Well Met(85)

She waved one of those perfectly manicured hands. “He can wait a little bit. Had to make sure you were okay.” She peered at me. “Are you?”

“I am. Really.” I was lying. I also wanted to know who her date was with. Mitch? No. He’d been out with me at Jackson’s a couple weekends before, and she’d had “plans” then too. Besides, I could see Mitch now, leaning against the bar on the other side of Jackson’s, a beer in his hand, talking to a cute little brunette.

I decided to let it go. This town had few enough secrets as it was; may as well let Stacey keep one if she had it. So instead I pushed Stacey out the door for her date, paid the check, and went home.

“Hey.” April barely glanced up from the TV when I walked in, which was probably for the best. “You just missed Mom. She called to invite herself and Dad down for Thanksgiving. I think this is gonna be a downside to you and me living in the same town . . . whoa.” Now she peered at me. “Are you okay? You look like hell.”

“Thanks.” I dropped down on the couch beside her. “I broke up with Simon.” Speaking the words out loud for the first time made it real, the way it hadn’t been before, and all the pizza-and-beer therapy I’d had with Stacey went out the window.

“What?” April grabbed for the remote, turning off the TV. “You were out on a date with him. What happened?”

“We never made it to dinner.” I stared at our reflections in the blank television screen. She was right: I did look like hell. Shit, I was crying again. I blinked, and heavy tears hit my cheeks, followed by more, a steady stream of them now, and I waited as long as possible before trying to draw a breath, knowing it wouldn’t be successful. I pressed my palms to my eyes, hard, as April’s arms came around me.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

My head fell onto her shoulder. “No.” But between sobs I told her what had happened between Simon and me: what we’d said, how we’d said it, down to the look in his eyes when I’d gotten in the Jeep and driven off. She didn’t say anything. Instead, my sister held me and let me talk and cry until I ran out of both words and tears. It was ugly; I was going to owe her a new shirt, possibly a new couch, when all this was over.

“Do you want to know what I think?” Her voice was a quiet murmur in my ear. She was good at the comforting mom thing. Of course, she had fourteen years of experience at it.

I nodded against her shoulder and sat up. “I fucked up, didn’t I?” I leaned forward, bracing my elbows on my knees. “I jumped down his throat for no reason, and I ruined everything.” My eyes burned from crying and my cheeks were hot, but I deserved the pain. I looked longingly at my purse, which I had dropped by the door. “Could I apologize? Maybe I can go over to his house and—”

“No.” The vehemence in April’s voice made me close my mouth with a snap. “You don’t go anywhere near him—are you kidding?” Her eyes blazed and I didn’t dare argue. “You absolutely did the right thing, and I won’t hear otherwise.” I opened my mouth to answer, but she shushed me before I could say a word. She really was good at laying down the law. “You stood up for yourself. You put yourself first. I know it’s hard, and I know it sucks. But if he can’t put a relationship with you over keeping up that living shrine to his brother every damn summer, then he doesn’t deserve you.”

She was right. I knew she was right. It didn’t mean I had to like it. “But shouldn’t I help . . .”

“No. Not if it hurts you.” Her voice was harsh, but her eyes were kind. “I know you want to.” She looped some of my hair behind my ear. “You want to help everyone. But you need to help yourself for a change. Do what’s right for you. Would you be happy with him like this?”

I had to think about it. It had only been a couple hours, and there was already a Simon-shaped hole in my heart. I rubbed absently at my chest where it ached. I’d do about anything to make that pain go away. But then I remembered how I’d felt when he’d brushed past my good news and focused on what had mattered to him. And what had mattered to him hadn’t been me. As much as I hurt right now, I’d be trading one kind of pain for another.

“Why?” I finally asked, the word an embarrassing wail. “Why aren’t I important to him? I thought he was . . . I thought he . . .” Loved me. But I was wrong. I wanted to cry again, but I was out of tears. Now I was tired. Numb. “I thought he was different.” My voice was tiny, humiliated, and I almost didn’t recognize it. I pressed my hands to my eyes again. “God, I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re not.” April’s hand was on my back, rubbing in slow, soothing circles. “You picked two shitty guys in a row. It happens.” She leaned over to the end table and grabbed a box of tissues. “Let me take care of you for once,” she said while I yanked out tissues by the fistful and pressed them to my hot, tear-streaked face.

I hardly slept that night, my dreams filled with images of bright red roses disintegrating into dust, bottles of rum smashing on the floor into shards of broken glass. My subconscious took this breakup pretty literally. When I woke up, the sun was higher in the sky than I’d expected and the house was silent. I rolled over and looked at my phone. I’d overslept; the alarm had been turned off. On a regular Saturday I’d be in the woods, getting strapped into my costume right about now. Instead I slung my bathrobe around my shoulders and rubbed my swollen, aching eyes on the way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. I didn’t look at any mirrors. I didn’t want to know.