Chapter Thirty-Five: Discovery

Samantha laughed, too hard, but sincerely, for the first time in what felt like weeks. A glass of red wine dangled from her fingers as Claire leaned across the café table, finishing a story from their high school cheerleading days with wild hand gestures and dramatic flair.

“—and then she actually did it,” Claire was saying. “Back handspring in the middle of the damn pep rally, skirt tucked into her tights, absolutely no idea. She landed and bowed like she was Miss America. You could hear the gym screaming.”

Samantha nearly choked on her wine. “Oh my God, I forgot about that! We were awful.”

“We were terrifying,” Claire corrected, grinning. “You in particular. You used to have that look like you were going to take someone’s head off with a pompom.”

“Sinclair legacy,” Samantha said with a wink, lifting her glass in mock toast. “We weaponize poise.”

Claire tilted her head, the smile lingering. “You know… it’s good to see you laugh.”

Samantha’s grin faltered for half a second. “Yeah. I needed this.”

They fell into a quiet. And Samantha observed Claire.

She was pretty, not in a supermodel way, but in the style of a Ralph Lauren catalog. All aristocratic features and elegant cheekbones. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled into a loose knot, a soft flush blooming naturally across her cheekbones. She had that kind of East Coast polish that came from generations of understated wealth. Casual. Effortless.

Her blouse was linen, tucked into tailored slacks. Gold hoops. Glossed lips. She looked like she belonged on a veranda with a glass of white wine and a trust fund.

But right now, she looked at Samantha with something closer to real concern.

Samantha took a sip of her wine, then another. She looked away, then back again. Her voice was soft when it finally came.

“Daniel and I… we’re taking a bit of a break.”

Claire blinked. “A bit of a break?”

Samantha gave a dry, half-smile. “Okay. A full break. He moved out.”

A pause settled between them.

“What happened?” Claire asked, gently this time.

Samantha hesitated.

But Claire had always been safe. The kind of friend who didn’t flinch at honesty, who didn’t pounce or pity. So Samantha told her.

About how things had slowly frayed. About how Daniel had started coming home later and later. About how she’d stopped asking where he was. About how their conversations had narrowed into scheduling logistics and tax documents and polite small talk at fundraisers.

And then, about Olivia.

She didn’t sugarcoat it.

“I slept with her,” Samantha said, voice flat but not empty. “More than once.”

Claire didn’t gasp. She didn’t flinch.

She just tilted her head. “Did you love her?”

Samantha stared down into her wineglass. “I don’t know. I think… I just needed someone to look at me like I wasn’t a job to keep.”

Claire reached across the table, touched her wrist. “Do you miss him?”

Samantha nodded. Slowly. “Every day.”

Another silence. But it didn’t feel awkward. Just heavy with truth.

Claire leaned back, her voice softer now. “Then maybe it’s not too late.”

Samantha gave her a thin smile. “It feels like it is.”

“Feelings aren’t facts,” Claire replied. “You taught me that once.”

Samantha blinked at her. “I did?”

“In college. Right before my breakup with Julian the jazz major. You made me cry in the library and then handed me a protein bar and told me to stop romanticizing saxophones.”

Samantha laughed—actually laughed—and wiped under one eye with her thumb. “God. I was a menace.”

“You still are.” Claire smiled. “But you’re my menace.”

Samantha drank her wine quietly, a slight more happiness in her heart.

Then Claire tilted her head and said, completely deadpan, “So… did you use a strap-on?”

Samantha nearly spat out her wine. “What the fuck?”

Claire didn’t flinch. She just shrugged, casual as ever. “What? You said it happened more than once. I’m just curious.”

Samantha stared at her, horrified and half-laughing. “Claire, that is not a normal follow-up question!”

Claire lifted her glass. “It is if you’re trying to live vicariously through your hot, morally compromised best friend.”

Samantha groaned, burying her face in one hand. “God.”

Claire shrugged, unbothered. “Hey, my one lesbian experience in college was tragically boring. Remember? It lasted all of six minutes and ended with her crying about her ex-girlfriend while Tegan and Sara played in the background.”

“I remember that,” Samantha laughed, eyes squeezing shut. “You called me from your dorm and declared you were ‘spiritually straight.’”

“I stand by it,” Claire said, smug. “But I still want to know what I missed out on. You owe me.”

Samantha took a deep breath, dragged her hand down her face, then knocked back what remained in her glass.

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this,” she muttered.

Claire leaned in.

“She used it on me,” Samantha said.

Claire blinked.

And then broke into a slow, impressed grin. “Well damn, Sinclair.”

Samantha rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were pink now. “You’re unbearable.”

“I’m inspired.”

“Don’t get inspired.”

“Oh, it’s already too late.”

Samantha shook her head, laughing again. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m the best,” Claire countered, topping off both their glasses. “And honestly? I’m proud of you.”

Samantha arched a brow. “For sleeping with a woman?”

Claire rolled her eyes, then set her glass down with a soft clink. “I mean… no. Not exactly.” She leaned forward, tone softer now. “It takes guts to start discovering your own sexuality in your thirties. Especially when you’ve lived your whole life performing.”

Samantha leaned back in her chair, absorbing the words. She hadn’t thought of it that way. Not really. She’d only framed it in terms of what had broken. What she’d ruined.

“You’re on a break, and I get your hoping you and Daniel get back together. But it sounds like he needs space. What if you actually explore this?”

Samantha looked to Claire.

“Not just as some crazy, sneaking behind your spouse, wild affair, but actually exploring it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” Claire shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Go to a lesbian bar. Join a softball league. Make a Tinder profile. Buy a leather jacket. Whatever your version of queer chaos looks like.”

Samantha scoffed, but she was smiling now. “I don’t think I’m ready for queer chaos.”

“Okay. Then maybe start with queer curiosity,” Claire offered gently. “Just… don’t sit around waiting for a man who might not come back. You don’t have to put your entire identity on pause for him.”

Samantha’s voice was quiet. “What if I find someone?”

Claire didn’t flinch. “Then you move on. You made a mistake, Sam. You hurt someone. But that doesn’t mean you don’t get to live. You don’t have to stay in emotional purgatory forever.”

Samantha nodded, the weight of it settling in her chest, but it didn’t feel as heavy as it had before.

Then Claire added, casually, “And if you don’t get back together, you should still let me take a swing at Daniel. Because, damn.”

Samantha burst out laughing. “Claire!”

Claire shrugged, dead serious. “What? I’m divorced. I’m allowed to be unhinged.”