“What the fuck are you talking about?” She keeps her voice low but sharp, her fake smile gone and replaced by a glare directed at me, waiting for me to answer. Fine.
“It’s all an act. You pretend to be helpless to let these loser guys be your knight in shining armour, but guess what? They’re not! You’re pretending to be insignificant, and that’s the worst part about this. Because you’re not. You know what else owls represent,Hoot?Wisdom. You put on this ditsy front downplaying yourself, as if the first time I met you, you weren’t tutoring another student in goddamn organic chemistry!”
“I’m not pretending to be anything, Dom. These are guysyouset me up with. It’s just my list?—”
I cut her off, “Okay, fine, this? This is you, Celeste? This fucking list? This can’t-do-anything-for-herself-needs-to-marry rich Celeste? Why are you acting just as fake as every other bimbo wannabe trophy wife surface level girl? Have you ever been authentic with anyone? Even yourself?”
The words land like knives and I see her walls shatter in front of me. An avalanche of self preservation crumbling under my harshness. The cafe around us is silent, every person nearby suspended in time to watch this car crash unfold.
My chest heaves with the heaviness of my words. Her eyes sparkle with the beginnings of tears lining her lids. I did it. I broke this chasm between us where the silence now hangs heavy. I wanted to feel justified in telling her that she deserves better, but I don’t think I accomplished that. I immediately want to swallow everything I just said. Seeing the hurt in her eyes cracks something deep in my chest.
“Okay,” she whispers, her eyes still wide in shell shock at my outburst.
I turn to throw the dish towel that I’ve been clutching in my fist towards the sink then turn back. “Celeste…”
But she’s gone. The bell above the door chiming with her exit.
Fuck.
NINETEEN
Ginger
Celeste
Tears that escaped nowstreak sideways across my cheeks from my quick pace. I had to get the hell out of there because how dare he! How fuckingdarehe?
He just loves to judge what he doesn’t know, assuming the worst in everyone and portraying this sense of superiority.I’mfake? That man couldn’t let his walls down to save his life. When did this switch flip? It’s like he had this pent up view of me that he couldn’t help but vomit into the ether between us. Where the hell did he get the nerve to spew this venom and expect me to sit there and take it? I sure as shit wasn’t staying around to hear the answers though. At least now I know what he truly thinks of me. That’s fine. What a waste of a…whatever the hell we were. A waste of a matchmaker at the very least. I’d be lying to myself if I said there wasn’t something more. At least until aboutfive minutes ago when our precariously built connection held by false bravado and stolen glances came tumbling down into oblivion. And here I stand in the rubble of it all, trying to pull the bits and pieces to salvage. This hollow sensation feels familiar in the worst way. Like all our days together: getting ice cream, standing up to bullies while being afraid of raccoons, croissants and coffees, summer days and a cozy movie night…all of it. Over. Plucked from existence like ripping roots straight from the soil.
He yelled at me. Publicly. Viciously. I’m a thick-skinned woman who knows my worth, but goddamn did that hurt. If this is what he thinks of me, then so be it. I’m not bending over backwards for someone who thinks so little of me. He didn’t even give me a chance to finish my sentence. I barely got out that I went on the second date before Dom jumped on me. God, if only he’d have listened so I could explain my disdain for silver-spoon-up-his-ass-Jude!
My hands shake as my strides slow down with each step across campus, the adrenaline of fleeing his presence slowing and churning in my gut. I don’t even know where I’m walking to, just that I needed to get out of there. A sob works its way up my throat. He was supposed to be someone I could just be myself around and not have to worry about all the bullshit of my past bubbling up to the surface. The tears stream down hot and fast, the campus around me a blur of green foliage and sunshine, entirely the opposite to my stormy heart.
I feel it inside my chest, heavy and ready to pour, the constant push and pull between weeping and screaming. I try desperately to take in a deep breath and hold in the tsunami cresting inside me until I reach my car, but I’m not entirely sure I have the strength. I begin walking back to where I’m parked, trying to remind myself that this isn’t a break up, he was never actuallymine.We were just friends. He was my matchmaker! But, then why does my heart feel so broken? The irony of mymatchmaker breaking my heart is justtoo goodthatI actually begin to laugh through my tears like a maniac. The laughter quickly turns into a hiccupping sob that I swallow as best I can.
Save it for the car, Celeste. Don’t break down right here. Don’t let people see your baggage.
I stop to catch my breath as I finally make it to my car. I lean my forearms on the roof of my beetle above the driver’s door, resting my forehead on my arms. Taking a few breaths I try to bring some clarity to my mind as his words rattle against my skull.
Have you ever been authentic with anyone? Even yourself?
His words feel like physical blows on my psyche. On my chest. In my gut. In the marrow of my bones. I feel seen but in the worst kind of way. Exposed. Naked and vulnerable. It wasn’t his anger that hurt the most or even what he had said. It was that he hit a particularly hidden nerve. He was right. I’ve camouflaged so much of my life behind a fake smile because I’m afraid of reality. What my reality is, my past, present, or future. It’s too painful.
Just then, my phone begins buzzing in my pocket. I wipe my eyes with the backs of my hands and fish out my phone reading Delaney’s name flash across the screen. I swipe to open the call, unable to produce words.
“Pinky? Pink! I can hear you breathing,” Delaney sings out on the other end. I sniff quietly trying to suck in little bits of oxygen, so I can communicate any words at all.
“Honey, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” Delaney demands, absolutely nothing getting past her.
“I—I’m okay,” I lie. “I know you have Ellie with you but, can I come over?” I try to keep the quiver out of my voice as I feel another wave of emotion readying to crash inside my chest.
“Of course! She’s actually back east for a couple nights getting more of her stuff to bring here. You don’t ever have toask, Celeste. You’re like my sister. Actually, you’re better than my sister, because Becca refuses to use her employee discount on me at Saks.”
I chuckle at Delaney’s attempt to make me feel better. She knows I love nothing more than hearing the tea between her and her older sister, Becca. Having grown up with just my mom, I always yearned for some sort of sibling relationship, and Delaney has always made me feel like the third Beatty sister.
* * *
My phone vibrates with several texts, then calls, then voicemails from Dominic. I don’t want to see or hear any of it. My chest hurts. My heart hurts. My fuckinghairhurts. Delaney, being the amazing best friend she is, screens every incoming message from him beside me on the couch in her small living room, deleting them as she goes. She knows I need space right now. I sigh heavily as my phone lights up with another call going to voicemail.
