Holly
“Ithought this situation called for the Inspiration Collection and an obscene amount of ice cream,” Bryn says. I didn’t know she was coming over because after informing her, in broad strokes, of what happened, I left my phone in my room. The last thing I want to do is be transformed into a teenage girl, constantly checking it for messages from “Asshole: Do Not Answer.” (No, I never did get around to changing his name on my phone.)
Bryn is standing in our doorway holding a gallon of something that probably contains a heart-stopping amount of chocolate and peanut butter because she knows me. The Inspiration Collection is our curated list of our favorite romantic comedies, the ones that inspire us to do our job. We are constantly tweaking it, and because Bryn is nothing if not organized, we actually have a Google document compiling them.
There’s only one problem…
“I’m not in the mood,” I say. “Besides, it’s Tuesday night, and I know for a fact Rory’s parents are flying in tonight. You’re busy. You have couple things to do.”
It’s the first time I’ve ever felt jealous of the phrase “couple things”—I resent Cole for that more than anything else. I mean, really, whoamI right now?
Actually, that’s sort of a lie. I don’t resent him. For any of it. I’d feel a lot better if I could. Instead, I’m just deeply sad.Empty.
I hate the fact that he won’t be there on Thanksgiving, like he was supposed to be. I mean, he didn’t say he wouldn’t be, but his decision to “put things on pause” implies that he’s not going to be enjoying Thanksgiving dinner with me and my nearest and dearest. I hate being upset by that. For fuck’s sake, I’m not even the one who originally invited him.
Bryn looks conflicted. She knows I’m not okay, but she’s exactly the sort of person who likes being alone when she’s upset—except for the one time out of ten when she says she’d rather be alone but actually wants company.
“No, for God’s sake, do not leave,” Rowan says with a groan, getting up from where he’s been splayed on the couch. “I’m not cut out for this.”
I glower at him, but step aside to let Bryn into the house. It’s chilly outside, and sheispregnant with my future niece. Or nephew.
“Not cut out for what, exactly?” I ask, putting a hand on my hip for emphasis. “I told you nothing was wrong.”
“Yeah,” he says, “right after you got done telling me that asshole hurt you. Again. I have a half a mind to—”
“No,” I say, giving his stomach a poke. Damn, it’s like steel. I remember when he was a little boy, so addicted to pizza he ate a block of Romano cheese. “No to whatever you’re thinking. Obviously, I don’t want you beating him up. He may not care about me, but Idohave the misfortune of caring about him. And his daughter.”
“I refuse to believe he doesn’t care about you,” Bryn says, although I don’t know how she could have such a refined opinion on the matter. She’s never seen us together, except when we’re arguing.
She takes off her coat, looks around for a coat rack that doesn’t exist anymore since Rowan broke it when he and I got bored and decided to test its durability (it failed), and slings it over the back of a chair before bustling into the kitchen to put the ice cream away.
“Oh, leave it out,” I say. It turns out I’m not quite depressed enough to resist ice cream. “I mean. I could have said no if you’d brought cookie dough, but chocolate and peanut butter? You speak my love language.”
“Cookie dough’s my favorite,” Rowan says conversationally, proving that he really isn’t the best at cheering up broken-hearted people.
I pat him on the back. “I’ll get you some when a girl breaks your heart. Hell, I’ll even pony up for some whipped cream.”
He snorts in disbelief. “That’ll be the day.”
Bryn gives me this knowing look, and I’m tempted to ask when she got to be this great purveyor of love. Then again, I suppose it would be a ridiculous question—we ran Mayberry Matchmakers with our grandmother for years, and now we’re running a dating app. I suppose love is kind of our thing.
Ugh.
I take a couple of bowls from the cabinet and grab three spoons. “Take what you want, guys. I’m going to savage the rest.”
Rowan seems kind of impressed by this, and they help themselves while I turn my spoon around and around, studying the way the light reflects off it. It’s better than thinking about the empty cavern in my chest or the way it hurts a bit to breathe.
“I maintain that Cole does care about you,” Bryn says. “He’s just confused.”
It’s eerily like what Jane said to me, but if he was confused, it seems like he got flash-fried with clarity a couple of hours ago, because he suddenly wanted nothing to do with me.
Bryn hands me what remains of the ice cream gallon. I stick my spoon in it and make my way to the couch, followed by my siblings. Sitting down with an oomph, I say, “I don’t think he’s confused anymore. I basically told him I’ve had a thing for him since high school, and he still let me go.”
“Christ, you did?” Rowan asks, looking as alarmed as if he sat down on a cold plate of spaghetti. Yes, that actually happened. To be fair, I was working on Jane’s computer on our dining room table, so I set the plate he’d left out on a chair and forgot about it. Oops. “That’s a big thing to lay on a guy.”
I roll my eyes. “You seriously are the worst comforter. I take back what I said.” My gaze shifting to my sister, I say, “Bryn, you have to stay.”
“Good,” she says, “because I’m not going anywhere.”
