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And by something, I mean a meltdown of epic proportions that resulted in Zaidee having to schedule repairs for the conference room.
Post my very physical response to the news that came from following Monica to her storage unit.
Seeing the reveal.
Watching carefully as everything was loaded.
While she smugly smirked.
Giggled.
Made plans to publicly harangue me as my best friend tried to swim through the deep end of the social hell I selfishly threw us into.
Except I’m not the only selfish one here.
My so-called father was selfish.
And a fucking cheater.
And liar.
And left me a house of cards to build an entire brand on.
Concern carves itself into her gaze in spite of my demeanor. “Would you like to tell me what?”
“No.”
“Fine.” Understanding struggles to slide into her expression. “Would you like to have dinner?”
“No.”
“Would you like to talk about our wedding?”
Our wedding?
Would I like to talk about love and commitment and what’s supposed to be the most significant and monumental moment of our relationship on the same day I discover it didn’t mean shit to the man I’ve spent my entire existence looking up to?
“No.”
“Would you like to tell me about your meeting from earlier?”
“No.”
“Would you like to spend time with me at all?”
“No.”
The bluntness stumbles her backward; however, rather than verbally retaliate, something I can usually count on, she surrenders.
Again.
Suspiciously.
“Okay.” Bryn tosses the tiny black bag she’s holding into my empty nearby chair. “There’s the Foes of DC wordsearch I had custom made to surprise you at the opening.” Her Batman crop top covered shoulders slightly bounce. “Hope you like it.”
Being unsure of what hurts more, the irony or the thoughtfulness, is what leads to me remaining silent.
Pressing my lips tightly together.
