For a while, it worked. Thank god for old TV shows with a zillion episodes every season. After the season finale, though, I started getting restless.
That’s when the bottle of whiskey reminded me it was in the kitchen.
It would be so easy to block out the memory of being dumped with some liquid painkiller. All I’d have to do is open the cap. I wouldn’t even have to get a glass.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I’d ignore it, but it might be one of the guys asking to come over. I don’t feel like company right now.
The name on the screen isn’t the one I expect. It’s Emily, calling instead of texting. It probably makes me pathetic, but it’d be really nice to hear her voice right now. I probably won’t even have to explain the whole situation with Pippa. By now, Dad’s already given her the whole story.
I put her on speakerphone. “Hey, Emily.”
“Oh. Ryan!” She sounds surprised, like I’m the one that called her. “Hold on, let me put down my spoon. I’m making chili for tonight, and my hands are full.”
“Is now a bad time?” I tease her.
“No. It’s the perfect time. I’ve been trying to get you, so I—shit!” I hear a small crashing sound. “Well, I dropped the cutting board. Good thing I got extra tomatoes at the store.”
“I can call you back?—”
“No,” she says firmly. “I’ve been calling you for days, I’m not hanging up now that you’ve finally picked up the phone. How are you, sweetie?”
I run my nail against the whiskey bottle label. “Been better. I’m guessing Dad told you about our conversation.”
Emily sighs. “He did. I’m not calling to convince you two to make up, if you’re worried about that. I know it’s between the two of you.”
“Thanks.” I hesitate. “Why did you call, then?”
“Because I needed to hear your voice. I’ve been worried about you, Ryan.”
“Why?” The word comes out sounding more bitter than I mean it to.
“I won’t beat around the bush. I read the articles, and your father tells me there’s some truth to them. Is that right?”
“Depends on what you read.” The sun has dipped lower, and my eyes strain to make out anything further than a few feet away.
“I read that you hurt and manipulated Pippa. I want you to know, I never believed that part.”
“Maybe you should have. Pippa probably wouldn’t have much nice stuff to say about me right now.”
“I know you, Ryan,” Emily says. “I’ve known you for years. I don’t believe you would purposefully do anything to hurt Pippa. I also believe that she’s smart enough that you couldn’t manipulate her into anything she didn’t want to do.”
Warmth trickles into my chest, which felt as cold and barren as Antarctica a minute ago. “I’m glad you think that, at least.”
“I will always think the best of you,” she declares. “I’ve watched you grow up into a charming, intelligent, capable young man, one worthy of trust and respect. I may not understand what drew you and Pippa together, but I promise that I’ll try to be curious and understanding instead of judgmental.”
Fuck. Someone must have snuck into my apartment and started cutting onions, because my eyes just started watering.
“We’re not together,” I mutter.
“But you were before.”
I run a hand through my hair. “Yeah. We were, for a little bit. It wasn’t—I didn’t—” I hesitate, deciding how much of my hand to show. “It was the real thing. At least, it was for me.”
“Oh.” She pauses. “I see. You…oh, sweetie, I’m sorry. I wish it could have worked out in a way that made you both happy.”
I crumble. As much as I try to hold it back, tears stream down my face. It’s a messy, snotty, humiliating cry, the kind Ican’t remember having since I was a kid. The whole time Emily murmurs, “I know, darling. It’s hard. I’m here.”
Eventually, the crying eases up into pathetic-sounding sniffs. Misery starts to shift into embarrassment that I had a whole sobfest in front of another grown adult. “Don’t worry, Emily,” I croak, as lightly as I can. “I swear I’m doing okay with it.”
