Beautiful Graves(83)

I’m pathetically close to breaking down and crying. She’s hit a chord, and now my freshest, rawest wound is wide open and bleeding.

She is right. Maybe the problem was that I never truly peeled all the layers of Dom’s onion. Because I did know Joe would never do this to me. I only assumed Dom wouldn’t. Dom was always a bit of a mystery to me—What’d he see in me? What made us work?—while with Joe, it just felt right.

“Maybe you’re right,” I mumble.

“There’s no maybe about it. I’m always right.”

I reach for a french fry. Pippa grabs my hand and tugs it. “Hold up. You’re engaged? Bitch, details. All of them. Right now!”

Maybe Renn doesn’t tell her everything in their talks.

I tell her about Dom. How we met. How he died. How it was yet again my fault. About the stupid tampons. About the guilt that doesn’t let go. And everything in between. About Joe, and how we are each other’s muses, but we’re not in touch, because we can’t trust ourselves to keep our pants on when we’re together, and also because I low-key don’t want him to die, and everyone I love dies. Pippa’s face changes expressions about twenty times a minute when I relay my last five months to her.

Once she is all caught up, she signals the waiter to get us more cocktails and some shots for good measure. “All of this happened and you didn’t pick up the phone to consult your main squeeze? What the heck did I ever do to you?”

“About that . . .”

Gulping, I tell her the truth. That I was ashamed to give her a call. Embarrassed. That I disappeared because she’d asked too many questions. And also that she had offered me love and support I didn’t feel I deserved.

“Salem was a punishment for me. All I wanted was to slip under the radar and merely exist. I worked. I ate. I showered. And I repeated. This whole time, I thought I was only punishing myself. I didn’t realize I was punishing everyone who cared about me too. I’m sorry. So sorry, Pip. I feel like I need to spend the next decade apologizing to people for the way I’ve behaved.”

Pippa pouts, checking her fingernails. “A decade? No. A month’s worth of groveling should be sufficient. And drinks are on you. Anyway, you’re not completely to blame. When I heard what happened with your mom, I had no idea how to behave, what to say to you. I felt totally unequipped. I thought if I bombarded you with questions and text messages, you would see that I cared. I didn’t think how it might feel to be in your shoes. That should’ve been my first thought.”

“We were both so young,” I say.

Pippa takes my hand in hers from across the table. The waiter brings us two fresh cocktails. “You’re still young, Ev. And I’m sorry you lost Dom, I really am, but you still have a lot to live for.”

Tears roll down both our faces.

“Aw, bitch.” Pippa wipes the corner of her eyes quickly. “You’re ruining my makeup.”

I laugh. “Ever since Christmas, when I first found out Joe and Dom were related, all I’ve wanted to do was pick up the phone and tell you. I knew you’d tell me what to do. How to make it right.”

“You should’ve. I’d have been all over this situation. That’s some Days of Our Lives shit.”

Laughter escapes through my tears again. “What would you have said to me?”

“I would’ve told you the truth. That Joe is your forever. For Ever, if you would.” She smiles. “Dom was a placeholder. Therefore, you were his placeholder. You should’ve fought for Joe. You should’ve gone after your heart, not your fears.”

“He doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore.” I suck in a ragged breath.

“Have you tried talking to him?”

I nod. “He was curt at best, put off at worst.”

“He might come around.”

“He might not.”

“Time dulls even the sharpest pain.”

She is right, of course.

She is right, and now I think about the kind of life we would have had, had I called Pippa the day after Christmas and told her everything.

The only reason Dom wanted me, I suspect, is because I was so different from Sarah. I was the exact opposite of her. I was in no danger of going anywhere, of doing anything big. I was his comfort zone, and he was mine. The very thing that gave me reassurance and security in our relationship, how safe we were for each other, turned out to be our downfall.

I’d have broken things off with Dom. He’d have stayed with Sarah.

He wouldn’t have gone to get me tampons that day.

He would have been safe.

Somewhere, in a parallel universe, Dom and Sarah and Joe and I go on double dates. We spend holidays together. We love who we’re supposed to love.

“I know why you’re here.” Pippa sucks on her straw. “You’re wrong. It wasn’t your fault. Our destinies are prewritten. You didn’t write Dom’s and Barbie’s stories.”

I wish I could believe that. But I can’t.



Winter slowly bleeds into spring. I no longer stay holed up in my room, even though I reserve the right to occasionally treat myself to spurts of self-pity.

At first, I leave the room because Donna gives me responsibilities around the house. Laundry duty, grocery shopping, taking care of the garden. When I protest and tell her all I do is work, she nicknames me Cinderella.