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He runs a hand over his hair. "Not UCLA. Maybe someday, but I have a family to take care of now. As for basketball, well, I had no intention of playing professionally. I really just liked playing with you."
More tears threaten to fall. "I feel the same way."
"I don't regret where my life has ended up," he looks over my head, focusing on something in the distance. "I would do it all over again for my daughter. But I want you to know," his eyes flick down to mine, "that I will always regret hurting you."
"Thank you for saying that," I punch him playfully in the arm. "Now, give me a hug and get back to your life."
We hug one last time. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, inhale his boyish, Matt smell. One final time.
Because he'll forever be Matt Thompson.
My best friend.
"Have a good life," I joke as he walks over to his jeep.
"You too, Jen."
We stare at each other for a long moment before I square my shoulders, give him a wave and walk down the block to my truck.
To the life I'm creating for myself.
—
I flip through magazines as I sit in the waiting room, trying to decide what I should do. Each turn of the page leaves me more confused than the last.
Life decisions.
I've made so many of them over the past three weeks. I don't know who I am anymore. I just know I'm ready for a change.
"Jenny?" a short-haired woman calls my name.
I stand up and wipe my sweaty hands on my jeans. I follow her over to a black chair, take a seat as she drapes a black cape over my body, ties it around my neck. Her foot furiously pumps the silver bar beneath me, raising the chair a few inches.
"What are we thinking?" she chews on her lip as she rakes her hands through my long, blond hair.
"Cut it all off. To my shoulders. And brown. Make it dark brown."
Back to my roots. To the girl I used to be. The girl I want to be.
The girl I was before Kyle Thompson broke my heart.
Shattered my soul.
Left me behind.
With the first cut, my blond hair soars through the air, lands on the linoleum beneath me. Then another. And another. Everything feels lighter, quieter, calm.
I feel it. Something stirring in my chest.
Out of the ashes of my broken heart, something new, better, stronger is emerging.
I take a deep breath, place my hand over my heart. Maybe it's the broken pieces of our lives that give us the strength to start over. To start fresh. To start anew. To begin again. To reinvent ourselves.
To grow.
As I stare at my reflection in the mirror, I decide that I'm worthy of all the things I've ever dreamed of.
I get to decide what my life looks like.
