“Of course,” Audrey replies.
I mask my true emotions with a smile and catch eyes with JP. We hold the stare for two and a half moments before I blink my eyes away and make eye contact with Audrey. Her expression is masked in lipstick and proper deportment, but she is no doubt also telling me to back off, and it’s now that I realize she remembers exactly who I am.
Still, the expression in JP’s eyes plays over and over while I pretend to participate in the conversation. His eyes are the same green with the same glisten that reminds me of a field at sunset. His lips still do the same slow smile. But something—and I can’t tell if it’s my emotions begging it to be there—feels somber, and I wish I knew if it was because he still thinks of me or feels sorry for me.
The afternoon carries on with baby coos, tea sandwiches, and a lot of wedding talk. I stay quiet. Placing the problem child back in the corner, so to speak. But just as we’re about to leave, Audrey grabs my elbow and says, “I’m glad I met you... I mean, properly.”
I nod, acknowledging that she’s marking her territory. We pile into Austin and Emily’s car and return to their house. They fill the car’s atmosphere with nonsense conversation while I remain quiet.
JP is hers. He was never really mine anyway.
LATER THAT NIGHT, Ilay awake flipping through my text messages, trying to find the last one I sent—or he sent. There’s a lot of scrolling. We haven’t spoken in eight months. Then finally I find it.
I sent a picture of a sign that read “Fortune Teller $40” with a text that said,Only listen to chicken egg fortunes. Disregard all other fortune telling units.
THE GUY FROM THE PLANE:ERROR: fortune not found
ME:miss you.
THE GUY FROM THE PLANE:miss you too
I laughed and then smiled, but the conversation never continued. That was that. And then he must have fallen back in love.
The burning feeling inside me is embarrassing. But knowing JP is lying next to his beautiful bride-to-be through this thin wall makes me feel sick with jealousy. He’s probably running his hand under her shirt, letting his thumb brush against her naval before sinking his hands lower. She’s probably humming into his kiss and arching her back, letting him know she wants him.They’re probably kicking off their pants and tossing their shirts over their heads. He’s probably gawking at her even though he’s seen her naked before. She’s probably begging him for more. Faster. Rougher. Softer.
I expect to hear her moaning through these paper-thin walls at any moment.
I don’t.
The muffled sounds coming through the wall are growing louder but aren’t moans.
I shuffle up to my knees and press my ear against the wall above the headboard, straining to listen. I can’t hear it word for word, but slowly I decipher their tone through the drywall and beige paint: they’re arguing.
“You didn’t say she was Emily’s sister!” My cheeks warm as I register exactly what—or who—they’re discussing.
“I didn’t know she’d be here,” he responds. His voice low, like he knows I could be listening.
“God, men can’t be in charge of communicating anything.”
I snort at Audrey’s response and slap my hand over my mouth. I need to mind my business, but my ears itch to continue to eavesdrop so I scurry under the covers and bury my head under a pillow, praying for suffocation or sleep—whichever comes first.
Gramma Elle
“Never trust a man with a mustache.”
“HEY, GRAMMA.”
I flop into the rocking chair next to her after climbing the snow-covered steps. She hands me a cup of hot coffee flavored with peppermint and mocha. I can’t actually taste it, but somehow, I just know. It’s like tasting the memory of something.
“How are you?” she asks.
“Good.” I hold the mug close to my chest.
“Just good?”
“He’s back...” I draw it out, unsure sure what direction I’d like to take the conversation.
“The kindergarten teacher?”
