When we get home from the bar, I go straight to my room, not stopping Abby when she follows behind me and closes my door. I fling myself face down onto the bed and let out a muffled scream.
“There, there,” Abby soothes, taking my boots off and setting them neatly in the corner. “Let it out.”
And I do. I throw a bona fide hissy fit. I slam my fists into the bed, kicking my feet in unison, screaming into the down throw pillow the entire time. Once I’ve exhausted myself, I go limp, and Abby slides into the bed beside me.
“Feel better?”
“No,” I pout, voice still muffled by the pillow. I toss dramatically onto my side, looking up at her with my lower lip jutted out. “I certainly do not feel better.”
“Well, at least you tried,” she says, stroking my hair. “You wanna tell me what happened?”
“No,” I sigh heavily. “But I will anyway.”
She chuckles, fingers still running through my hair as she waits patiently for me to begin.
“You know how when you’re watching a romcom, and you just know two people are meant for each other, but there’s a character who makes the wrong choice over and over, and you think to yourself, ‘No one could possibly be that stupid in real life’?”
“Yes, we lament this frequently.”
“Well, apparently I am that character, and yes, I am that stupid in real life.” I heave myself up and sit against the headboard, grabbing Abby’s hand in mine. “My sweet ginger angel, please tell me what’s wrong with me.”
“You self-sabotage, my sweet,” she says, pinching my cheek. “And you’ve spent years telling yourself that he’s better off without you. Which is ridiculous.”
I frown at her. “Is this really the time to call me ridiculous?”
“You did, quite literally, ask me to tell you.”
“Fair enough, continue.”
“Anyway, as I was sayinggg,” she says, drawing out the last word with a flourish. “It’s ridiculous, because not once has anyone been a better person fornothaving you in their life.”
I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. I rack my brain trying to pinpoint exactly when the idea thatGriffin was better off without me took root. I try to think back through every fight we’ve ever had, and I can’t seem to find a time when I didn’t believe that. Instead of arguing, I give a play-by-play of what happened from the time I left our table to the time I returned.
“Hmm,” she hums, pursing her lips. “Do you wanna say it, or should I?”
“Counteroffer–what if neither of us says it?”
“I’m afraid that’s not an option,” she protests.
“Fine, go ahead.”
“You should probably apologize.”
With a groan, I bury my face back into the pillow while Abby rubs reassuring circles on my back. This is a tale as old as time–I self-sabotage, Griffin tries to cope with the consequences of my actions, and I get mad at him for it, flying off the handle even though he’s done nothing wrong. I wish I could somehow reach through a mirror and shake my reflection by the shoulders until I knock some sense into her.
“He’s not going to want to hear it, Abs.” Muffled and miserable, my voice is barely audible through the pillow. “Plus, he blocked my number, I wouldn’t know where to find him.”
“If only you were friends with someone who could talk to him. If only he lived, oh, I don’t know, across the street from your best friend’s house. Oh, wait…”
“This is not the time for sarcasm.”
“It’s always the time for sarcasm,” she argues. “It’s also the time to face the music, my love.”
“I don’t like music.”
“Shut the hell up.”
Pushing up onto my elbows, I glance over at her. She’s smug, and expectant, and determined, and worst of all–she’sright.
