Henry hadn’t embarrassed her.
He hadn’t insulted her.
He had simply treated me with the dignity she had tried to take away.
That hurt her more than any cruel reply could have.
I squeezed his hand.
“Dinner sounds nice.”
The people around us applauded.
Henry bowed dramatically.
“I knew the bikini was good luck.”
I laughed harder than I had in years.
Melissa didn’t.
She quietly gathered her things and left.
But that wasn’t the end.
Over the next six months, Henry and I became nearly inseparable.
He took me dancing.
I taught him how to make my mother’s apple pie.
We argued about movies, competed over crossword puzzles, and occasionally went back to that same swimming pool.
And yes, I wore the bikini.
Every single time.
Melissa avoided talking about what happened that day.
Until one Sunday afternoon.
She came to my house alone.
