I hate the disappointment bubbling in my stomach when they disappear for good, and he doesn’t send another text. There are all the reasons in the world I shouldn’t want to get back to that confusing sexual tension and dangerous banter.
If I could bash some sense into him with the frying pan without risking jail time I would.
Unfortunately, there’s nothing to do in Silver Spring Falls after 8pm. Sometimes he’s still in the living room, reading or working on his laptop, a crystal-clear sign to leave him alone. I make myself busy in the kitchen, as silently as possible, so that he doesn’t snap at me again.
In my haste to put everything back, I manage to smack my head against an open cabinet door. “Oof!”
“Are you alright?” The edge of concern would usually be my cue to scramble and comfort.
“Happier than a clam at high tide.” I do my best to act normal, rubbing the side of my head.
“What?” Carter crinkles his nose and it’s so cute I have to leave the room in a rush.
Quinn’s mustard armchair is a fluffy cloud, and I sink in and relax for the first time this week in her little sunroom filled with the most mismatched plants I’ve ever seen. Unfortunately for them, some look half-dead. She says they’re being dramatic.
“Did you block him yet?” Quinn hands me a glass of fresh juice.
She’s been asking the same question since they posted the engagement photo.
“I want to know,” I mumble.
“Nothing good will come of it. You’re only hurting yourself,” she says with the conviction of someone who learned it through personal experience. “Do you miss him?”
“Oh, God, no. I just—” It’s hard admitting the truth. “I wonder what I got wrong, you know? I thought it was going to be us, flaunting our happiness.”
“What a pile of steaming bullshit.” Quinn’s got that look of determination that scares me a little.
The words I was too scared to say out loud come out pained, “Then tell me! Tell me why you’d build a life with someone for eight years but decide to marry and have a child with another woman the next day.” All my shortcomings churn in my chest, almost choking me. “I wasn’t good enough. I’ll never be.”
“No!”
I jump out of my skin when Quinn slams her palm on the coffee table between us.
“You listen and accept when the people in your life tell you that.” Quinn bends to take my hand and I feel that all my broken parts are exposed. My first instinct is to run. But she keeps me rooted with her gentle grasp. “But what they’re saying is a reflection of their faults. Not yours.”
“You’re too nice. I—”
“Unfortunately, you are. When it comes to others. You could start being nicer to yourself. See who you are through your own eyes.”
Tears cloud my vision. “What do you mean?”
“OK.” She perks up. “Tell me three things you’re proud of.”
“Um. I managed to finish college,” I say, unsure, but she nods approvingly. “I’m fixing a house. I…don’t know.”
“You’re smart. You’re strong. You’re creative. Say it.”
I laugh at how silly she is, tears gathering on my eyelashes.
Quinn lunges for my face. “Say. It.” She squishes my cheeks, leaning so close, the tip of her nose almost touching mine.
“OK. OK, you psycho,” I gurgle through tears and the vise-like grip still pinning me in place. “I’m smart. I’m strong. I’m creative.”
“That’s my girl.” Quinn beams and releases me from her impressive hold for a girl her size. “Say it three times whenever you doubt yourself.”
I rub my cheeks in circles to restore the blood flow. “Your pep talks are a bit aggressive. Do you exercise with a hand gripper by any chance?”
“You can file a complaint with my Nana. Be prepared for a lot worse,” she giggles but turns serious. “Speaking of which. Your phone.”
