Page 83 of We Drank the Dawn

“Eat some rangoon—that stuff goes straight to the hips.”

A laugh escaped my lips as she dropped a couple crab rangoons on my plate.

“Have you been eating?”

I waved her concern away. “I promise, I’m eating. I’m just busy and running a lot. That’s all.”

She hummed like she didn’t believe me. “Well, if you need some break up ice cream recommendations, I’m your girl. My boys, Ben and Jerry, can be a real comfort in times like these.”

Break up grossly trivialized what was happening between Peter and I, but I didn’t bother correcting her. “Thanks.”

The two of us moved into the living room where our love seat sat opposite our small couch. Jackie propped her feet up on the coffee table. “So talk to me. First of all, how is life without Peter?”

Her phraseology made it sound like he died. “Um, a relief, honestly.”

She stopped mid-chew. “Really?”

“Yeah.” I shifted uncomfortably as I pushed my chopsticks into the mound of rice. “Really.”

“Can’t say I blame you for that. He hasn’t been the easiest person to be around recently.”

That was putting it lightly. Peter had been unbearable. For the first time in months I was able to exist without walking on egg shells. I said, “The time alone feels like a deep breath. I needed it. I’m doing good.”

But even as I said those words, something deep within cast doubt.

A deep breath? That wasn’t right. I hadn’t stopped long enough to breathe. I’d been go, go, go from the moment I cranked the ignition in the Meadowbrook driveway. But at least I wasn’t falling apart, eating ice cream, and blubbering, right?

I pushed my doubts away, convincing myself that the numbness I felt was a relief. I wasn’t feeling anything good or bad, so I could call that a win.

“Well, that’s good, I guess. So, fill me in. What exactly did he do?”

For a long time, I explained what happened at the ranch—why we went, how Peter responded, and his Saturday night shenanigans. Jackie was outraged for me, and that felt exactly like I hoped it would—so validating. I was glad it was Jackie who knocked on my door and not another, softer Thompson. She wasn’t going to take Peter’s side just because he was blood.

After a while, I set my plate aside and leaned forward, filling her in about every little thing. I told her how I’d tried to reach him and he kept pushing me away—literally and metaphorically. I told her about the fact that Peter kept sneaking off to his parents’ house and how he couldn’t hold his job. Some of it she already knew, but she soaked in my perspective like a sponge.

We sat on the couch for an hour and a half. When the leftover take-out had long grown cold, she finally asked, “Have you tried calling him?”

“Actually, he called me, but I blocked him.” When Peter couldn’t hold my hand but kissed another woman, he made his choice. “I’m exhausted and need some space.”

She nodded. “Good on you for having boundaries. He needs to wake up before it’s too late.”

I shook my head, figuring it was already too late, but I only said, “He won’t.”

“Well, we can hope.”

I shrugged.

Jackie glanced around the room. “You must be sad being here all by yourself.”

“Yeah, it’s quiet. I would work more, but my body can’t handle more than five massages a day.”

“Are you able to get out a little? To just relax and have some fun?”

“Not really.”

“Maybe you should. It might be good for you.”

“Yeah, maybe.” I only said it to placate her.