Page 55 of Romantic

***

For the next week I hide in my room, only to emerge for my piano performance and to work in the garden. I stop wearing makeup—why bother, when my eyes are red rimmed and my face is blotchy from crying? I hardly bother with my hair. I wear the same dress three days in a row. If I had a wedding dress, I’d go full Miss Havisham. The only thing getting me through is my flowers. My life might be in shambles, but at least I can still cultivate something beautiful.

I’m taking my emotions out on a patch of weeds when a text from Brandon comes through.

Brandon

I just heard about Jack.

I am so sorry.

You deserve better.

If you need anything, I’m here.

I burst into tears. Brandon was right all along. His words have been running through my head and heart for days. Jack loves you? My brain has amplified the disbelief and disdain in Brandon’s voice, and then added, Nobody loves you. You don’t deserve love. It is such a relief to read, “You deserve better.” I read it over and over and almost believe it.

But the line that gets me is: If you need anything, I’m here. Because he’s not here, and I want him to be. And the one thing I want from Brandon he can’t give me. Right now, his steadfast, devoted friendship just might break me.

If I’m being perfectly honest, I’ve been walking around like a zombie not because of Jack’s disappearance, but because of my fight with Brandon. The two things happening at the same time have sent me into a spiral. It’s all my fault. I’m not lovable. No wonder they both left. I’m pathetic. I’m an idiot. I’m a fool.

And since Jack left, I’m more aware of how little I actually knew about him. It’s horrifying to think I was planning to go off with him in a sailboat. Once again, Brandon was right. And the guy’s too annoyingly noble to even say I told you so.

I stare and stare at Brandon’s text. I’m so tempted to call him and tell him everything. He’s an incredible listener. He has this way of watching me while I talk with his serious brown eyes that makes me feel as if my every word matters. That’s the problem with Brandon; he’s so thoughtful and attentive, it’s easy to mistake his caring for something more.

***

That evening my mom and Elinor join me while I’m sitting on the porch staring at the dregs of the sunset, thinking melancholy thoughts—as one does.

“Annie . . .” Something about the way my mom says my name carefully—as if she’s talking to a sick person—makes me tense, preparing for bad news.

“Yes?”

“I’ve got some news about Jack.”

“What is it? Is he alive? Was he lost at sea?”

“Don’t worry—as far as I know, he’s very much alive.”

“Which is unfortunate,” quips Elinor.

“It’s just that he was . . . I mean, he is engaged.”

“Engaged?” I repeat. I’m too shocked to say anything else.

“Yes, I just got off the phone with J.J. She’s been visiting her daughter in Santa Barbara, and while she was getting her nails done, she met this nice girl named Isabella. She told J.J. all about her amazing trip sailing down the coast from Monterey with her fiancé, Jack. They had recently been reunited after six months apart. They had decided that before they settled down they should both cross one thing off their bucket list. Hers was to work with Doctors without Borders, and his was to sail the Panama Canal.”

“And to cheat on his fiancée,” Elinor says under her breath.

“J.J. didn’t think it could possibly be the Jack we know. But then she saw him through the window when he came to pick Isabella up. She couldn’t follow because her nails were still being done, but she said Isabella’s fiancé looked so much like our Jack that she called me as soon as she got home. Then Elinor and I did a little sleuthing.”

“I looked them up on The Knot—’Jack Willoughby and Isabella Grey,’” says Elinor. “The wedding is in September.”

“Jack is engaged!” I say again. “And he’s in Santa Barbara?”

“Yes, apparently he’s been engaged for a year,” says my mom.

“What about his fiancée? Does she know about me?”