Page 55 of Fight from the Heart

What if my parts don’t fit hers? Dating is an experiment of how pieces fit together. What if ours don’t fit?

+ + +

When we return to the apartment, Ella’s made plans for Pam to spend the day with her. Spa treatments of massage, nail, and hair are on the agenda. While Pam isn’t the type that needs the fuss—another thing I like so much about her—I can see she’s grateful for the escape. She wants away from me. I also don’t like to deny my sister anything, so I swallow back the fit I want to pitch and allow Ella the time with her friend.

After pouting about a lost day, I decide to work, but my mind consistently wanders. When a text comes through, I’m eager to check it, hoping it’s Pam. Only it’s not.

Mandi.

“What’s up with you two?” Ethan nods toward my phone as we’re both sitting at my dining table. He’s been working on things for his upcoming restaurant opening.

“Lilac?” I question, as she’s the only one on my mind.

“Mandi first.” Ethan’s voice sharpens, and I turn for my phone to find another text light up the screen.

“We’re over,” I state, confident in my answer. When Mandi appeared on my first day here, I told her in no uncertain terms we were finished. I demanded my key, which she tossed on the floor like a spoiled child. She wanted to argue. We had a past. We had a future. But we had nothing. Our parts did not fit.

“Does she know that?” Ethan asks, tipping his head toward my phone.

“She does. I know it was harsh, but I had to tell her I didn’t love her. I never loved her, and I wouldn’t be marrying her.”

“It’s a tough call, but sometimes you have to be brutal, or the message isn’t clear.” Ethan understands. He’s turned into a good friend over the past few months. “So what about Pam?”

I sigh, turning my head for the large window to my left. “Man, I am all mixed up over her. I don’t want to hurt her, but it feels inevitable. We aren’t a good fit.”

“Why would you say that?” Ethan states, irritation building in him.

“Because Pam is perfect, and I’m me.”

“But you want her?”

I nod.

Ethan softens his tone. “You’ve got to pull it together then, man. Show her how you aren’t a bad guy at heart. You need to be the best you so you do deserve her.”

He’s quiet for a second, and I let the words seep into me.

“Look, she’s been telling everyone she’s not in love with you for years while blushing whenever we brought you up, and we didn’t even know who you were. Now, I’ve known you for months, and I see why she likes you. I can see you feel the same way about her, but you’re denying yourself. What’s the use in that? Be happy, man. If you’re truly done with Mandi, the real thing is within your grasp.” Ethan reaches forward as if grabbing something. “Pam is real.”

“But I’m not,” I say, exasperated. “I don’t know how to be real.”

“You’re a man of words. You’ll figure it out, but while you’re at it, remember that actions speak louder than words.”

+ + +

By the time we go to Ella’s show, I should be in good spirits. The four of us had a great dinner, several drinks, and a good time together. It’s been forever since I’ve been out with people other than Mandi and the false group of people we called friends. But I’m on edge. Mandi’s been texting me all day, and it’s been harder and harder to ignore them. Eventually, I turned off my phone only to have it light up again once I turned it on to order an Uber for the gallery.

At the gallery, Ella’s future clothing line is paired with black and white images of famous people all with some kind of affliction. The famous rock star missing a hand. An athlete who lost his leg. A cancer patient without her hair. They’re all beautiful in their own way, and Ella’s clothing line intends to match and enhance them, thus the name Fabulously Flawed. It’s how she sees herself with the scars on her body. The ones I’m reminded are my fault.

As I missed the show in January, allowing Ethan to make a fuss, as he called it, I hadn’t seen her designs.

“She’s so beautiful,” Pam says, standing before me, staring at an image of my sister who modeled for one of the images.

“You’re beautiful,” I whisper to her ear. Her head tips back for my shoulder as she cradles a glass of wine in her hand.

“You’re sweet.” Her voice is quiet, soft, and a little dreamy. The wine has taken effect on her. Reaching for her upper arms, I rub up and down.

“I love the philosophy,” Pam adds. We might wear our circumstances on our skin, but it doesn’t define who we are within. It’s a large statement around the border of the gallery.