“You know, it’s okay to be sad about this,” Vivian says gently. “You still love him. That’s normal.”
“I know. But why do I still love him? Why can’t I move on? It’s been four months.” My eyes flick from Vivian to Cooper.
“Because you watched the person you loved more than anything disappear right in front of you,” Vivian says softly. “It’s like watching someone die. You loved him. Youstilllove him. You don’t just snap your fingers and make that go away.”
She takes a deep breath, reaches for her martini, and takes a sip. “Trust me, you’re going to feel this way for a long time. But it will get easier.” She offers a small smile. “I promise. Eventually.”
The mood has turned heavy, and I hate that I did that. If anyone here knows about loss, it’s Vivian. She lost her husband and unborn child in a car accident.
And I’m over here bitching about my soon-to-be ex-husband because he’s apparently doing great and looking better than ever.
Nothing like your widowed friend to give you perspective.
I muster a pathetic smile. “Thanks, Vivian.”
Cooper drapes an arm around my shoulders. “I wish I could relate, but I actually hated my ex by the time I left him. My only fear now is running into him alone somewhere, unprepared… But I’m sorry you’re going through this.” She gives me a squeeze. “You still coming to hot yoga with me in the morning?”
My brow lifts. “The morning? After these?” I point to my drink.
She laughs. “Relax. There’s a class at eleven. You know I’m not a morning person.”
“And you know I’m not a hot yoga person. Can’t we just do normal-temperature yoga? That last class made me want to throat-punch the girl teaching. You should really get into running, then you could run with me and Viv instead.”
“Listen.” She cups a boob. “These tits weren’t made for running, okay?”
I laugh at that, and she keeps going. “Come on, I used to hate all yoga. I could never quiet my mind long enough to focus. But I promise this class will be better than the last one. It’s flow style. You’ll like it.” She stirs her drink, then takes a long sip. “Plus, you’ll be so busy plotting the murder of the dumb bitch kicking your ass for sixty minutes, you won’t even have time to think about Jensen. Not for five seconds. It’s fucking magic for forgetting an ex.”
I try to hold in a laugh, but fail. “Fine. You talked me into it. I’ll come strictly for that. Anything to keep my mind off him.”
She lifts her glass, bringing it to the center of the table. “I’ll drink to that,” she says with a grin.
“To moving on to bigger and better things,” Vivian adds, tapping her glass to Cooper’s.
“To moving on,” I echo, clinking mine against theirs before bringing it to my lips and swallowing down the sweet, potent liquid.
It’s time to move on.
And then I think it again.
And again.
And again.
I stare blanklyat the ceiling, blinking. This is one of the downsides of drinking. I always crash when I get home, but then I wake up in the middle of the night and can’t fall back asleep.
I keep replaying the image of Jensen and Matt in my head, because apparently, I love to torture myself at night. My brain loves to play this game every time I lay down. It’s called:Let’s think about Jensen and everything that makes me sad.
Yeah. I really hate it.
I reach for my phone—because yes, I’m that stupid. Rolling onto my side, I pull up the photo of Jensen and Matt. My thumb brushes across the screen, like touching him could somehow take the pain away.
God, he used to make everything better just by being there. The way he’d pull me in, his arms tight around me—it was like nothing could touch me. He made me feel safe. Always.
I squeeze my eyes shut as a cry slips out.
“Dammit,” I whisper.
I miss him. So damn much. And I hate it.
