“You should get back to work,” I said, inhaling his familiar scent as fresh tears fell from my cheeks.
“I know,” he said, voice husky and his chest heaving under my cheek.
He didn’t move his hands from me, and I knew I’d have to be the one to walk away.
54
BRITTA SLIPPED OUT of my apartment when I went to the bathroom. I heard the click of the door, and that was it, she was gone. I wasn’t sure what I had expected, but it was something more akin to a tearful goodbye. I’d known it was stupid to chase her, stupid to kiss her, and really stupid to sleep with her, but stupid was the only thing that made sense in that moment.
I’d thought if we had that last time, I could soak up her affection and it would sustain me. Maybe some part of me hoped she’d tell me she loved me, too, and that would solve something. Maybe she had the right idea, but getting ready to go back to work, all I thought about was her familiar scent and the taste of her mouth, and how everything about this decision to go our separate ways felt wrong. I also kept thinking about her posts and the comments and Libby. I had to keep reminding myself it was the right decision to end it, and that, despite everything else, we’d lied to each other for months. I glanced at my phone, hoping for even a hint of a reply from my sister. Instead, I had a message from Aaron. School board put the brakes on the project. Call me.
* * *
THE REST OF the week was a blur of Mason freaking out, Pearl looking concerned, and Cord checking in for no reason. I wasn’t down for any of it and left work with more pent-up frustration than I’d had in a long time. I didn’t want to talk about anything with anyone. I went for a long run, letting the heat beat down on my shoulders and my muscles strain. I tried to focus on my feet hitting the pavement, but it was no use. Later, I sat at a bar in Pilsen alone, nursing what was left of my drink, pretending to watch the game but lost in my head. On top of everything else, each sip was tinged with the same guilt I felt every time I wanted a drink after a hard day. I spent most of my life trying not to be my mom, but maybe I was a hypocrite. Pushing the bottle away and throwing some bills on the bar, I was turning to leave when my phone buzzed. I hoped it was Britta calling to talk and figure out how to get back together, Aaron telling me the school board had changed their mind, or Libby reaching out.
Kelsey: We need to talk.
The last person whose name I wanted to see. I couldn’t imagine being with Kelsey. Not anymore, not when I knew how good it could be.
Wes: I don’t have time.
Kelsey: Make time.
Kelsey’s clipped, entitled response pissed me off even more, because I wanted the messages coming through to be from Britta. I’d even convinced myself that it was appropriate to send her links through the app about self-care during stressful and difficult times, that a good coach would still do that. When I clicked on her name at two in the morning, a status window popped up: Account not found. I had her phone number and her email, and I knew where she lived, but that digital connection being severed, her account where she had logged so much progress and so many accomplishments, her deleting that was a punch to the gut. Somehow, I knew her cutting that connection—that was the cut that mattered.
Kelsey: You’ll be glad you did. Come over.
Wes: We’re not going to happen, OK? I don’t know how to make it any clearer.
There was no response, and I sighed in relief, climbing into the waiting car. Running wouldn’t clear my head any more than beer had, and I was tired after tossing and turning all night in my empty bed. I’d just stepped into my apartment when my phone buzzed again.
Kelsey: I’m not trying to seduce you. You chose the chubby girl. I get it. Fact remains, the chubby girl screwed you over.
Kelsey: This is about business, and I have a plan that will benefit us both. You need me.
Kelsey: Get Cord. Come to my place.
55
AFTER FOUR DAYS of “vacation” and living mostly unshowered in a rotation of sweats, yoga pants, and pajamas, I looked like hell, which my friends didn’t hesitate to tell me.
RJ pushed into my apartment on Saturday holding iced teas and a bag of groceries, eyeing my outfit. “Is Del your stylist, or something?” Kat and Del followed her inside, each carrying canvas bags.
Del glanced over his shoulder. “I dress better than that.”
Ignoring his casual appraisal, I settled on the couch. “My appearance slipped my mind, what with losing the job, losing the guy—oh, and the Internet collectively deciding I’m an untrustworthy slut.” I hadn’t run or gone to the gym since Monday morning, and my body wasn’t used to being still for so long. The idea of putting on my sneakers and running without Wes made me sad, though. I’d gotten used to his strides matching mine.