The jar of blend I made for him glints on the counter and I grab it. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with it, but it feels wrong to leave it for other guests.
Curled into a ball on my bed, I let myself wallow for exactly three days.
One for the way he left.
One for how hard I fell for him.
One for a future we can never have.
The small dark oak cabinet with leaded glass doors mocks me from the center of the tarp. I’ve been debating letting it be, but I won’t sweep things under the rug anymore.
“Isn’t this supposed to be your happy place?” Quinn says, approaching with a pitcher of iced tea and two glasses. She’s worried and I understand why. I probably look a bit insane scrubbing the old wood on the verge of tears.
“Carter’s uncle wanted me to have it.” A week after he left, I broke down and confided in Quinn. I was so tired of holding my sadness inside and I took a chance on our friendship. It was like pulling teeth during our first girls’ night in, cuddled on my couch, drowsy from the food she made me try. She was patient, letting me spill the entire story before asking if I wanted to send him a pie with laxative filling.
“Wouldn’t you feel better if we made a nice toasty campfire out of it?” She places the drink in the grass and plops in a fishing chair out of the sun.
“No! This beautiful woodwork has done nothing wrong. After I sand and oil it, it will be perfect for the living room.”
“Why? If it makes you think about him?”
“I’m tired of pretending I can easily forget him.” It’s confusing to grieve something that never was. “It’s part of the process, you know. Of moving on. He helped me question some of the things that were holding me back. For that, I’ll be forever grateful. And let’s not forget the best sex of my life.” I grin at Quinn when she coughs into her glass.
“Whoa. Did not expect that. I adore this oversharing version of you.” She taps her chest after regaining her voice. “Then we’ll only hate him a little.”
I love this woman. She came to the rescue forcing me to move forward and be more open.
What Carter said about being afraid to lose the ones close to me if I’m raw and honest stuck with me. I should trust these people to truly care for me. And have faith in them and our bond. This brings me to Martha’s garden after work and I tell her everything.
Martha’s eyes widen for a second at my voluntary word-vomit.
“Emotionally, I’m in a worse place after the whole Carter complication than three months ago when I saw Jared cheat on live TV.”
The first weeks of July had gone by in a blur. I caught my breath every so often, sketching under the shade of the white pine in my yard. My heart only cracked half the times I opened the box Carter gave me.
“Finding love is not a complication.”
“Love?!” I splutter. Falling for him was as inevitable as the Nor’easters. But love?
A couple of days ago I was added to a group chat.Besties reunited.What a joke. The lack of any apology should have tipped me off. At least I had the common sense to meet them at another coffee shop. Quinn doesn’t deserve a run-in with the police. Although I’d love to see another face-off with the hot Sheriff. There has to be a story there.
“When did you start wearing makeup?” Jenna tilts her head, her eyebrows furrowed. “You didn’t care for your appearance much before.”
I thought I looked cute when I left this morning, but I’m starting to feel self-conscious under their scrutiny. “It’s not much.”
“Is this your revenge glow-up?” Amy guffaws. “Better late than never, right?”
“I just wanted to try something new,” I say, sinking in the chair another inch.
“Give the girl a break,” Jenna says, smiling sweetly. “For somebody so plain she must have some secret talents if she got her hunky tenant to bang her.”
Shame creeps up my chest and neck and I’m thrown back into the uncomfortable nights out when they would all gang up on me.
Amy slaps her palm on the table, eyes wide. “Maybe it’s services included in the rental agreement,” she barely manages to get out between bursts of laughter.
They both laugh so hard, wiping tears from under their eyes, and I just stare into space, wondering why I am still sitting here with them.
“We miss your cooking at Sunday barbecues,” Amy tells me when they manage to calm down.
