I rarely went out before the accident, and Hunter and I dated for years. Maybe that’s why I lack the skills to be okay with casual, but still, deep down, I could have sworn there was something between us.
Or maybe that’s the hopeless romantic in me.
Ugh.
Either way, I don’t like the lingering unease it’s left me with.
The worst part is that I know there’s only one thing in the world to relax and reset me more than any walk in the park ever could. The one thing that could make me feel at peace, except it’s the one thing I’m petrified of doing.
Dancing.
I’m cleared to dance, maybe not at the high level I used to, but it’s been approved. Yet I haven’t stepped back into a studio since the day of my accident, and it makes me sick to my stomach, even thinking of taking the steps toward doing that.
Dancing was my life, my whole personality, and going back to the place that no longer feels like home cuts deep, and it’s just another reminder of everything that’s gone wrong.
Life’s been a tumbleweed of bad events for both my mom and me, and I’d give everything to slow down and give us a break.
Dad dying, my car accident, breaking up with Hunter—although that one doesn’t seem that significant anymore—Mom’s arthritis taking a turn for the worse, now most likely either closing or moving the bakery location after twenty years.
So, when I think of all that, Harrison is not entirely at fault. I’ve been using that night as an excuse for my spiraling feelings because, let’s face it, I wanted to let loose, and I would do it all again if I had the chance.
It was only a minor incident that finally sent me off the ledge, and I was hoping today would be the day I climbed back up and found my footing.
Except I’m realizing today is not that day, so instead of playing the martyr, I’ll reschedule with Adriana for next week.
Hey girl! I’m so sorry to cancel at the last minute. I’m not feeling well. Can we reschedule?!
I’ll call you tomorrow xo.
She’s most likely on the subway, so I don’t wait for a response before throwing my phone in my purse and heading home.
There’s only one thing better than getting cozy in your childhood home, on the couch that’s formed exactly how you like it, and that’s changing out of a dress into oversized sweats.
So it’s precisely what I do when I walk in the door—I find my fleece pants and my dad’s old sweatshirt before sorting through the basket until I see my favorite wool blanket my parents brought me back from Ireland a few years ago.
I wrap myself like a burrito, then plop on the couch and flip through terrible television and just like that, it’s instantly therapeutic.
All I’m missing is some mint chocolate chip ice cream, and I’d be set.
I contemplate betweenGilmore GirlsorGrey’s Anatomy, and since I promised Becks we could do aGilmore Girlsmarathon, I pick the latter, knowing McDreamy can make me forget all my worries.
And you know what? Fuck it, I’m going to order some ice cream too.
It’s one of the perks of living in New York. Within fifteen minutes, I will have my favorite mint chip ice cream from downtown to uptown, hand-delivered for five extra dollars.
And not any ice cream. Mouth-watering homemade ice cream with large dark chocolate chunks made with fresh mint from the owner’s garden. No fake flavoring, and it’s the best thing in ice cream history.
After one-and-a-half bowls, I somehow got five episodes into season one, where Derek and Meredith just got caught having sex in his car, and it does the opposite of what I wanted. Visions of Harrison and our reckless yet equally exhilarating night together flood my mind, and although I feel foolish for how it ended, the way I felt with him makes me smile for the first time all week.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, so I lean over and see its Becks. “Hey,” I answer and pause the show, then put it on speaker so I can cozy back under the covers.
“Are you avoiding me?”
Leave it to her to cut right to the chase, but she’s not wrong. I have been.
Not once in our friendship have I ever lied or hid my feelings from Becks. She’s always been my lending ear with no judgment. So, I’m unsure why I’ve been throwing myself into work instead of talking to her. I’ve felt out of my element lately, and after my out-of-character humiliating performance at the masquerade party, I’ve been avoiding her like the plague.
I’d rather not go into detail, so I tell her, “I’ve been busy.” Then she falls quiet. “Becks?”
