Several minutes pass until I find the wherewithal to stand and dust off my jeans. There’s no use dwelling on what-might’ve-beens.
I bend to pick up the discarded garment bag with the gown I spent months searching for. It seems silly now. I got married in a feathered robe after one too many margaritas. And the man I married, in one night, made me feel more than Tyler did in three years.
What a joke.
I ball the fabric up in my arms and rush to the kitchen in search of a lighter. If Tyler wants to strike a match on our relationship, I might as well help him.
“Please tell me he didn’t take the fucking lighter, too,” I mutter as I rifle through the junk drawer. Several pens, an unopened toothbrush, and a bottle opener fall to the floor in the melee. My eyes catch on a row of photos taken in one of those mall kiosks many moons ago.
I barely recognize the woman staring back at me, but I still remember that day. Jess had just graduated from nursing school, and she wanted to celebrate in the most mundane way imaginable—a trip to the mall for sesame chicken from the food court.
I take the photo strip out of the drawer and secure it to the fridge with a heart-shaped magnet Emmy made with her stepmom, Olivia.
I never forgot Jess—not for one single day—but somewhere along the way I lost the vibrant woman beside her in the photos. I wish I could call her now. She’s the first person I’d want to tell about the Vegas fiasco. She’d squeal and kick her feet. She always wanted us to be sisters, if not by blood, then by marriage. She’d be thrilled to know she finally got her way, but she’s not here, and I can’t run to her for advice anymore.
Ireturn to the drawer and find a box of matches.
Close enough.
After gathering up the gown, I stride past Griffin through the sliding doors to the backyard, headed straight toward the fire pit. I’m vaguely aware of him following me outside, but I’m operating in a fugue state. I drop the garment bag into the pit and strike a match. It sparks but quickly dies. I toss it into the pit and try another. When that fizzles out, too, I let out a frustrated growl.
Griffin’s large palm cradles mine, and in a gentle voice, he says, “Let me.”
He takes the box of matches from me, and the first strike does the trick, becauseof courseit does. Griffin Hayes can do no wrong. He holds the lit match between us. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
I nod. “Let it burn.”
Griffin doesn’t hesitate. He simply drops the matchstick, takes one slow step back, and crosses his arms over his chest.
The fabric catches, and the flame spreads like wildfire.
I exhale a breath as I watch my future go up in flames.
It’s cathartic, in a way. I’m closing the book on this chapter of my life so I can move on to the next. The chapter where I embrace being the cool aunt who eloped in Vegas that one time. I’ll make more memories to add to my lore, and someday, when I’m old and fabulously grey, I’ll pass down photos from mall kiosks and a handful of journals filled with similar stories.
It’ll be fine.
I’llbe fine.
Griffin
I stay by Angelina’s side until all that’s left is a pile of ash.Even then, I can’t bring myself to walk away. Something feels off, and it’s impossible to shake.
“Anything else you want to burn while we’re at it?” I ask.
“There’s nothing left.”
Her voice is devoid of emotion, and I’m still waiting for her to break. Sure, she’s been a bit impulsive, but she hasn’t cried or screamed. She hasn’t even asked for an annulment yet, and I’m sure as shit not about to bring it up.
I toy with the engagement ring in my pocket, content to leave it right where it is until she realizes it’s missing. Tossing it off the balcony onto the Las Vegas strip had been tempting, but when her hand pressed against my spine and she leaned into me, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
“What does it say about me that I’m not more upset?” she asks. “Shouldn’t I be sobbing into a pint of ice cream while belting out a Celine Dion power ballad?”
I wrap my arm around her waist and draw her into me. When she doesn’t pull away, I mentally fist pump. “It tells me that you’re strong as hell. That you know your worth and refuse to settle for less than what you deserve.”
“I don’t know about that. Two days ago, I was more than ready to settle for a man who clearly didn’t want me. It’s not strength so much as resignation.”
“Two things can be true. You can know you deserve better and still resign yourself to the fact that your life just fundamentally changed overnight. You can still love him and hate the way he hurt you. It’s okay to feel conflicted.”
