I never would’ve let go of him if he didn’t cut me loose first. Flynn knew as much.
I knew it, with a crisp, torturous certainty as I left the apartment and headed downstairs. As I stepped out into the morning light, shoving on my sunglasses as the tears started to flow.
* * *
Once the tears started flowing, they didn’t stop.
I spent the rest of the morning at a table in the back of a café, hiding out behind a fake plant, on and off the phone with my mom, my sister and my three best girlfriends while I sipped latte after latte. Until I couldn’t dam the flood any longer and locked myself in the washroom to let it all pour out.
Then I ordered up a panini for lunch on the café’s app. I was starting to feel sick from all the lattes, and realized I never actually ate breakfast this morning.
Because Flynn broke up with you.
I went up to the counter before the panini was ready and paced, collecting pitying looks from the staff. I suddenly noticed how much the place had cleared out since I first set up camp. I stuffed some money in the tip jar and checked my phone, and was embarrassed to discover that it was almost noon.
I texted one of my besties, Shayla.
Me:I’m getting pity from the staff. Do I look that sad?
I took a selfie, doing my best to smile, and sent it to her.
Shayla:Beautiful. I’d swipe right.
I laughed under my breath.
Shayla:You will get through this, babe.
Shayla:And for the record… I can’t believe he did this to you after everything you’ve been through together. I hate him.
Me:Don’t hate him. Please. He’s one of the good ones.
My fingers shook as I sent the text. I stared at my own words, struggling not to burst out crying again as the screen swam; I really had to stop doing that. My eyes would swell closed. At this rate, I’d be in terrible shape for the meeting with my boss this afternoon.
When my lunch was ready, I forced myself to eat while I skimmed entertainment news and didn’t read an actual word of it. When I was finished, I locked myself into the washroom again, this time to try to fix my makeup.
There is no need to cry. Crying won’t change anything.
It’s the middle of the day.
You are a professional and you have an important business meeting.
This was what I told myself as I shuddered with the effort to hold back the wracking pain and sadness that threatened to split me open whenever I looked into my own eyes.
Then I headed out to meet my boss, to discuss my new role at her company.
Don’t worry, I tried to soothe myself,you got through the worst of it.
Because this day could only get better from here. Right?
* * *
“Unfortunately, we just don’t have a role for you at this company.”
I sat across from Danielle Duke, legendary publicist, so-called “queenmaker” of the local entertainment scene and my absolute professional role model, and tried not to let my chin wobble. I’d been crying so much today, it was a definite possibility that I might melt down into waterworks right here in her polished, glass-walled office.
Danielle saw it. “Oh, darling.” She got to her feet, strode to the bar and poured something. She thrust a cut crystal tumbler at me. “Have a scotch.”
I took the heavy glass, my fingers shaking. I felt like I was falling through the floor. Nothing fit together right anymore. My feet on the ground, my ability to breathe in my own body, the walls holding up the ceiling.
