I nod, unsure what to say. I’m torn—part of me wants to comfort her, but the deeper part, the part with thirty years of history, wants to lecture her.
Because what the hell did she think would happen? I called bullshit on that relationship two years ago. She was settling.
And then she practically ghosted me.
“I’m sorry,” I say finally, my voice rough. “What do you need?”
She shrugs. “I know I don’t deserve your friendship after everything, but I could really use a friend right now.”
Jordan hates vulnerability. She hates feeling out of control. She’s always been one to just grit her teeth and bear it.
So for her to admit this? To ask? It’s huge.
“You’ve hardly talked to me for two years. Fuck, you acted like I didn’t even exist. And now suddenly you want to be friends again?”
“It’s not like that, Matt, and you know it.” She crosses her arms, rubbing them like it’s chilly outside. “You don’t know what it’s like to be tied to you. I was engaged. Richard has a lot of good qualities, but not being jealous isn’t one of them.” She pauses. “Like someone else I know.”
I scoff. “Jealous isn’t even in my vocabulary. There’s a difference between jealousy and protecting the people you care about. Mine is always the latter.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not how it comes off. You’re possessive as hell.”
I huff out a laugh. “Christ, Jordan. You know exactly where to swing, don’t you?”
She just shrugs.
Shefuckingshrugs.
She hits below the belt, shrugs like it’s nothing, and somehow I’m the one left bleeding. It’s always been that way.
“You know what? As much as I love rehashing the past, why don’t we skip the bullshit.” I lean in slightly. “If you wanted me to make you forget about him, you should’ve just said so. I’m free tonight. Say the word, and I guarantee you won’t be thinking about Richard, let alone the fact that you left him standing at the altar.”
She stills. Was it too much?
Maybe.
I can feel her glare behind those sunglasses, laser sharp and furious.
Good. Be pissed. I’ve been pissed for two fucking years.
Pissed she pushed me away.
Pissed she acted like she barely knew me anytime we crossed paths.
Pissed she didn’t even invite me to her goddamn wedding.
“Don’t be an asshole. That’s not why I texted you. I need a friend. Someone who actually gets me and the pressure my family puts me under.”
I point to myself. “Me don’t be the asshole? I’m not the one who treats our friendship like a fucking yo-yo.”
She sniffs hard, and God, I feel like such a dick. But I can’t just let her waltz back in, deflecting and throwing her pain my way—at me. Like what happened is somehow my fault.
I lower my voice. “You acted like you didn’t even know me, Jordan. That night at the charity a few months back. The ironic thing is, I know you better than anyone. Better than your mom. Better than your yiayiá. Better than fucking Richard.” A soft chuckle escapes me. “I don’t doubt I know you better than you know yourself sometimes.”
Tears stream down her cheeks now, and she wipes them with the back of her hand the best she can with her sunglasses still on.
“I know,” she whispers, voice cracking. “And I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve that, and it was wrong of me. I was confused and… it was awkward with Richard there.” She hesitates, then asks quietly, “Why did you come if you’re so mad at me?”
Because I miss you.
