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He doesn’t say it, but I know exactly what he’s thinking.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
I told Hayden about Chari yesterday at a lunch meeting. He wasn’t able to say much then, but I’m bracing myself for the second degree now that we’re alone.
“Clearly, you’re not.”
I’ve never seen that expression on your face before.
“Why did you look so confused when I came in?” Hayden presses.
I relay the conversation with G, minus her parting statement. He looks properly taken aback.
“Well, that’s interesting.”
“I’m relieved, to be honest. It was starting to get uncomfortable.”
“At least you managed to get out of it without screwing up Wednesday nights . . .”
“I would never screw up Wednesdays.”
And it’s true, for the same reason Hayden never cancels.
Because in our own messed-up way, we’re not just business partners or friends, we’re family.
“But you did screw up with Chari,” he says.
The fact that I knew it was coming doesn’t make it any easier.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Hayden looks like he might try anyway, but when the waitress comes with our salads, he lets up. We talk about basketball instead. At least, Hayden talks. I listen. Feeling like shit but knowing there’s no help for it.
This is my life, and what’s worse, I chose it.
38
Chari
“I’m going to kill him.”
“And you wonder why I had Mom tell you instead of talking it out,” I say with a sigh. It’s why I considered staying home tonight. But as much fun as the prospect of sulking on my couch while my mom got dressed for a date sounded, I decided to put on my big-girl pants and meet my brother and his friends instead. Plus, Devon has been less available lately, so I’ll take this chance to hang with him.
Lisa is also on a date. Because the universe is basically making sure I’m one hundred percent aware I am now single.
Five days.
It’s been exactly five days since I last talked to Enzo. When my phone buzzed with a new text in the middle of the day on Thursday, every ounce of resolve I had mustered up on Sunday was erased. But my hopes of a reunion were quickly dashed.
Enzo asked if I was OK. I said yes. His response:Good.
And literally, that was it.
So I’ve been attempting to interpret his text. A worthy activity, kind of. If you are as pathetic as me.
The amount of time I’ve spent obsessing over Enzo, and crying while obsessing over Enzo, over the past five days is just embarrassing. It’s not like we were dating for very long. And I was perfectly content—if not thrilled—with my life pre-Enzo. But still . . .
“You knew I’d find out eventually,” Devon says as I jump in his car and immediately turn up the heat. We’re picking up his friend Mike, the bartender at The Wheelhouse, and heading to Mill Creek, a neighboring town with even fewer people than Bridgewater. They do have a brewery though, and apparently that’s worth the twenty-minute drive. Never mind that Bridgewater Brewery is just as good or that Devon won’t be able to sample beers since he’s driving home. It’s Angel’s Brew for him, but I’m swearing off the stuff. Forever.
