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I sigh and reach across the counter, dragging the cards toward me. I’ve read them a million times and it shows. One has a splatter of red wine, and another looks like it was soaked by tears. Maybe it was; I can’t remember.
“?‘Perfectly ridiculous,’?” she reads. She holds it up. “Um, what?”
“Andrew,” I say, my voice glum. “It was an inside joke. Worked for him the first time. Not the second time.”
She looks at the second card. “?‘Georgiana. Please. Can we discuss this like rational adults?’?” Marley winces. “Ouch.”
I snort. “That’s nothing. You should have been there when he told me to grow up.”
She reads the third card. “?‘Don’t do this.’?”
I watch as her face softens as she sets the card aside. “He sounds desperate, George.”
“No. Just inconvenienced, I think. I’m not behaving logically and it’s pissing him off.”
“So you don’t miss him?”
My heart twists. Of course I miss him. I love the son of a bitch. The problem is, I can’t survive being all the way in love with someone who wants to take it one day at a time.
I look miserably at my best friend. “I want more than he can give.”
“But—”
“Marley?” I force a smile. “I kind of don’t want to talk about it. Not yet.”
She reaches out, squeezes my hand. “Say no more. We’ll have way too much wine, and eat too much pizza, and watch that Disney movie you love so much—”
“No,” I interrupt. “No Enchanted.”
“Really? You said it’s the one movie you could never get sick of.”
“I’m not sick of it, I just…it doesn’t have great memories right now.”
“Oh, sweetie, no. You let him ruin Enchanted?”
I rub my forehead. “I don’t remember letting him do anything. It’s just like all of a sudden he was there everywhere, all up in my business, invading every corner of my life.”
“And you loved it,” Marley says sympathetically.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “So much.”
“Did you love him?”
I nod, my eyes watering. It feels good to admit it to someone, even as it hurts.
Marley steps close and pulls me into a one-armed hug, leaving us both free to sip wine as needed, because she gets me.
“Okay, sweetie. I know it hurts so badly right now, but you have to promise me something,” she says.
“What?” I ask grumpily.
She kisses the side of my head. “Promise me you won’t give up on your lovey-dovey version of love. You’re the most optimistic, happily-ever-after person I know. If you can’t achieve that, none of us can.”
“But my parents—”
“Couldn’t make it work. But they’re not you, sweetie. Your happy ending is out there, I’m positive of it. Okay?”
I nod, because it’s what she wants me to do. And because I don’t want to say out loud what I’m thinking: that a happily-ever-after without Andrew Mulroney, Esquire, doesn’t seem happy at all.
