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“I had no idea. She should have said something to me about this.” I think back on all the chatty messages I’ve traded with Jess on social media. She had so many chances to mention this, and she never did.
“Jack, listen, man—you’re not with her anymore. You’ve gotta quit acting like you are. I’m telling you, this is good. You’ll come around to that. Hey, you could meet someone new, go out on a couple of dates for a change.”
I shove my hands in my pockets.
I know he’s trying to be encouraging, nice, and supportive, but the idea of meeting someone new is not where my head is at.
I am glad I’m hearing this from him instead of finding out through social media, but it still hurts.
I should have gotten over Jessica long ago, but I didn’t.
I’ve been waiting for the universe to make things right. I put a lot into that relationship with her, and I really believed it would all come back to me, to tip the scales back into balance. I know relationships are never perfect, but I was willing to put in whatever work it took.
This can’t be happening.
Corinne waves for us to catch up.
Brett pats my shoulder one last time. “Honestly, she was never good for you. You’ll find the right one, I promise.”
We join Corinne and the girls and head for the Yellow Coral bungalow. My chest aches with a sadness I probably should have dealt with the day Jessica packed up and moved out.
I didn’t cry when I broke both my legs.
It was during a live motocross event. I had about twenty cameras in my face when the paramedics untangled me from my dirt bike and carried me off the track. There’s still footage floating around out there of me flashing a peace sign and managing a smile.
It’s sort of crazy that stupid gossip about my ex can wreck me worse than broken bones.
I don't think I'd manage a smile if I had a camera in my face right now.
Chapter 3
Hazel
Sunblock. Check.
Floppy black sun hat. Check.
Newly purchased paperback book. Check.
The only thing my poolside lounge session is missing is a friend.
I’ve bugged Alexis enough today, but I can’t help it. I have to text her and let her know that, yes, the fruity cocktail drinks do come with tiny umbrellas.
I attach a photo to prove my point and then scroll through my social media accounts as I await her response.
Now that I’m thirty, so many of my friends are posting baby pictures or smiling-hubby shots. Or—the worst for my sometimes too-fragile ego—the dreaded whole family photos: Mom, dad, two-point-five kids, white picket fence… goofy dog included, rolling in the grass in the foreground.
I don’t have any of that.
A deep-seated loneliness threatens to pull me under after a few minutes of scrolling. So, I decide to fight back: I snap a photo of my legs, knees propped up slightly, maroon-painted toes visible in front of the sparkling blue pool water.
I make sure to get the fruity cocktail in the shot.
After cropping it and editing it to make the colors pop, I craft a line of text. It’s a little vague, a little mysterious: ‘Day one in paradise.’ The sun emoji makes the whole thing look extra cheerful. Extra happy.
That’s not how I feel, but maybe if I pretend to feel that way, it’ll somehow translate over.
Out of habit, I go back to scrolling. In the back of my mind, I’m just waiting to see who will like my post first.
