Beautiful Graves(102)

I love you, which is why I’m leaving you.

Yours, even from afar,

Ever.

I close the door behind me. I take the stairs down. Waiting for the elevator seems so mundane, so trivial after what I’ve just done. I cut the cord. I made a decision. And I feel like shit about it.

Once I’m outside, I take an Uber to the Starbucks down the street. I need to put some distance between Joe and me. The entire journey there, I’m shaking. I’m nauseous. I want to stop a stranger walking down the street and tell them what I just did.

I walk into Starbucks and order a venti pumpkin-spice latte. I don’t even like pumpkin spice. The Uber arrives and takes me to Colt’s. The driver gives me a funny look through the rearview mirror and asks if everything is okay.

“Yes,” I say. “Fine. Why?”

“Because you’re crying . . . ?”

I touch my face. I am crying.

“Sorry.” I wipe my eyes quickly.

When I get to Colt’s, I buzz the doorbell to his swanky building. It’s seven in the morning. He answers after the fourth buzz.

“Goddammit. I’m calling the police, punk.”

“Hello to you too,” I drawl. There’s a pause on the other side. Even at my worst, I’m always down for some rough banter with Colt.

“Ever?” he asks in disbelief.

“Who else is going to show up at your door a crying mess before the birds are up?”

He buzzes me in. No questions asked. I take the elevator up and knock on his door with my duffel bag and swollen eyes. He flings the door open and takes me in. He is wearing flannel pajamas and a frown.

“Nor’s still asleep. Come on in.” He jerks his head. I follow him inside. He flicks the coffee machine on. Oh, shoot. I never even bothered to take the damn latte from Starbucks. I’m such a mess.

Colt takes one good look at me and realizes what I’m thinking. “I’d better wake up Nor. Wait here.”

He hustles to the bedroom. In the meantime, I look around, marveling at Nora’s new life. It’s a beautiful apartment, complete with stainless steel appliances, custom cabinetry, and a sundeck. It is as far away from our shithole as humanly possible. And she gave all of this up for the longest time just because I was around.

Nora appears in the hallway, rubbing at her eyes. “Hey, babe! I thought we had a ten o’clock brunch date.”

I suck in a breath. “I broke up with Joe.”

“Oh, honey!”

The waterworks start again, and Colt, who’s just come back from the bedroom, winces and says, “This is my cue to go grab some breakfast. You wait here, ladies.”

He goes downstairs in his flannel pants and a hoodie, all to avoid the cry-fest.

Nora gathers me into her arms and kisses my temple. “I didn’t even know you guys were together. Why did you do that? You’re crazy about the asshole.”

“He’s better off without me.”

“What a foolish thing to say.”

I pull away. “No, Nora, I mean it. Our relationship is cursed. Every time we get together, something happens. Mom. Dom. And what if something happens to him? I’ll never be able to live with myself.”

She stares at me, aghast. “You’ve got to be kidding me. That’s nonsense and a half.”

Because I don’t want to be a party pooper, and because really, there is nothing more to say, I force a smile and tell her, “I love this place.”

Her face lights up immediately. “Right? Isn’t it awesome?” She looks around, too, trying to see it from my eyes.

“Yes. When’s the wedding?”

“April. Cherry blossom season. We’re going big, baby.”

“How can I help?” I ask, because frankly, that’s what you’re supposed to do when a good friend of yours tells you they’re getting married in a few months.

“Well, actually, we were thinking of doing something a little special for the invitations, and I know you have a talent for sketches and such . . .” She smiles, color rising in her cheeks.

I’m momentarily speechless before gaining back my eloquence and saying, “Oh my God, yeah. Of course. It’ll be my pleasure. My honor!” I correct myself.

She claps excitedly. “Thank you.”

“That will be five hundred bucks for the design.”

Her smile drops. I snort out a laugh and push her. She pushes me back. “Asshole.”

The door flings open, and Colt walks inside with a paper bag full of something fried and greasy by the smell of it. “Ladies, I’m home.”

He stops when he sees us holding each other’s hands. We look giddy and excited. He turns to Nora, perplexed. “How did you do that?”

“How did I do what?” she asks.

“Make her happy and . . . I don’t know, not crying anymore?”

I laugh. “She hired my services as an artist. I’m making your wedding invitations. Are you scared?”

“Only if you’re going to put skulls and graves on them.” He makes a face. Then, when he gets nothing from me, he says, “Please don’t put any skulls and graves on them.”

“There goes my creative freedom.” I sigh.

“What’s the damage?” He turns to ask her.