“I’m sure you’ve been told this already, but you know the accident wasn’t your fault, right? You did nothing wrong. You two broke up, and you didn’t drink and drive his car off a cliff.”
I shrugged while still staring at my fingernails. “I know. Hearing this or reminding myself of where to place blame, doesn’t help.”
“Do the doctors think he has a chance of coming out of the coma?”
“No one has a good answer, but his parents aren’t ready to give up.”
“What about your family? Do they know where you are? I notice you don’t have a phone or anything.”
“Yes, and no, but I didn’t say goodbye, and I left my phone behind. If I was going to do this, I needed to do it without chains attached.”
I don’t know if what I said was too much to digest all at once or if he needed more time to collect his thoughts, but the following hours were filled with static-filled music and the view of an endless dark highway.
I fell asleep for a bit, but when lights brighter than the sun shone through the windows, I woke up to Vegas.
“Happy Birthday,” Tucker said when he noticed I was awake. “Let’s forget about the road and our pasts and enjoy a couple of hours of clean, wholesome fun.”
It sounded like the best idea in the world, but I was the type who didn’t always learn a hard lesson the first time around.
The week has gone by slowly. I had lunch with Mom twice, listened to her chat about town gossip while doing my best to appear interested so she wouldn’t ask me questions like “What’s wrong?” Nothing should be wrong. I should be focusing on work, edits, and moving along in my typical daily routine. But Brody got into my head. I assumed I wouldn’t hear from him after my confession, but part of me thought he might be different, which ultimately led to a letdown. I regret starting my flirtatious game with him the night of the bake sale, then answering his calls, and allowing him to cook my cheating chicken parm. Worst, I regret letting him into my bed, then enjoying a night out with him and his daughter, who apparently hates everyone but kind of likes me a little. I didn’t think my heart and brain were capable of feeling a slight bit of happiness. My refusal of allowing myself to have feelings for him was taken over by the thought of wanting what I can’t have. Damn him for doing it to me. I knew better.
I stare at the mirror in my bathroom and shake off my unsettling feelings before lining my eyes with a layer of mascara. A client meeting means business, and I have to look alert and a little less depressed. Although, it’s just another wedding, which I’m over at the moment. Watching happy couples doesn’t spark joy.
After applying a coat of lip gloss, I press my fingers to the sides of my eyes, stretching my skin toward my ears, wishing I could erase ten years. Although, stretching my skin highlights my prominent cheekbones, allowing me to see why I’m being questioned about my health by everyone. I turn around and step on the scale that’s collecting dust, then wait for the truth. Twenty pounds down over the course of six months. I was hardly at an average weight before Dad passed. I guess it’s time to check-in with the doc. Maybe he’ll tell me I’m dying too. It’s probably in our genes, anyway.
With a few minutes to spare before I have to leave, I place the call to my primary care, telling them my concerns. What was hardly a concern to me an hour ago has been moved up to a code red as the receptionist booked me an emergency appointment for this afternoon.
Back to trying to look upbeat … for a happy couple.
I slip my coat on and grab my bag, holding my car key between my teeth as I open the front door. My key falls from my clenched jaw when I find Brody sitting against the wall with two coffees again. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting,” he says.
“What if I didn’t have anywhere to be today?”
“I planned to knock at nine-thirty.” Brody stands up, careful not to tip either coffee. “Got a minute?”
As if I didn’t know what time it was, I check my watch. “Nope, I have a meeting.”
Brody hands me a coffee. “Okay, well, I got you a coffee.”
I shuffle my bag higher on my shoulder so I can take the cup from his hand. “You didn’t have to.”
“Yeah.”
I close my door behind me and take the lead down the stairs. “What time is your meeting over?”
“Don’t you need to be at work?”
“Yes,” he responds.
“I don’t know. Probably eleven.”
“Where’s your meeting?”
“Betsy’s.”
“Can I meet you there for an early lunch?” Brody sounds pitiful, and I don’t give into sad eyes easily, but if I were to, it’s the reason I refuse to look at him.
