“I’m an asshole, and I’m selfish,” he begins, an edge I don’t recognize in his voice. “You were constantly at work, giving that all your attention while I was home alone. You were never like that when we met each other and then started dating. You’re the one that’s changed.”
I rear my head back, startled.
Have I changed?
Of course, people change. I’m not the same person I was when I met him almost six years ago. A lot has changed since I started culinary school and then started working at one of the most well-known restaurants in the country.
I’m not the carefree, happy-go-lucky person I used to be. The thought of baking outside of work feels like a chore now. I’m too drained to even pick up a whisk. I can’t remember the last time I took a real vacation. My life’s been consumed by the kitchen.
I wish I could bake a triple chocolate chip cookie. Simple, but still delicious. Unfortunately, when you work at a high-end restaurant, people don’t come for that.
“Why didn’t you try to talk to me?” I ask in defeat.
“I saw what you were going through, what you were dealing with at work. I didn’t want to put my problems on top of that.”
“So, you go on a dating app? Instead of, I don’t know, going to a therapist?” I narrow my eyes at him so hard I want red beams to shoot out and obliterate him.
“I just needed to talk to someone.”
“Talk to your parents! Your friends!” I shout. “The dog that sits on the stoop of our building! Talking to someone doesn’t mean putting your dick in them. Unless your dick talks? Were you holding out on me?”
“Ellie, I’m sorry. I don’t know how many times you need me to say it to you to forgive me and come back upstairs.” He gestures toward our building with a wave of his hand.
I throw my hands up, fed up with the endless back-and-forth. This is going nowhere, and I need to leave before I say something I’ll regret–even if he deserves every bit of it.
“So, you’re really going to go home for the entire summer? Just up and leave and not even try to fix things with us?” Charlie pauses and stares at me. “Will you at least not call this off between us? Our relationship. Our friendship. Please. I love you so much, Ellie.”
I cross my arms and glare at him. The audacity of this man to tell me he loves me after he confessed last night that his talking dick was in someone else.
“As of right now, Charlie, we aren’t together. Okay? It’s time you figure your shit out, and I’ll figure out mine.”
I watch his throat bob while his eyes are stuck on me. I need space to figure out my next steps–If I can forgive him after this summer and start over. A whole summer away from this city, from my job, is exactly what I need to clear my head.
I open the car door and slip inside, not bothering to say goodbye or even glance at him. Because if I do, I’ll lose the courage I have right now to walk away.
three
ROWAN
“Rowan,”Addie scolds. “I can handle this. It’s literally my job.”
“I know you can handle it. I’m just trying to help.”
With my trusty clipboard in hand, I scribble down everything that needs to be fixed–shirts, tote bags, coasters, glassware.Somany things. If I don’t get a grip on this now, who knows how long it’ll take to fix it all?
I trust my sister, I do, but I can’t help it. My mind keeps telling me that if I don’t fix it, it’s on me. It’s my fault, even if I wasn’t the one who screwed it up in the first place.
“You’re not helping,” she says. “You’re dictating. Relax and trust me. I know what I’m doing.”
Addie follows me around the table where all the merchandise is splayed out. She’s right, everything is wrong. The coasters that are supposed to be circular are square. The logo on the shirts that say, ‘Salty Dog’ should be ‘TheSalty Dog.’
“Addie, I love you, but if you really know what you’re doing, how the hell did all this happen?” I don’t look at her as I speak, just focusing on the merchandise and my clipboard.
“Obviously, there was some miscommunication,” she replies, shrugging. “Accidents happen. Things go wrong. It’s part of life. Not everything is going to be perfect.”
I stop what I’m doing and turn to my sister. She has the same dark chocolate hair and blue-gray eyes; it’s like staring into a mirror. Only my sister is five-foot-five. Her thick, wavy hair dances on top of her head in a messy bun as she speaks.
“If you keep acting like this, I’m going to tell Mom.” She points her finger at my chest.
