Page 21 of Left of Forever

“Poor kid,” I say to myself.

A text comes through, and I open it on instinct.

It’s a picture of a pretty woman I don’t recognize, holding a turkey leg.I know your grumpy ass is thankful for me, the message says. I see the nameKirbyat the top.

Ellis’s phone. Not mine.

The synapses in my brain won’t fire for a moment. I feel like I’m being held down in canned cranberry, like my heart and head and limbs are all stuck in sludge and can’t break free. And once everything does kick over again, it’s too fast and with too much force, making me lightheaded. I drop the phone on the counter like it’s on fire and try to catch my breath, bile in my throat.

Fisher and Sage start working around me then. Fisher bastes the turkey in the bottom oven, and Sage goes back to chopping celery for stuffing. The dulcet tones of football drift in from the living room, where Silas and Ellis are also making conversation, and Sam and Indy are talking about the PE teacher at school and his refusal to wear shorts with anything longer than a three-inch inseam, all while I’m stuck in one place, coping with the gut punch of reality that is Ellis moving on.

That explains why he invited me to stay the other day at the barn. Why it wasn’tagonyfor him to reach out and touch me. How fucking wrong was I to think I was going to get to a place where I wanted this? Where I’d be happy for him? I can’t breathe again. Something heavy is sitting on my chest and crushing it down. Down. Down. Down. And what a fucking hypocrite am I? I’ve slept with other men since the divorce. I haven’t tried in earnest todate, though. I’ve barely started totalkabout dating again. I only caved last week and created an online profile that I made Silas look at for me. I certainly haven’t connected to anyone else enough that it would warrant a warm holiday text.

Oh god, she was really cute, too.

“Hey, you good?” Fisher says, touching my elbow.

I shake my head, blinking and clearing my throat with an overly animated smile. “Yeah, sorry. Just zoned out for a second.” I force a laugh.

I slip away into the hall bathroom and scrounge for some composure. Turn on the sink and listen to the hiss of the water, then watch my reflection breathe so I know I’m doing it.

I have no right to feel like this. We are split. What did I expect? He’s handsome and steadfast and immensely kind, and that’s all on the surface. He’s even more beneath it. He deserves to be happy. We hurt each other too much. We let our love die. I’mthe one who said the wordsI want a divorcefirst. I’m the one who gave up and admitted that they wanted to leave. Someone else deserves him. To be satisfied by him, protected by him, liked by him. Loved by him.

I just never let myself face it before.

I do my level best for the remainder of the evening, try to maintain conversation and laugh at the appropriate times. Keep my awareness of him as muted as humanly possible.

The placid mask nearly falls away entirely when the desserts start to make the rounds, though. By this time post-gorge, we are all in various spots in the house, whatever place and position allows us to spread out. In years prior, this has made it easy for Ellis not to partake of dessert. It’s not as if we’re all still seated at the table and he has to outright deny a piece of something in front of my face and make it awkward for anyone else. He just doesn’t get up to serve himself some.

When I see him walk back into the living room with a piece of pie on a plate, it might as well be my heart. Later, I know I’ll see how illogical this is. I’ll remember that it’s just a baked good and convince myself that there is no deeper meaning. I’ll recognize that I also just had those letters come to an abrupt end and am clearly suffering from a sensitive time.

But… the Ellis I knew always dealt in absolutes. We didn’t belong to each other anymore and it was painful and messy and we’ve avoided any avoidable crossover in order to stave off more mess and more pain. Part of that for him meant he never ate my food. Tonight, him casually enjoying something I’ve made again feels like a confirmation that he really has moved on.

He’s not affected anymore. Why would he be?

And why the hell am I?

PART 2Present—Spring

CHAPTER 10

ELLIS

Ever since Silas said it six months ago, I’ve come to realize how right he was.

My timingisshit.

In fact, I realize this has regularly been the case for me throughout my life. I got my teen girlfriend pregnant. Hell, even before that, it’d taken me longer to accept that my feelings for her went beyond friendship, making my timing slower than it should’ve been. I didn’t get to Silas in time to prevent his accident last summer.

Even today, my timing is off. I got to Main Street forty-five minutes earlier than I meant to and have been sitting in my truck, watching the sun burn through the marine layer in short, occasional bursts. Every time it does, it shines on the olive-painted brick of Savvy Bakes and makes it glow a brighter green, like some beacon drawing me in.

Still, after getting this particular shit wrong so many times before with Wren, I can be patient and wait a bit longer, now…

And I know what I told Silas that same day he brought these issues to my attention, but from the moment I saw Wren on Thanksgiving, I still found myself needing to try. I took a slice of pie with me and tried to sit near her in the living room after dinner, thinking I’d start up a conversation and that seeing me enjoy something she made would help.

It didn’t. She avoided me more than usual and seemed totally put off by my nearness that night. And I tried to let it go, I really did.

I took the winter (my slow work season) and committed myself toward everything I knew I needed to do. Fisher got me a recommendation for a therapist from his, and I started meeting with her. I went to work. I used the gym at work. I fixed the things around the house that needed to be fixed. I helped whenever someone asked for help. I kept tabs on my family as best I could. I made sure Sam applied for the scholarships he was eligible to apply for, and I met with the accountant that manages the college fund Wren and I have for him. We’ve sacrificed and limited enough of our spending to cover four years of tuition. He’ll have to get a job and he’ll have to buy his textbooks used, but we should be able to help and supplement him when needed.