It’s only after I’m nestled in my bed, curled up under the covers in the darkness of the shaded room, that the dam breaks, the fissures in my heart crack open, and all of the hurt that’s been festering inside of me pours out.
I wake up from my nap a few hours later, the room dark and my eyes stinging and crusty in the corners from all the tears that dried on my face. Mom still hasn’t come in to wake me up, but I can hear the clanging of pots and pans as she prepares dinner downstairs, and my hungry stomach growls in response. Doing the mental math, I realize I haven’t eaten since dinner the night before. But before I head downstairs for something to eat, I pick up my phone, expecting at least some sort of message from Tyler.
But the screen is blank. Not one text from anyone in the whole world. Not even any stupid social media notifications. It makes the yawning emptiness in my chest feel even deeper, and the sting of tears in my throat is harsh and sudden. It’s not unlike how I felt in that airport security line just a few short days ago when I was starting my trip.
I tap out a quick text—Made it home okay.
His answer is immediate.Glad to hear it.
That’s it. No asking how the flight was, no jokes, not even any damn emojis. Maybe he’s feeling as empty inside as I am right now, the physical distance between us like the roaring ocean, cold and fierce.
Or,my brain unhelpfully reminds me,maybe he’s thinking about what he said to Lucas last night, about how he isn’t sure he can stay friends with you with feelings like that. So maybe he’s trying to make a clean break.The notion shouldn’t scare me, since I eventually did the same thing to him a year and a half ago when it was clear that he didn’t want to be friends, but karma is a swift bitch and I feel like someone took a razorblade to my chest and left my heart at airport security before I boarded the plane. Too overwhelmed to deal with the possibility of that right now, I throw off the covers and pad downstairs, where Mom has a pot of sauce simmering on the stove and pasta boiling, ready for dinner.
She turns at the sound of my footsteps, her face brightening. “Did you sleep well, pea?”
I shrug and drop into one of the kitchen chairs, eyes skimming over her cluttered collection of mugs and making a mental note to give her the one I got her later. Which of course has me thinking about the outdoor market on the North Shore again, sharing those sodas, and my day of exploration with Tyler. The crack in my heart fissures. “I slept fine, I guess. Jet lag.”
It feels like I felt all that time ago, where it seemed like every single thing I did or saw reminded me of time I spent with the boy I loved so much. Mom is always talking about soulmates this and soulmates that, but what about when two soulmates’ lifestyles don’t line up? How are things supposed to work then?
Mom, thankfully, reads my sulkiness in a totally different way, abandoning her post at the stove to drop into the chair across from me. She reaches over and grabs one of my hands in hers, squeezing it gently. “Still upset about Jack?”
Hearing his name is like a jolt back to reality, a reminder of something I’m supposed to be upset about this whole time. Because I feel stupid for flying all that way even when I had a bad feeling in my gut, wanting to deny the inevitable. Because I was stubborn and thought I could just will things into being okay by hopping on a surprise flight, will someone into loving me.
Damn. I guess Ishouldbe upset about that.What does it sayabout me and what type of person does it make me that Jack—and everything he did—had totally slipped my mind up until this very second? Still, I lean into it, not wanting to tell Mom the truth.Hey, Mom, I accidentally fell back in love with my ex-boyfriend who isn’t a good match for me, and I’m feeling pretty heartbroken right now.
“Yeah. It’s a lot to process. I…I think I can definitely say I wasn’t expecting the trip to turn out like that.” And it’s the truth, even if it isn’t in the way Mom believes. I thought I’d find Jack buried in textbooks, stressed out beyond belief, but relieved to see me and ready to spend a week decompressing and catching up together. I certainly didn’t expect to find him twirling socks with a girl from his class. Still, ever the empath, my mother’s eyes well up with tears and she leans across the table to squeeze me in a tight hug of sympathy.
“Oh, pea,” she murmurs gently, stroking my hair, and I’d be lying if I said her touch wasn’t comforting. “Heartbreaks happen. It’s part of life. But you’ll find your person eventually.”
“I know I will, Mom.”What if I already have, and I just can’t have him?
She leans back and looks at me, running her thumbs under my eyes. I guess Ihavebeen crying without even realizing it. “What does Tyler think about all of this?”
Hearing his name makes me look up, and I’m sure I seem startled enough to raise suspicion. “Why does Tyler’s opinion on any of this matter?”
She hums and stands up straight, heading back to the stove to stir the sauce. Even with her back to me, I hear the curiosity in her voice, clear as day. “No reason. You’ve just been spending time with him for the past few days, after not seeing him for awhile, and everything that happened with Jack. It’s bound to make anyone a little emotional—maybe even bond over that.” She turns to grab the salt, and I see the mischievous smirk on her face when her profile comes into view. Maybe she isn’t reading the situation as wrong as I’d hoped.
Still, the last thing I want to do is discuss my lack of a love life. So instead, I deflect. “He thinks Jack is an asshole. Anyone with a pulse would know that after what he did to me. But enough about me—tell me more about Connor.”
At the mention of my mother’s beau of the week, her face lights up. “He’s wonderful. I can’t wait for you to meet him. I think we’re going out again tomorrow, so when he picks me up, I’ll have him stop in to say hi. Seriously, pea—he’s nothing like Neil or any of the others. I don’t want to get too ahead of myself, but…” She hums excitedly while finishing dinner, not even needing to complete her sentence.
I do it for her, heart sinking. “You think he might be the one.”
She points her wooden spoon at me with a noise of confirmation and a wink. “I don’t want to jinx it, but…I feel different this time. I hope it works out.”
“I do too, Mom.” If only so I don’t have to take another period of her couch-mourning and brokenheartedness. She deserves to find happiness, and although Connor is not nearly the first man she swore was the one, I hope this one sticks—just like I did with all the others (minus Asher, because that guy sucked from the start). I guess only time will tell.
We eat dinner with less sadness and more of our usual chatter, me giving her the rundown of everything non-romance-related that happened in Hawai?i, from our adventures to seeing his family, the flight, and so on. Mom counters by filling me in oneverything I missed while I left, including her date with Connor last night. By the time we’re done eating, we’ve sufficiently caught up and I’m so stuffed with pasta that I pass up Mom’s suggestion of ice cream and a movie and instead waddle upstairs to digest in peace.
I flop onto my bed and pull out my phone, tapping the screen to bring it to life and swiping to my and Tyler’s text thread. His last message still sits there, cold and distant.Glad to hear it.
I miss you already,I type out, blood humming with the overwhelming emotions jackhammering in my chest.Maybe we can hang out when you get home?Just because Tyler and I aren’t going to end up in a relationship doesn’t mean we can’t pick up our friendship where we left off in Hawai?i, right?
Even thinking it in my head seems like a colossally bad idea, so I backspace the message and close out of our thread before I can make a bad decision. But the thought of reconciling has me thinking, so I pull up a new thread and send a possibly riskier text, crossing my fingers and hoping it all works out.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Delia’s looking at me from across the table at Le Petit Café with a guarded expression, the various piercings in her face glinting in the light. She tucks a strand of electric-blue hair—her latest color that she’s been testing out, apparently—behind her ear and leans back in her seat, crossing her arms. Before she even opens her mouth, I brace for impact—because if Delia Franklin is anything, it’s a straight shooter.
