“Fine, I’ll text Jack and see if he can get Griffin to meet with me. But don’t hold your breath.”
She nods, clearly satisfied that I’m at least going to attempt it, and I plop face-down back into my designated Wallowing Pillow.
“Have you guys ever actually had a closure conversation? Or apologized? Or has it just been the same old song and dance of–and you know it pains me to say it–you fucking things up, ignoring each other, then getting back together like nothing happened?”
“I tried once. During college. Somehow it went from, ‘Okay, here’s the closure we need’ to ‘Wow, makeup sex is next level.’”
When she doesn’t answer, I look up at her again. She’s staring off into space, fingers pensively drumming on her chin.
“Abby?”
“Sorry,” she says, looking at me with a wicked grin. “I was trying to think of a fight to pick with Aaron so we can have some of that makeup sex you mentioned.”
“Gross, dude,” I groan, using the spare pillow to smack her in the face. “Back to theactualconversation at hand, no I don’t think we’ve ever gotten real closure. Maybe that’s why we can’t let each other go.”
“Is it though?” She glares at me skeptically, one eyebrow cocked, arms crossed across her chest.
“What do you mean?”
“Is that why you can’t let each other go? Is it the closure, or is it maybeeeee…" She draws out the last word slowly in a lilting voice. “That you’re meant to be together and you keep getting in your own way.”
“Abby, I think if we were meant to be together, it would have worked out by now.”
“I would agree with you if I didn’t know you so well. I know you’re resigned to defeat, and that you think it’s going to end the way it always does. But think about how far you’ve come in the last five years, Ellie Bellie.” She lays a soft hand on my forearm and squeezes gently. “Yourecognized that you needed help, and you got it. You’re actually willing to apologize instead of doubling down. Y’all have been textbookright person, wrong time, but if it was ever going to beright person, RIGHT time, I think you’re in the headspace for it now.
“You’re forgetting that he has a girlfriend. Madison? Ring any bells?”
“Ellie, I saw how he looked at you while you danced. If they aren’t broken up by the end of the weekend, I’ll get your face tattooed on my ass.”
“I’d give a kidney to see that,” I chuckle. “But really, Abs, I don’t want to be that manipulative bitch that apologizes just so she can gain something. I want to apologize for the simple reason that I reallyamsorry.”
“Well, first of all, manipulative is never a word I would use to describe you,” she says with a sad smile, patting my arm. “But do you see what I mean? That’s growth, my love. You’re all grown up now, and I’m so proud of you.”
“I meant what I said, though,” pushing the rest of the way up until I sit cross-legged on the bed. “I don’t think there’s any future for us. He told me so when I turned him down five years ago. But I want to do this, to apologize, because he deserves it-and because I want to prove to myself that I’ve grown into someone thatIcan be proud of.”
And deep down, I hope he’ll be proud of me too.
Chapter 50
Griffin
November, Age 29
Hungover and loitering in the hallway outside of Madison’s apartment, I probably look like the world’s biggest loser. Several passersby have given me odd looks, probably because they’ve seen me come and go from this apartment a thousand times. It makes no sense that I’m standing awkwardly on the doorstep, but here I am. I’ve been going back and forth for the better half of five minutes about what to do. Do I knock? I have a key–do I let myself in? Do I call first?
I knock three times, wincing at the sharp sound as it echoes through the empty hallway. I hear muffled footsteps and the swing of the metal peephole cover, but the door doesn’t open.
“Madison, can I please come in?” I ask through the door. After a few moments of silence pass, I really start to think she might leave me out here.
Would serve you right, jackass.
Just as I turn to leave, I hear a heavy sigh and the turn of the lock. When the door swings open, I’m surprised to see that Madison doesn’t look angry–she just looks tired.
“You have a key Griffin, there was no reason to make me get up,” she grits out through her teeth, sweeping her arm dramatically in a sarcastic gesture to usher me inside.
Okay, maybe a little angry.
“Come sit down,” she says with a defeated sigh, pointing at one of the barstools at her kitchen island. “Let me get you some coffee, you reek of tequila.”
