Summary, disclaimer, etc. in chapter 1.

Hope you guys don't mind a brief Stacy-centric vignette. If not... –ducks and covers–

Making Peace

April 2002

Stacy paused, calligraphy pen poised over a blank Save the Date notice.

They wanted a small ceremony. A few close relatives and friends only. He was on the list they'd made together, the second-to-last name, before Mark's biking buddy Ziegler. Mark was content with whomever she invited; he knew her last relationship had been hard and with moving to a new town, even if it had been two years, she had some friends she considered close that he hadn't met yet. James was an old friend from her previous job: that was enough to satisfy Mark.

It made sense to invite him. He might come; he might politely decline and send a tasteful gift. Either way, she should invite him.

But…

She sighed and put the pen down.

But if she invited him, if he knew about it, Greg would get it out of him and she knew Greg wouldn't handle it well. She hadn't seen him or spoken to him since she'd left, but she seriously doubted he had his life together.

And she didn't want to admit it, but God, she missed him. Mark was great—kind, loving, smart, funny, surprising—but he wasn't Greg. No one could ever be Greg.

And how she hated him for that—for being so…himself. So electric. So good in all the worst ways. So shocking. Mark was surprising but he would never be shocking. He was a man to marry, someone who was at a point in his life where he wanted to settle down. He could keep the promises he made. And if that made him a little dull…well, she needed dull right now. Dull was highly underrated.

So what if the lightning wasn't there. No lightning meant no thunder. This was a relationship she could live with. It wasn't a bad thing.

She took up the pen again. She'd like to see James. As much as seeing him would be a reminder of the bad, there was also so much good to remember. He and Mark would get along well. She should invite him.

Her hand wavered over the blank on the card. It was simple. J-a-m-e-s… She didn't have to send it. She could just write it out and decide later.

But…

But, dammit, Greg would find out. She threw the pen down. Greg always found out, damn him. He could get anything out of James—out most people. And if Greg found out, he would do something. Probably something incredibly juvenile like ordering a dozen pizzas with anchovies and pineapple or paying off a neighborhood kid to egg their cars or TP their house.

Or…that's what he would have done. Before.

He had become so withdrawn in the last month of their relationship that she really didn't know if he'd do anything at all now. He'd become such a good victim, so convincing that she had bought into it. Not that it had been hard to buy into in the first place. Not when every time she saw him wince and stubbornly insist he was all right or struggle to do something that had been easy and fail or take one of his pain pills and have to lie down because they made him dizzy she felt horribly, irrationally guilty. He hadn't even had to try to make her feel like dirt. And they would fight and scream at each other, and half of the time they'd end up with an uneasy truce because make-up sex wasn't guaranteed.

It had been hell. Absolute hell.

And if he found out, it would only play into his dramatization of victimhood. He didn't have to do anything. She would know. She already had to live with enough grief from him…

But she wouldn't dwell on it when she was in the middle of writing out wedding notices. No, she wouldn't.

"Hey."

She jumped as Mark embraced her from behind, kissing her lightly on the cheek.

He pulled back and smiled. "Surprised you, did I?"

She smiled back.

"Deep thoughts I bet," he said. He nodded toward the cards. "You know you don't have to do that."

"I want to," she said. "I'm almost done."

"Okay." He smiled again. Such a warm smile. "I'll let you get back to it. Dinner in ten minutes?"

"Sure."

He squeezed her shoulder and left.

Dammit, Greg. Now she felt guilty again, betraying him in thought like that. It had been happening more and more often recently. She attributed it to nerves. Weddings, after all, were big events, even when they were small. They invited a certain amount of remembrance of old lovers. Of making peace.

She didn't know if that was going to happen for her, but she knew who to make the next card out to now. J-e-f-f Z-i-e-g-l-e-r.

She put the cap on the pen, stacked the notices neatly, and got up to see if Mark needed any last minute help with dinner.

It was easier this way. For everyone.