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At the mention of Avery and the baby, all talks of Goldie cease. Either they realize I need a break, or Ash is just ready to talk about something else, but seeing the smile that lights up his face, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit envious.
30
CORA
Iknow I’m not being very sociable today, but I just can’t bring myself to feel happy. I tried last night with Emma, I did, but she pushed one too many times and eventually I broke down and cried. I’ve cried every day this week.
She knows.
She knows me.
She knows how hard this rejection is hitting.
I opened up to Briggs and let him in, and it hurts so much more than I’m willing to admit to myself to know that I’m not enough once again. There’s a reason people like me choose to be hyper independent. For many years, I didn’t know this was me. I stumbled across a Women’s Health magazine article discussing the topic and instantly recognized that I’m a classic cut-and-dry case.
Hyper independent people don’t ask for help. They don’t share personal information about themselves. They don’t trust people. They have limited close relationships. They also avoid any situation where they have to depend on others. I am all of these things. Some might say this isn’t true because I have the girls, but it wasn’t all rainbows and sunshine in the beginning. Even still, I feel the need to write the bulk of our music. They understand me, and they love me for who I am, so it works. But it was hard at first.
I am hard.
Maybe he found me hard to deal with too.
I thought I was getting better, at least with him, but maybe I’m not.
Looking around at Avery’s beautiful baby shower, my heart is full with how many people are here today at Emma’s to celebrate her. We spent hours last night decorating Clay and Emma’s house and pulling everything together. They don’t know the baby’s gender, so there’s been no reveal, and today, we’ve gone with neutrals and yellows. Avery hasn’t had it the easiest, but she deserves all the love in the world. There’s me, Emma, Juliet, Rosie, and her sister-in-law Molly, Blair, Amelia, Jane, Mona, Avery’s mother, Clay’s mother, and Mrs. Wheeler.
Mrs. Wheeler insisted on making the cupcakes today, and Avery teared up at the sight. They look just like her favorite cupcakes from New York, only we like them better. Sorry Kelly’s Kupcakes, you’ve been outdone.
Emma’s house is also heavily decorated with sunflowers. They fit the theme of the party from the song, “My Little Sunshine,” and all they do is make me ache for the dead ones I have on my counter at home.
Yes, they’re still on my counter. From the moment I accepted them from Briggs, I knew I was ultimately going to dry them and take the seeds for next summer. It seemed sentimental at the time, almost like these particular flowers are the gift that keeps on giving, but now they’ve become a sad memory I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to separate from him. It’s too bad too, because I love sunflowers, and the fields here are so beautiful.
Friends.
Neighbors.
Disruption.
Past me would have fired back and given him a piece of my mind, but instead, the new me who’s secretly in love with him just had my heart squeezed so hard it ripped in half. I couldn’t form words in my head, much less speak them to him.
For my whole life, I’ve never felt like I fit in anywhere. I tried at home, I tried in school, I’ve tried with my friends, and I really tried here.
I thought just maybe I’d found someone else who felt like me. Who understood.
I guess I was wrong.
Maybe I just need to pack up and go home. Home to New York, that is. Being here, close to him, I don’t think I’ll be able to do it. I wouldn’t say I feel used by him, but I definitely feel embarrassed. I gave myself to him, letting him see me at my most vulnerable moments. I don’t want to be reminded of any of it every time I open my windows and hear his laughter float across the mountain. A laugh that feels very directed at me even if it’s not.
I’m standing by the window, looking out at the lake, when Juliet slides up next to me.
“You need to spill it,” she says quietly. She looks pretty today. She’s wearing a pale green dress, and there’s a light to her that’s not usually there.
My eyes grow large as I look at her, and then they narrow. “You need to spill it,” I whisper.
She pulls back. “What do you mean?”
“What I mean is people are talking about you being seen multiple times at the Italian restaurant. What gives?”
“Really?” she asks, shocked, but then her cheeks flush bright red. Busted.
