Page 35 of Hearts on the Line

I swallow my goodbye. We didn’t leave on the best of terms, and I guess I haven’t been forgiven.

Half an hour later, I’m walking the beach, weaving between everyone filing in as the summer day warms up. The sand shifts beneath my feet, so I move closer toward the receding tide as a group of seagulls dive down for crabs.

With a resigned sigh, I take another sip of my second iced coffee of the day. This time, I don’t spill it. I might cry at this point. I won’t lie. I don’t know anyone who would cry over spilled milk, but I’m definitely that girl who would cry over a spilled iced coffee.

I adjust my sunglasses and take out my phone, dragging in one more deep breath before I start scrolling through the messages.

There are way too many. I feel the panic bubbling up inside me. I don’t know what to say, don’t have the perfect response, and so much of my life has been built on that. But maybe I need to start letting the imperfect parts of me out into the world more. Embrace the mess of everything, me included.

I start with Jason, a flare of anger bursting through my middle when I remember how, yesterday, he told me it was my fault he cheated on me. And how, approximately one minute after hanging up on him, I downed a shot at the bar of the restaurant, and Annie gave me a sad smile when I returned as if she knew.

He didn’t like that I hung up, apparently. Begged me to talk it over and come home.

I don’t know what I want right now, but I don’t want to talk to him.

Sloane: I’m okay. I’ll come get my things soon.

Jilted Jackass Jason: Get your things? You ran out on our wedding. We have a lot more to figure out than your fucking books. What about the brownstone?

Ah, the brownstone. My genius idea of settling down. I’ve traveled so much over the last ten years, I rarely even rented a place of my own. But when things became serious with Jason, I thought sure, I could live in New York. I could still travel and have an address.

But the idea of a brownstone in New York was his suggestion. I didn’t care much, anything to make things easy between us.

Sloane: You can have it.

Jilted Jackass Jason: You need to call me.

Sloane: Okay. Later.

Later. Just not right now. Right now, I’m walking on the beach. The garage sits farther down the shoreline, close enough that I decide to check on my car. Heat ripples off the sand as I turn, the sun glaring hard enough to sting without my sunglasses. I’m on the far end of the beach, at least a mile and a half away from Main Street and Ethan’s apartment.

I wonder if he’s back yet.

Jilted Jackass Jason: Don’t ignore my calls. Your mom is a nightmare.

Ha, don’t I know it.

And maybe because she can sense she’s been summoned, my mom calls me.

My stomach drops, but I suck in a breath and try to brace myself. I know it’s just as useless as trying to shore up a sand castle while the tide’s rushing in.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi? I’ve had one text from you in almost a week. You left me to handle that…”

“I understand you’re mad.”

“Mad? No, I was mad when you plowed into that guardrail and pretended someone hit my car with a shopping cart at Trader Joe’s.”

I roll my eyes. I was eighteen. And I paid her back and have suffered the near-constant reminder ever since. I think I’ve paid my dues.

“No, I’m more than mad. I want to know why you thought it was a good idea to run out on your wedding, Sloane⁠—”

I mentally fill in the rest, knowing what’s coming next: Avery Arden.

She loves to use my full name as punctuation when she’s upset. Always has, since I can remember. Like when she washed my mouth out with soap for calling the squirrel ransacking our bird feeder a bastard when I was four.

I don’t take it back, by the way. Squirrels are just furry rats in disguise. But I’ve never looked at a bar of Dial soap the same way ever again.