“Well,what, then?”
Andrew let out a frustrated sigh and hung his head. “I know it was probably a hard thing for you to work through.” His voice went quieter, and he paused for a long time, still looking at his feet as he walked. “I thought we could be open with each other. I was, with you. But you watched while I wasted my time tryingto figure everything out. You knew that there’s a lot more to this business for me than just making a living. I let you in; you didn’t do the same for me. We could’ve talked about it, abouthim.Isn’t that what people in a relationship do?”
I felt raw from being forced to defend myself about something so tender and I snapped back at him quickly. “We’renotin a relationship. Remember? We’re just having fun. Big difference.”
The sound that ripped out of him could’ve been categorized as a laugh if there was any joy in it. “Right, of course. How could I have forgotten that? Because the high-and-mighty Chelsea Higgins would never get involved with someone like me for anything more than fucking.” Another mirthless laugh. “Maybe that’s why Zadie and I were so good together. My heart actually mattered to her.”
My jaw dropped open. He knew exactly how to wound me. “Ofcourseyou bring her up now. Perfect. Thanks for reminding me that I’ll always be in her shadow, Andrew. I mean, look at me. I’m not exactly your type. You’ve made that perfectly clear since the day I met you.”
The woods went quiet around us and the silence hung there while we breathed angry clouds at each other. My blood felt half-frozen and sluggish in my veins, like if I were to try to walk away I might fall to my knees in the snow and not be able to get up.
“It’s no wonder my dad likes you.”
The way he said it made it clear that it wasn’t a compliment, so I braced myself for what was coming next.
“Neither one of you has ever believed in me.”
chapter thirty-eight
You need this, lean up,” my mom said as she shoved a pillow behind my back.
I knew there was no use arguing with her because sympathy bedding distribution was nonnegotiable. She was on a mission to comfort me, so she insisted on too many pillows tucked under my arms, back, and neck, and topped it off with layers of blankets over my legs.
It was three days before Christmas and my newfound holiday spirit had shriveled up and died after I’d walked away from Andrew in the field. My mom had forced me to come over for soup and sympathy, which was why I was the one curled up on the couch and my hugely pregnant sister was placing a serving tray of food on my lap. For the first time ever Taylor looked fully pregnant. Not a cute girl with an adorable bump, but an uncomfortable woman with swollen feet and a belly big enough to give her wind drag.
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry,” I said. Edith put her paws up on the couch next to me and gave me her sweetest begging look while Birdie watched from her spot by the fireplace.
Taylor settled in a chair across from me, lit by the Christmas tree. “A few bites. I made it myself.”
I looked down at the bowl of tomato soup and frowned.
“Oh, come on.” She threatened to throw a pillow at me. “It’s really good. I’ve been learning lots of tricks from Mom.”
Edith glanced over her shoulder and realized that Taylor’s lap was available. She’d been especially attentive to Taylor and I assumed it was because my sister’s belly probably felt like a giant hot water bottle. Taylor let out a groan of exertion as she leaned down to pick up the puppy, who quickly settled in next to her.
A text notification sounded off from my phone.
“Him again?” Taylor asked.
My heart lurched reflexively as I leaned over and grabbed my phone off the coffee table. “Yeah.”
“What does it say?”
“Same thing, I don’t even have to read past the first line. He wants to talk. Probably says he’s sorry.” I shrugged even though I still had to fight off hope when he reached out. This was the fourth time.
I felt weary and fluish, but the thing that had me laid out was missing Andrew. Part of me wanted to call him back and let him talk, but then I’d remember the things he’d said in the field and the ache would morph and tinge with anger, paralyzing me. All of the old hurts that we’d buried so that we could have fun were always right there below the surface, like land mines ready to detonate. I’d cried about what we’d had and lost until my eyes were almost swollen shut. But deep down I think I knew that somehow I’d end up here.
“Why don’t you put him out of his misery, Chels? You can’t keep ghosting him.”
My mom walked in the room carrying a few more wrapped presents and slid them under the tree. “What’s ‘ghosting’?”
“It’s when you act like an asshole to someone you used to care about,” Taylor said.
“Taylor,” my mom scolded. “Language.”
I managed a smile. My dad always had the worst potty mouth and Taylor was the one who’d inherited it. My mom sat in the other chair across from where I was reclining and I knew it was time for their special kind of familial beatdown.
“Why won’t you at least talk to him?” she asked.
