In the bedroom, I rummage through her drawer, fingers brushing over fabric until they land on a baby blue cashmere sweatsuit. I swear I can almost feel heaven in its softness.
I shed the dress, sliding into the sweatsuit with a sigh that could almost pass for relief. The fabric drapes over me like a cloud, its comfort stealing the edge off the tightness in my chest. Bree knows what she’s doing with clothes. I make a mental note to find out where she got this because I need a set of my own.
I glance at my reflection in the mirror and force a weak smile, but it hardly softens the emptiness staring back at me. Could be worse, I guess.
The sudden sound of a cork popping echoes up the stairwell, dragging me back downstairs.
“You know me oh so well,” I say, stepping back into the kitchen and spotting the bottle of white wine and long-stemmed glasses waiting on the island. “The only thing that could make this day better is if that was a bottle of whiskey.”
Bree scrunches her nose. “You know I can’t stomach that stuff, but we can at least agree the events of the day warrant at least one bottle of wine, if not five.”
I take a long sip after she pours us some and settle into the white-upholstered couch. Just as I start to relax, Nugget’s high-pitched whining cuts through the quiet at the back door. Bree doesn’t miss a beat, swinging the door open just enough for himto dart through, his body a blur of excitement as he bolts into the fenced yard.
I let out a sigh as I tug the checkered linen blanket over my lap. “What do I do now?”
The question is rhetorical, but I get a response anyway.
“You keep going, just like you always have,” she says. “This sucks. There’s no other way to say it. And I’m so sorry this is happening. Of all the people in the world, you are the least deserving of this.”
Tears sting at the corners of my eyes again, but I’m so tired of crying. “You know, I saw this coming. I changed so much about myself to make sure it was going to work. He didn’t even ask me to, but I was convinced it was the only way we’d make it.”
“I know,” she replies softly. “I didn’t know how to bring it up. I just…wanted to be there to support you however you needed it.”
I glance out the living room windows, a smile tugging at my lips as I watch Nugget prance around the backyard, completely carefree. He’s chasing a butterfly, snapping at the wind, totally lost in his own little world.
“Yeah, well, next time you see me spiraling over a guy and his snobby family, smack me.” I say it with a half laugh, but I mean it. Someone really should’ve whacked some sense into me years ago.
She snorts. “Noted. But seriously, I’m here for you. Anything you need, just let me know.”
I take a sip of wine, letting the warmth of it spread through me. “I need to get my car from work at some point. I left it there when I walked to the park. And I need to drive by my old place to check things out before I move back in.”
After graduating college, I bought the cutest little craftsman bungalow on a quiet street lined with sycamore trees.It was perfect for me. I lived there for a few years before moving in with James after we got engaged. My place was “too small” for his liking, his being “more suitable”for a future family.
Ugh.
He wanted me to sell it. I talked him into renting it out, playing the money card because it was the only thing that ever worked with him. Not that I ever followed through. I kept it, slipping in to check on it every now and then, always careful not to let him catch wind. He never noticed. Didn’t care enough to.
“You want to do all that tomorrow?” Bree asks. “I’m not working, so I can come with you.”
It’s rare for her to get a Saturday off. As a nurse, her weekends are usually spent at the hospital, running on caffeine and too little sleep. When she gets a free day, she’s all about squeezing every bit of life out of it.
“Yeah,” I reply. “That would be good.”
We sit in comfortable silence, the kind that only happens with someone who knows you inside and out. It’s one of those moments where you almost forget everything’s falling apart.Almost.
Just as I close my eyes and start to exhale away the stress of the day, Bree’s voice slices through the fragile peace. “I’m going to ask one last time… Are you okay?”
I blink, opening my eyes to meet her gaze, but she doesn’t stop there.
“Because, honestly, I expected uncontrollable tears or something.”
I snort. If anyone knows the routine of my breakdowns, it’s her. They usually involve crying, disappearing for a bit, and then dragging myself back up out of the hole I fell in. But this time?
“What’s the point?” I finally say. “It doesn’t change anything. I’m just so furious I wasted years of my life on him.”
If we were talking about the stages of grief, I’d say I skipped straight past the denial and anger and dove headfirst into hopelessness. It’s hard to deny what you’ve seen unfold in front of you like a bad soap opera, with every lie and betrayal laid out so perfectly it could’ve been scripted by a team of writers trying to make it as painful as possible.
Bree tilts her head slightly, her gaze drifting to the side as her brows knit together, a faint furrow appearing between them as she thinks. “I wouldn’t call it wasted. Love is never wasted, Jules. It’s just…sometimes we give it to the wrong person.”
