“Isla.” I throw another pillow at her.
“Please, everyone wants to sleep with him. If you don’t, I would question your sanity.”
This is so typical Isla. My best friend treats sex like it’s a particularly fun cardio workout: enjoyable, necessary, but just another bodily function. Her fuck-buddy relationship with her co-host is almost a textbook example. Meanwhile, I’m over here catching feelings from a single glance. She’s like Teflon while I’m basically emotional Velcro. Everything sticks. And stays.
“Look,” she suddenly says a bit softer. “I just want to say, if you feel good with him, enjoy it. You deserve it. You lived in hell for years. Just don’t limit your luck, okay?”
I take another sip, grateful for the pause it gives me to sort my thoughts.
The truth is, I’m still trying to figure out why I let him comfort me. It feels like I’m watching myself shift into someone different right in front of my eyes.
But itdidfeel good. Letting him make the tea, go get the pizza, even insist on paying for both of us… none of it should have felt as easy as it did.
Matthew never did things like that.
He always waited for me to pay, and I did—more often than I should’ve. Somewhere along the way, he gaslit me into thinking that I had to constantly prove my worth, like love was something I had to earn on repeat. And I forgot that it’s supposed to go both ways. That it’s meant to be shared, not performed.
I’m about to tell her that I will care more about myself now when she abruptly grabs my left hand, nearly spilling my wine.
“Wait—are we still wearing that ring from that amusement park? The plastic one Livy gave you?”
I look down at my hand, at the ring glinting on my finger. I’d almost forgotten it was there. Almost.
“I guess I am,” I say, trying to sound casual. “I never got around to taking it off.”
Isla snorts. “Please. You ‘never got around’ to taking off a plastic toy ring?”
“It was a gift,” I say defensively, twisting it around my finger. “Livy won it at one of those games where you throw balls into clown mouths. She insisted I wear it.”
The memory rises unbidden—Livy’s face lighting up as she handed me the prize, so proud of herself for winning something. It was the first time I’d seen her smile, really smile, since I took the case.
“You know it looks like a wedding ring, right?” Isla says, interrupting my thoughts. “From a distance, I mean.”
I hold my hand up, examining the cheap plastic. It does have a certain shine to it, especially under the soft lighting of my apartment.
“I don’t care what it looks like,” I say. “It was a present from Livy.”
“And that’s the only reason you’re still wearing it? It has nothing to do with playing pretend family with Hot Hockey Dad and his adorable moppet?”
I choke on my wine. “I’ll take it off… I just want her to see that I like her gifts. That’s all there is to it.”
“Uh-huh. You know that could fool the paparazzi…”
“I don’t care—” I start, but the words stick in my throat because I know she’s right. I should have taken it off… but I like it.
“I just don’t want to take it off, okay?” I finally say. “It meant something to Livy and me. That’s all.”
Isla studies me for a long moment. “Okay, fine. Keep the plastic wedding ring from your client’s kid. I’m sure it means nothing beyond a sweet memento. But you’re gone, girl. So gone.”
She reaches for another box. “So, speaking of hockey... when do the playoffs start again? And more importantly, when are you going to invite your best friend to a hot hockey party?”
Colton’s textcomes in just as Isla is stacking the last of Matthew’s things into the hallway. For a moment, I thought she might spit on it, but instead, she simply wiped her hands and turned to me with a grin. We did it. Hallelujah.
Colton
Hey… I have to bring Livy to our meeting on Monday. I’m sorry, but my mom is in the hospital.
For a second, I just stare at it. Shit. Shit. Shit.
