Last night, I was really worked up. I spent hours venting to Kirsten and Viv while they tried to console me. Chad, bless him, had gone home to pick up Skyler and get him to bed. I sensed the women were biting their tongues, unwilling to defend Braxton while I was still so angry.
I could tell they thought there’d be time to talk sense into me later. If that’s what they were thinking, they don’t know me as well as they think they do. Things are over, and I’m surprisingly numb.
I shower, get ready for work, and snatch the emerald evening gown I planned to wear tonight from its hook on my bathroom door. The rental bag is draped protectively over the top, preserving the fabric that glitters and shines beneath. I may as well return it on my way to work. There will be no fancy Valentine’s date.
Once I near the Boardwalk strip, I park in an alley across from Hand-Crafted Home Goods and walk the rest of the way. No need for anyone to know where I am today. As it is, my phone will remain powered off.
Jane and Matt are running the front well enough that I decide it’s time to peel that wallpaper off the closet walls in my office. It’s been driving me crazy since I bought theplace.
“Please tell anyone who asks for me—no matter who it is—that you haven’t seen me today,” I instruct the shift crew.
I make it through most of the day without dwelling on what happened. And each time Idohappen to think of it, I assure myself that I’m doing the right thing by letting the relationship fizzle out.
I leave work early because there’s a frozen salmon fillet and a decent-sized screen calling my name. For the first time since I bought her, I wish Sunny was a little less bright. I don’t want anyone to spot me. I want to be invisible for the next few days. Maybe I won’t go into the Coffee Loft at all tomorrow.
I tap the garage door opener, pull carefully inside, then turn off my engine and push the button once more. Maybe I’ll just stay here forever.
It's not until I’m exiting my car that I notice I forgot to drop off the dress.
Agitation sparks hot at the sight of it. All sparkles and silk and beauty. Other women get to go on Valentine’s dates. Other women get to get married and force a bunch of ladies to dress in gowns they picked out. But not me.
I snatch the gown off the garment hook in my car, march decidedly toward my trash bin, and plop the thing right on top. Sure, it has a covered lid that separates the dress from the trash in the bin, but it’s a satisfying gesture all the same.
Take that, dress I’ll never wear anywhere special.
I creak open my door as that one word—never—echoes through my mind.
Sorrow crashes into me like a tsunami, pummeling me from every angle and making me weak. I barely make it to the loungechair as tears well in my eyes. I plunk into the corner and reach for the tissues because the tears are falling down my cheeks already.
Soon, I am bawling. Sobbing. Releasing all the heartache that comes as I imagine letting Braxton slip out of my life.
I picture the way his face looked after he told me he loved me. The anticipation in his gorgeous, brown eyes. Eyes that show his emotions more than anyone I’ve known. Or maybe it’s just that I know him so well. I can sense, by the slightest furrow or quirk, exactly what mood has struck him. He’s easy for me to read that way, which is comforting.
Other things I like about Braxton pour in. He's thoughtful and generous. Just seeing everything he’s built for his parents…that really affected me. He’s gifted, too. I love walking into the caboose and hearing my patrons ooh and ah. It’s not only a work of art; in a way, it’s a part of him—his creation, and it’ll be there as long as I own the loft. The acknowledgment makes me smile and then cry some more.
More admirable traits flood in. He’s witty, silly, smart, and successful. He’s proud of me. He was so proud as he introduced me to nearly every person at the anniversary party.
And he loves me. He said it right out. In fact, he wanted to make things official.
Something about that acknowledgment pricks my mind.That’s why you’re doing this,it says.You’re scared.
Well, so what if I am? That doesn’t change the fact that Braxton is the cruel jerk who humiliated me in my lowest hour, making me crawl back into my shell for another three years. Besides, that’s not even what I’m most upset about. I’m upsetbecause his reaction was just as immature and terrible as his behavior that day. He had the nerve to call it hilarious when it was anythingbut.
And even if Icouldget past that, I’m way too embarrassed over the fit I threw. I’m embarrassed that I continually fly off the handle at things like comments about Jeb Nobly’s work and some silly story about me getting my rear end slapped. I’m humiliated that Braxton knows thatI’mthe ridiculous Bride of Frankenstein he and all his buddies laughed at that day, and I never want to see him again.
I shouldn’t be surprised when Kirsten shows up at the house, but I kind of am. I hoped she’d just get the message that I didn’t want to be bothered today. I need time to be alone and cry and feel sorry for myself.
But she doesn’t talk. Instead, she simply grabs my remote, puts on a Taylor Swift music mix, and scootches into the lounge chair beside me.
I rest my head on her shoulder while she runs soft fingers through my hair. Kirsten has always been somewhere between a sister and a mother figure to me. She wasn’t like other sisters who told you everything you wanted to hear, like your high school bestie. She’s always spoken more from a place of wisdom.
Two songs go by before she speaks up.
“Want to talk about it?”
I sniff. “No.”
But then, I do start talking about it. I tell her everything that’s in my heart. The upset, the anger, the humiliation, and the sorrow I feel over losing something so special.
