Or worse.
Does she get to see the version of him that I so desperately miss?
“Sutton and I have been texting for a while. Nothing serious.”
“No?”
“Not yet, anyway.”
I grip the door frame to hold myself steady.
“Have you cooked for her?” I ask. “Alone?”
The silence of his pause is brutal.
“Twice,” he confesses.
And that’s all I need to hear.
Returning to my bedroom, I toss a few things into my backpack.
Keys, phone, wallet, toothbrush.
Where is my fucking toothbrush?
“Mark, wait…”
“Leave me alone.”
Porter stands in the hallway looking foolish.
As he damn well should.
Little do I know that one day I’ll be grateful to Sutton.
Without her, I might have settled for half a love story for many years to come.
“I don't wanna lose you,” Porter frets.
He hushes his voice,stillafraid of who might hear.
“Then maybe let the paint dry for a while,” I grumble.
I can’t even look at him as I stomp down the stairs.
“Guess we'll find out if there's any kind of friendship worth saving.”
???
Rain soaked sneakers leave puddles on Olsen's front porch.
The dark wintery night has turned my nose pink.
At least the damp weather hides my tears.
Answering my knock, there he stands.
Shirt undone, bare feet on the rug.
