“Besides, if he breaks your heart, I’ll write a song about it and we can use his photo as the album cover.”
A laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it. It feels strange, like my lungs forgot how to do it.
Harper pops another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth.
“So… you and Ryland?” I ask, wiping away the last of my tears.
She gives a dramatic eye roll, licking her spoon clean. “Today is not the day to talk about me and my love triangle.”
“Triangle?” I ask, quirking a brow. “Everything went well with Nathan the other night, then?”
She chooses to ignore me. Instead, she gets up, tub of ice cream under her arm, and turns on the TV. “Horror, comedy, action, or drama?”
“I think we have enough drama. Let’s do comedy,” I reply, sitting next to my best friend.
As the opening credits roll, I sink deeper into the couch as Harper tosses a blanket over us, Freddie nuzzled in between us.
And for the first time since I walked out of Elias’s house, my mind finally goes quiet. Somewhere deep in my chest, arealization slowly begins to take shape. Maybe I’m not afraid of Elias. Maybe I’m afraid of what that actually means.
Thirty-Five
Kat
A Forest – The Cure
“These Christmas shoppers really like their coffee,” Harper says as she wipes down the table.
The scent of lemon cleaner fills the cafe. The sharp citrus smell cuts through the lingering sweetness of peppermint syrup and steamed milk. It clings to the back of my throat, mixing with the dull ache in my shoulders from a ten-hour shift.
“If I have to pour another fucking snowflake latte, I’m moving to the southern hemisphere.” I empty the sweeper full of crumbs into the trash can and return it to the cleaning cupboard.
“You can’t do that, because then I’ll have to come with you, and you know I hate the heat,” she replies, flipping the sign on the door from open to closed.
For the first time all day, the shop is finally quiet. The espresso machine isn’t screaming, the steamer isn’t hissing, and no one is leaning over the counter asking if we can make their latte “extra festive.”
I flex my fingers. They still buzz faintly from hours of tamping espresso and carrying the stupidly large mugs Kaycee insists we use. It’s strange how loud silence can feel after a day like this.
My mind drifts—traitorous as always—to Elias. I wonder what he’s doing right now. If he’s working. If he’s thinking about me. If he has any idea that tonight I’m planning to drop the emotional equivalent of an atom bomb on his living room floor. Or his kitchen, I haven’t decided yet.
Acid fills my stomach. This feels exactly like the moment before stepping off a ledge, unsure if your safety rope will hold. I pull out my phone and check the time.
“Hot date tonight?” Harper asks, bumping her hip against mine.
“I’m going to Elias’s after work. I’m going to lay it all out on the table.” I take in a steadying breath. “But I need to go home and get changed. I smell like sour milk and bitter coffee.”
Harper sniffs me and gags theatrically. I give a wave of dismissal as I grab my purse and jacket and head for the door.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she calls out after me, but the door is already closed.
The cold bites deep into my bones, and I pull my jacket tight around me. The air has that early-winter sharpness to it, the kind that makes it difficult to breathe.Or maybe that’s just the amount of apprehension running through my body right now.
I check my phone again. It’s past five, so I have a bit of time to pick out the perfect outfit. My brain runs through my tiny wardrobe. I need something casual, but nottoocasual. Something that says I didn’t try too hard but also doesn’t look like I just crawled out of a laundry basket.
My brain runs through the depressing inventory of my closet. The nicest thing I own is the dress Elias bought me. Other than that, it’s a handful of band tees, a few sweatpants, leatherjeans, and skirts. Tonight isn’t a leather skirt kind of night. Tonight is more of an emotional breakdown. And what does one wear to such an occasion? I huff out a breath, watching it coil into a small cloud in front of me. What do you wear when you’re about to hand someone the ugliest parts of yourself?
I need something that screams,I’m fucked up but I’m yours, and not,I’ve been hiding my entire life from you. I pull my jacket tighter around me, suddenly feeling a cold that has nothing to do with the temperature outside.
Maybe Elias listens. Maybe he understands. Maybe he pulls me into those huge arms and tells me it doesn’t change anything. Or maybe the moment the words leave my mouth, he looks at me differently. Like I’m damaged. Like I’m too much. The same look I’ve seen countless times.
