“I need wine and cheese,” I whisper, wiping away the tears soaking my face.
“That I can do,” Chelsi replies, standing and pulling me up alongside her. “Let’s get drunk and eat our weight in charcuterie.”
A small laugh bubbles out of me. My hand instinctively covers my mouth, unsure what might come out next, given the extreme range of emotions I’ve experienced in the last twenty-four hours.
Chelsi heads to the kitchen to put together our adult version of Lunchables while I splash cold water on my face in thebathroom, choosing to ignore my puffy eyes and cheeks. I glance at my phone to see a flurry of missed calls and texts from Jake. Apparently, he freaked out when he brought over dinner and I wasn’t there. It didn’t help that I turned off my notifications on the drive up. I fire off a quick text, letting him know I’m in Chicago, and that I’ll be back in the morning. Three dots flicker on and off as he likely types a message and deletes it before hitting send. This happens for a couple of minutes before he finally sends a thumbs-up emoji reaction.
“Wine time,” Chelsi calls out from the living room.
I collapse onto the couch, draping a blanket over my legs and taking the extremely large measure of wine from Chelsi. “Bottoms up,” I say, clinking my glass to hers.
We spend the next hour rehashing everything that happened with Brian in the last month, including tonight’s conversation. Although I’ve told Chelsi about almost all of it before, I have a new appreciation for how bad things had gotten by the time we’re done talking. The lack of respect for my feelings. The failure to prioritize my needs. The recurring flower apology.
“I never want to see another fucking red carnation again,” I say, taking a swig from my third glass of the night.
Chelsi grimaces. “Umm…have you forgotten about the shit ton of red carnations in your living room? The tune of twelve dozen?”
“Fuck my life,” I groan, dragging a hand down my face.
“Unlock your phone and give it to me,” Chelsi demands, gesturing at me to hurry up.
I’m past the point of asking questions, so I do as she says.
Chelsi furiously types away, a sly smile growing across her face. “Done. No more red carnations.”
“How did you—” My brow scrunches as my brain attempts to figure out what she could’ve possibly done. The comboof emotional devastation, wine, and a late night makes it impossible for my brain to come up with a logical answer.
Chelsi hands me back my phone. “Jake’s taking care of it. I also told him to move your engagement presents to his house. I don’t think you’d want to see those, either.”
I gulp and nod as tears brim in my eyes once again.
“No. No more crying over that asshole,” Chelsi demands, shaking her head. “He’s not worth your tears.”
“I’m done crying over Brian, at least for now. I’m grateful for you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I lean forward, wrapping my arms around her neck, my wine glass still in hand. “All I need is you. You and Jake. My two best friends.”
twenty-nine
The driveback to Southmount was a blur, my brain focused on cataloging everyone I needed to contact about ending my engagement to Brian. Thank God I hadn’t sent out the stupid save-the-date cards yet, or the list would be substantially longer. At least most of the vendor notifications can be dealt with by email, leaving only my mom and Jake to tell in person. Pretty obvious which one I’m dreading. She’s not going to react well to this news.
At home, I fling myself onto my mom’s living room couch like a temperamental toddler as soon as I walk in the door. The room is devoid of engagement party gifts and all the fucking red carnations. Seeing them again would’ve been a slap in the face—another harsh reminder about how little my ex-fiancé knew me.
When the door swings open, I don’t move a muscle, keeping my head buried in the cushion. Hiding my face and feelings from Jake for a few minutes longer, even though I know I’ll have to face the music and share why I unexpectedly went to Chicago. It shouldn’t be a shock to him after my breakdown yesterday or the texts Chelsi sent about the gifts and flowers. He may not knowthe details, but he must have an inkling that things with Brian have come to a head.
“Hey,” Jake says softly, lifting my legs so he can sit on the couch. “How are you doing?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I groan into the couch.
“You need to. You’ll feel better once you tell me what happened.”
“Fine,” I mumble, turning around and sitting up against the couch arm with my legs sprawled across his lap. “You’re going to regret asking for details once I turn into a blubbering mess.”
“Try me,” he says confidently. “I’m here for you, Kate. Whatever you need.” He’s already stocked the coffee table with glasses of water, a box of tissues, and chocolate bars; he knows what type of night he’s getting himself into.
I exhale slowly, building up the courage to tell him what happened. Sharing the mounting concerns about my relationship with Brian, which increased after the accident. The red flags I ignored over the past five years because I was desperate to be loved, blinding myself to his flaws until it was too late.
Jake sits in complete silence as the words and tears flow out of me. The only indication of how he’s taking the news is the clenching of his jaw, which is so tight he could crack a tooth. When I finally share that I ended my engagement, he lets out a slow, deep breath, tension fading from his face immediately.
“I’m sorry you’re hurting, Kate.” Jake leans over, wiping the tears off my cheeks. “The last thing I want is to see you cry, but I’m glad you’ve ended things with Brian. He didn’t appreciate what an amazing person you are. How lucky he was to have you in his life. It’s his loss, not yours.”
