“I’m more confused than anything,” I snap.And frustrated, and angry…Nothing about this breakup makes sense. The not-knowing gnaws at me, an ache so deep I can’t remember ever feeling anything else.
When I look back at the fire, the sky behind it is darker than a moment ago. I cross my arms to suppress a shiver. My leggings offer zero warmth in this weather, and my socks are soaking up the lawn’s dampness through my Birkenstocks. My hair is a mess, blonde tresses falling loose from my bun and sticking to my tear-streaked face. I must look like as much of a wreck as I feel.
“Sounds like she was going through something,” Dean says. “People get into weird hobbies when they’re stressed. Remember soap carving during finals?”
I huff. “Whatever this was, it’s not as simple as taking up soap carving to get through exam stress. And why wouldn’t she confide in me if…” My throat gets painfully tight, so I shut my mouth and shake my head.
The fire pops, sending sparks into the darkening sky.
“Or,” Dean says gently, “we’re overthinking this.”
I pick up a box of Riley’s favorite chocolates that she left in my pantry: dark with lemon creme filling. The remainders rattle inside. “What’s the straightforward answer, then?”
“We’re only twenty. Maybe she wasn’t ready for something serious.”
I restrain myself from throwing the chocolates at him. “We were together for two years. Her toothbrush lived in my bathroom for long enough that it had to be replaced a couple times.”
“People change. Especially at our age.”
My eyes prickle all over again. We might be young in the grand scheme of things, but when I was with her, it didn’t feel that way. I felt like a woman in love, ready for commitment, and I never thought of our relationship as temporary and disposable.
But maybe Dean is right, and I’m looking for clues to something simple: she changed, and she just doesn’t love me anymore.
I hurl the chocolates into the fire, trying not to think of the time I fed one to Riley on the couch, and she’d sucked on my fingers with that playful look in her eyes.“These taste better when you feed them to me.”
God, I’m going to miss her. I already miss the sweet taste of her lips, the melody of her voice, her ability to make my whole day better with a smile… I’ll miss the way she wrapped her strong arms around me and made me feel safe. Not to mention how she made me feeldesired—waking me up by sliding her hand between my legs, pinning my wrists above my head when she climbed on top of me…
I shake away the memories and pull out the last item from the box—the thing I’ve been avoiding.
“I think you should keep that one,” Dean says softly.
I snort. “Why?”
“Because one day you’ll want to remember the good parts, even if it hurts now.”
I scowl at him. Is he right? Should I hold onto some proof that what we had mattered, even if it ended in a way that makes me want to throw the whole planet into this fire?
“Maybe,” I say, my voice hollow.
I stare down at it—the leather-bound journal of handwritten poems that Riley gave me for our one-year anniversary. My traitorous eyes sting.
All these poems she poured onto the pages for me, and one short text message ended it all:I can’t be with you anymore. I’m sorry.No explanation. No conversation. She blocked me and everything.
I clutch the book tighter, as if hoping I can squeeze it to dust in my fists. How can someone who meant so much to me, who changed my entire world, disappear so quickly? She came into my life when I needed love the most, swooping in to fill the hole my parents left behind. She made mefeel like there was nothing wrong with me and made this empty house less lonely.
The crumbling logs blur as the unwanted memory crashes over me: the night she went from best friend to girlfriend. It will live forever in my brain, a memory no bonfire can reduce to ash. The air shifted as we looked into each other’s eyes on my couch, both of us knowing what we wanted but afraid to say it. Next thing I knew, her athletic legs were straddling my lap, and her warm hands were pushing me back on the cushions. The cool air raised goosebumps on my freckled, sun-kissed skin as she untied my bikini top. She paused, gave me a chance to change my mind. But I was ready. I remember her breasts as she peeled off her shirt, the dips in her waist under my hands, and my heart pounding as, tentatively, I leaned forward to lick a trail along her throat.
Then she shimmied down, and suddenly her lips and tongue were between my legs, licking and sucking and making the most tantalizing sounds. In that moment, all our flirty, casual hangouts became something more. I gripped the couch with white knuckles, reduced to a barely coherent string of “oh my God” as her tongue drew circles and her hands pushed my thighs apart. She’d moaned loudly. Told me I tasted good. Said dirty things I’d never heard before except in movies.
Gazing into the fire, I can almost feel her tongue again, and her lips moving hungrily against me. Heat pools in my belly, and I hate that my body still responds to memories of her.
But nothing in my life had ever felt so amazing. From that day on, every moment we spent together was a dream.
Until…
Until she stopped smiling at me the same way two weeks ago. Until she began scowling every time she thought I wasn’t looking, flexing her fingers and clenching her fists like she was antsy, flinching when I touched her.Until she stopped coming over and became someone I didn’t recognize, who abruptly ended years of love with a text.
I shake my head and open the journal, flipping through pages covered in Riley’s handwriting. Over the last year, she added a new poem every few weeks, with the most recent one being a month ago.
