these years having passed, talking with you again…yes. Disaster covers it pretty well.”
    “And here I still think of you as the woman I loved more than I’ve ever loved anyone.”
    The words had the intended wallop, and my heart shuddered. Don’t be such a weenie, I told said organ. He’s not trying to soften you up…it’s an accusation. Leaning back in my chair, I gave a half nod. “The past tense is duly noted, Your Honor, as is the soap-opera melodrama. That being said, a simple recounting of the facts would show that you were practically invisible during our brief and unhappy marriage.”
    “You certainly made me that way, didn’t you?” His voice was mild.
    This was going nowhere. This was, in fact, where negotiations tended to break down. “Okay, Nick, let’s drop it. Ancient history, right?”
    “It doesn’t feel that ancient, Harper.”
    I took another sip of cosmo to cover my shiver, but he noticed anyway. “Cold?” he asked, instantly shrugging out of his jacket and offering it to me. “I mean, I know your heart is cold, but how about the rest of you?”
    “No, I’m fine,” I said. We looked at each other for a minute, twelve years churning between us. I was the first to blink.
    “Nick, look. Let’s not fight. We’re here to talk about our siblings, yes?” He nodded, and I continued. “You and I…we were both obviously hurt by our own bad decisions. We were too young and foolish, we didn’t know what to expect, yadda yadda ad infinitum.” His eyes were unreadable. “But this is exactly my point. While Willa and Christopher are in fact older than we were, they’re still basically kids. Well, certainly Willa is. What does Christopher do for work, by the way?”
    “He’s…” Nick paused. “He works for me on and off. Well, for my subcontractors, mostly. Finish carpentry, trim, stuff like that.”
    My lawyerly instinct told me there was more. “And on the off times, what does he do, Nick?”
    Nick gave a little wince. Here it comes, I thought. “He’s…he’s an inventor.”
    I nodded sagely. “An inventor. Anything good? And by good, I’m envisioning Google, just as an example.”
    Nick sighed. “Well, he does have a patent on a couple things.” He hesitated. “The Thumbie.”
    “And what is the Thumbie?” I asked. My cosmo was gone. Too bad, since it appeared I’d be needing another.
    “The Thumbie is a plastic tip you put over your thumb.”
    “To what end?” I asked.
    “To scrape gunk that you can’t get up with a sponge.”
    I paused. “You’re not really serious, are you, Nick?”
    He sighed. “Chris says you always end up using your thumbnail to—okay, so it’s stupid. But maybe no more stupid than the ShamWow.”
    “The Sham-what?”
    “Never mind. At least