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“Cece, what happened to you last night?”
“I … I had to leave.”
“Is everything all right?”
Another deep breath. “Yeah, everything’s okay. I, uh, I just had to leave. Hey, I’m not going to be able to make it tonight. Will you make sure everything is taken care of, please?”
Nothing but silence from the other end. Staring at the dashboard of my car, I want to check and see if she hung up, and I don’t. I want to start crying again, and I don’t. I want to scream at the top of my lungs for the hurt and confusion still reverberating through my brain and heart. But I don’t.
“Cece, are you sure you’re okay?”
I gather up as much strength as I can and nod to myself. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just can’t be there tonight.”
“Okay,” she answers. Her word is laced with concern. “Don’t worry about tonight. I’ll take care of everything.”
“Thank you, Leslie. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“Okay. Bye, sweetie.”
Closing my eyes, I fight through the thoughts of turning my car back on and returning home. Instead, I get out and go inside. Stephanie smiles and waves me over to the table she’s at. As soon as I sit down, I can’t stop the silent tears from falling.
“Hey, girl,” she says, scrolling through her phone on the table. Then she pushes over a wrapped snack to me. “They just got in these chocolate cinnamon biscotti. They are de-lish.”
I don’t respond. Folding my hands together, I stare down at the crunchy, baked treat. As the tears slide down my cheeks, I feel embarrassed beyond measure that I’m now acting like this out in public, but I can’t help it. The emotions continue to overflow.
Stephanie glances up when I don’t answer. A wide-eyed frown comes over her. “Cece, what’s wrong?”
Somehow, I find the strength to start shaking my head, but the words still escape me. “I …” She reaches over the table, taking my hand in hers. “He …” I close my eyes and take a deep breath once more. Opening them, she waits patiently, and I finally get it out. “Maddox. We … broke up last night.”
“What? How come?”
My head shakes, and my mouth opens, but I don’t know how to answer her. “I …I have no idea. The night before, he said he was feeling sick, remember?” She nods. “I went to his room between his sets last night, and some girl was in there with him.”
“Ohmygod. Did you catch him—”
“No, but they were sitting on the couch. Being all close and talking. When I asked him what was going on, he said … He acted like it was all part of some deal we had. Like nothing between us was ever real.”
“What an ass,” she hisses.
Reaching for one of the napkins on the table, I quietly try to wipe away the tears. “I don’t get it, Steph. There’s no way he’s that good of an actor. I don’t understand why he’d do this. Why he’d pretend like it all meant nothing to him. It had to mean something to him, right?”
I know my question probably comes off more desperate than it should, but I can’t help it. I want to believe something’s behind this. That he was drunk even though I know he wasn’t. Logically and emotionally, I’m grasping for anything that could have caused what happened.
“It has to be,” she confirms.
I don’t know if she genuinely believes it, or she’s merely consoling her best friend. Maybe I shouldn’t want hope, and come to terms with the fact that this is the only Maddox the world has ever known. Why should I have ever expected anything different? But I did.
