Beg, Borrow, or Steal (When in Rome, #3)(9)
I think that’s why she was the first person who popped into my head the day after I moved to Nebraska with Zoe. Coffee was on the table, Zoe was on her phone, and I was on the road to ruin, and I knew it. Clear as day. I hadn’t realized until I was sitting at the breakfast table in the wrong state with the wrong person that my life had gotten way off track.
And when my chest caved in at the thought of breaking Zoe’s heart by telling her this wasn’t right for me and I couldn’t go through with it, when I nearly backed out from fear of hurting her, Emily’s smirking face popped into my mind and I could perfectly picture her saying: Do it, Jack. I dare you.
I needed that. I needed her in some weird, twisted way.
The months following the breakup were rough too. I was lonelier than ever. And I’ve been blaming that loneliness for my constant thoughts of Emily. I haven’t been able to get her out of my head. Which is essentially why I’m back in Rome. Not just because I’ve always liked this town and wondered what it would be like to really be involved in it, but because I need to prove to myself that this weird tug I’ve been feeling to come back to her is a fluke—like how people lost in the desert will hallucinate and see visions of water when they’re dehydrated. I was just lonely and so my creative mind concocted a ridiculous narrative where Emily seems to mean something to me. I’m back here to squash that idea once and for all. To remind myself of just how much I hate Emily and then I can put it behind me.
But it’s not lost on me that the people who end up chasing those visions of water in the desert usually follow them all the way to their death.
So on that happy note, I’m fresh out of the realtor’s office where I just signed on the dotted line to purchase the shittiest house of all time. Ah—it’ll be good as new after you give it some paint, said Carol, whose nameplate on the desk claimed she was voted number one realtor in Rome, Kentucky, even though she is apparently the only realtor in Rome. (Her business cards for her party planning company were situated next to the nameplate.)
Well, Carol, it’s going to need a lot more than a coat of paint, seeing as how the siding is falling off and the porch looks seconds from collapsing. It’ll be a complete renovation, but I really had no choice. There was nothing else for sale within a fifty-mile radius, and after driving an hour into school every morning from Evansville, I’m ready to have less of a commute. Ready to put down official roots in this odd town.
Carol seemed unfazed about the state of the house and said that someone named Darrell had a construction crew who handled all the renovation projects around here and could get it done in no time. One quick call and he confirmed it.
“So . . . what did you do?” Emily asks after ten minutes of sitting in silence drinking weak-tasting coffee and trying not to notice how her hair is apparently some kind of naturally curly. I had no idea.
“Excuse me?”
She tsks. “Feigning ignorance doesn’t look authentic on you. Why are you back and unmarried? Signs point to you screwed up.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.” I take a sip of coffee and set it back down. “But I didn’t do anything wrong. We just weren’t right for each other.” And even though I should stop there, I can’t seem to keep myself from saying more. “It wasn’t until after I told her this that she informed me it was okay because she already had someone who was right for her.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d say that it’s sympathy on Emily’s face right now. For a split second, her expression softens to a look I’ve never seen on her before. It’s open and smooth. And of course, I have to exploit it because that’s just what we do. Also because it pinches something raw inside me that I wish didn’t exist. “Is that concern I see in your poison-ivy eyes, Ms. Walker?”
Those eyes shutter. “Only for your students. I’m worried you’re going to get their hopes up and then suddenly bolt when you and Zoe get your shit together and you take her back.”
My jaw tics. “Don’t worry about that.”
Zoe and I are finished. It was something that didn’t feel right from the beginning, but I was so lonely and desperate for someone to wake up to in the mornings that I overlooked too much. Loneliness will make a person do scary things. Like convincing myself I’m in love with a woman I never even felt safe enough with to share my biggest secret without making her sign an NDA first.
I do think Zoe and I had something genuine in the beginning. We had fun. She returned my kindness and affection—both things I really needed at the time. But then things started breaking down pretty quickly, and instead of ending it like I should have, I allowed it to drag out. In hindsight I should have been concerned that she would never leave her phone unattended. That I was getting random massive charges on my credit card for lunches and dinners. That she always seemed to encourage me to hide myself away and write because she used those times to disappear for most of the day. I didn’t know what she was doing, and most alarming of all, I didn’t seem to wonder either.
It took moving with her to Nebraska where she got a new job to realize I felt lonelier with her than I ever felt by myself. It took being stripped of my work and . . . Emily . . . to see the truth. Zoe didn’t love me—she loved the lifestyle I could provide because of my writing career, but not me. And I didn’t love her either. I loved the companionship she could offer when I needed it. The wedding was going to be a Band-Aid for something that was hemorrhaging from the start. Even the proposal was born from an argument where Zoe said we weren’t moving fast enough. I kept thinking she was fighting for us, but now I know she was fighting to keep my money. Embarrassing to realize. Even more embarrassing to remember how comfortable I was remaining distant from her.