“Yeah, perhaps when you see her, you can convince her to come out for some drinks,” Greg suggested.
Boy, was he dumb.
“Sounds like a blast, G.” His eyes lit up at the use of his self-proclaimed nickname. The one no one ever took to calling him. “Let me get a pack of Newports, and I’ll text you later about hanging out.”
He practically jumped behind the counter for the pack of cigarettes while Tony eyed me from the aisle he was in.
Slapping a twenty on the counter, I turn and make my way to the door, flashing Tony a wink before my feet meet the concrete.
I had a bus to catch.
The little bluehouse on the corner.
I stomped out my cigarette before pushing through the chain-link fence, my feet taking me towards the side entrance of the house. The streets were quiet, which worked perfectly in my favor.
Pulling the lock pick from my back pocket, I made quick work of jimmying the lock until I heard a faint click and the door pushed open.
Standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, I took in a deep breath. A smile worked its way onto my face as excitement coursed through my veins. Everything looked the same. My body worked on autopilot as I walked in the direction of Evelyn’s room. Stopping at the door, I turned around and looked at the opposite room down the hall.
Celeste’s room. I felt a gravitational pull to go in there, to touch her things, see if they still held her sweet citrus scent.
This was all her fault.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
I brought my fist down on my forehead as I fought the rage taking over me.
I needed to focus.
It was all her fault. The only way for absolution was to make her pay.
Evelyn had to pay.
Pushing through the door, I entered the room. Typical Evelyn, all her things were neatly stacked and put away. Not a speck of dust in sight or even a sock lying around on the floor. She was a fixer. Everything had a place and a harmony.
Framed photos of the two of them lined the bookshelf in the corner of the room. Evelyn and Celeste standing in front of the tree at Rockefeller Center, the two of them eating funnel cake at Rye Playland, Celeste’s smiling face at her beauty school graduation—all life moments that I was a part of but nowhere to be seen in these photos.
I thumbed through the pages of Evelyn’s copy ofLittle Womenwhen a photo fell out onto the floor. It’s a picture of Celeste and Evelyn holding onto each other, smiling. I took this photo of them the first night they moved in here. We stayed up late building furniture, drinking beers, doing more fooling around than anything.
The photo fanned the flames I worked so hard to bury. That last Sunday, we were all together—Celeste in her bootleg jeans, her hair down the way I loved it, already pouring wine before I could even get the words out. I told her the truth, and she looked at me like I was something to be pitied. She'd rather break my heart a hundred times than just let herself feel what was already there. Evelyn showed up, and I left. I always left. That was the mistake I kept making. Leaving, when I should have stayed until she heard me.
I lost control.
But she made me do it.
I wanted to talk, but she wouldn’t listen then…I lost it.
My finger coasted along the edges of Celeste’s smile. Crumbling up the photo, I stashed it in my pocket, a plan forming in my mind.
If it wasn’t for Evelyn, I could have left—moved on—found someone.
Someone else.
I cringed at the thought. Celeste was the only one for me.
Still.
