Kris stood behind a giant marble island, shirtless, making coffee at a built-in chrome coffee machine. His back was to me, but dude was ripped. He turned around to give me a nod, clearly not a morning conversationalist.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” Rickie said.
Rickie and another guy were sitting at the island. I didn't realize it was Mae until he turned around, the ghost of Mae’s face still haunting his.
“Oh, Mae, I didn’t recognize you,” I said.
“It’s Matt, actually. Nice to re-meet you,” Matt said, offering his hand.
I shook it and flopped down next to him.
“Did the blinds wake you?” Rickie asked, and I nodded. She rolled her eyes. “It’s my dad’s place. They’re set to open at seven every day. I don’t know how to change it, and neither does he.”
“What, uh… happened last night?” I asked.
Matt said, “Oh, honey.”
Rickie laughed, saying, “You don’t remember giving medical advice to the entire bar last night?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” We laughed. “Hey, do you know where my phone is?”
“Oh, yeah!” Rickie said with more energy than I was prepared for. “I plugged it in for you.” She got up and walkedacross the expansive living room. “You have like a million notifications. And it keeps going off. I think you might be in trouble.”
She handed it to me, and my heart raced. Dozens and dozens of texts and voicemails from everyone in my life. Family, work, friends. Only some missed calls from Finn, but no texts or voicemails.
“I hope they didn’t put out an APB.” Rickie watched me scroll my lock screen.
“Yeah, I—”
Miles’s face lit up my screen. I held it as it vibrated in my palm. Then answered.
“Hey, man. Can we talk?” Miles asked. It sounded like he’d been crying.
???
I listened to a podcast on my way home. Not listened, heard. I should’ve called my mother, but my skull threatened to break open, and my stomach begged to empty its contents every time I thought about it. Miles knew I was okay. He’d tell them.
He was waiting outside my building, just as he said he would be, looking like absolute dog shit. Our phone call had been brief. Miles said he needed to talk to me before the wedding, then broke down sobbing and apologizing. I told him to meet me at my place in two hours, but he said he was already there.
“You look awful,” I said, walking up to him.
He started to sob again and gave me the tightest hug we may have ever shared.
“I’m so fucking sorry, man. So, so, so fucking sorry. How can I ever make it up to you?”
“Start by not making a scene in front of my building.”
He was calmer by the time we were on my couch, but I felt worse. “So, what’s up? Shouldn’t you be getting ready? You’re getting married in a few hours.”
“I…” He cried. “I don’t know if I am, man.”
“Holy fucking shit.”
That was the best news I’d heard, maybe in my whole life. Maybe our relationship wasn't as dead as it felt the other night at Johnny Pete’s. Even if he no longer hollowed my chest, and didn’t marry that woman, I’d have to tell him just how much damage he’d done to our relationship in her name. Before I did, I needed to hear him out.
“I don’t know what to do.” He cried harder. “Mom and Dad laid into me last night about it. But they got me thinking, man. I haven't slept a goddamn wink.”
“What were you thinking?”
