Laughter bubbles out of my throat. “Pretty sure actual stalkers don’t buy their victims tea.”
She grins over the cup as we continue our walk home. “Hmm, maybe you’re just easing me into it. Lulling me into a false sense of security.”
“Right,” I say, deadpan. “Step one: know her caffeine habits. Step two: attend her Pilates classes to walk her home to the apartment we share.”
That earns me a laugh that tickles something just right in my brain. She looks down at the cup, twisting it lightly in her hand. “Step three,” she says slowly, still looking at the cup, “make it weirdly hard for me to remember the last time someone did something nice without wanting something in return.”
My steps falter at her words, but I can tell her walls are shooting up after that because her eyes are everywhere but on mine. She waves her hand in front of her face. “Forget I said that, I’m just… tired, I guess, after class.”
“We don’t have to forget it. If you need to talk, I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”
She huffs a quiet laugh, but it’s not dismissive this time. “It’s just… do you really want to listen?”
“I’ve got time,” I say, holding her eye contact.
She takes it all in, and something resolute crosses her face as she nods. “I don’t want to go full download on you, but I’ve been stuck in this mess where someone made a lot of promises and turned out to be nothing like who they said they were. I don’t even have feelings for the person anymore, but when you’re in that mindset, it kind of rewires your brain. Makes you second-guess when someone’s just… being decent, and I hate second-guessing myself.”
I glance at her, but she’s still looking ahead, the tea cradled in both hands, her hair curling damply at her temples from the efforts of her Pilates class.
“I’m trying not to be that person who assumes everyone is going to hurt me, but it’s a hard habit to break when I have so much guilt over the situation.”
My mind catches on that last bit. “What do you mean?”
“It’s complicated…” she says and takes a deep inhale. “I kind of accidentally dated a guy who was married, only, I had no idea.”
Secondhand guilt for her twists my gut. “Ah, shit.”
“Yeah, that about sums it up. I was the other woman, the home wrecker, and the one who,” she pauses, inhaling sharply, “hurt a family.”
Her voice trembles on the last word, and it takes every ounce of control I have not to reach for her. She looks ahead instead of at me, jaw tight, eyes somewhere far away.
I want to tell her she doesn’t have to keep looking backward, that she deserves more than the version of herself that man left behind. That she’s coming back to who she thinks she lost without even realizing it.
“Liv, you don’t owe him anything. Not then. Not now. Not ever.”
“You really believe that?”
“I do,” I say. “If he lied, that’s on him. You were honest about what you knew. That doesn’t make you the villain.”
Her shoulders drop a little. “I wish it felt that simple.”
We walk in silence for a while. The streetlights flick on, stretching the shadows along the pavement. She keeps her hands wrapped around the cup, her voice quiet when she speaks again. “You don’t think less of me, do you?”
I shake my head. “No. You got blindsided. You trusted someone who didn’t deserve it. That’s not on you.”
A small smile tugs at her mouth. “You’re making it hard to keep up my ‘men are trash’ streak.”
I huff a laugh. “I’ll take the hit.”
Her mouth twists, but she sips her drink. “Sometimes my life felt like I was grabbing a pack of Twinkies. You think you know exactly what you’re getting, and then you open it, and it’s Pop-Tarts. And not even a flavor you like. Suddenly you’re stuck with something you didn’t ask for, and you feel stupid for beingexcited in the first place.” The laugh she lets out is brittle. “Is that a stupid analogy?”
There’s a tightness in her jaw that makes me want to say something, or fix this, except I know this isn’t mine to fix. I can listen, though.
“That sounds like hell, I hate Pop-Tarts.” I go for ease instead, but my own jaw flexes at the thought that someone is making her feel this way.
Her mouth curves, but it’s not a smile. “Yeah, me too.”
Pieces of the puzzle are starting to come together, and it’s lodged something uneasy in my chest. Liv doesn’t deserve to uproot her whole life, only to still be haunted by the asshole who treated her like this.
