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“I miss him,” I said honestly, “which is ridiculous. I know that. But I can’t help it. I still really miss him.”
“You were together for two years,” Andrea said. “It would be weird if you didn’t miss him.”
“But, he doesn’t deserve it,” I said firmly. “He totally screwed me over. I stayed with him while he finished med school. Despite the long hours he kept and the stupid fights he would pick every time he got stressed out about some test, I stayed. I put up with all of it. Then, he starts his residency and just bails? Who does something like that?”
“An asshole,” Andrea said bluntly. “A pathetic little asshole.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Then, why the hell do I
even still care?”
“Because you’re a good person,” Andrea said. “You have a heart. A big one.”
“I wish I didn’t,” I said.
Andrea snorted and moved to the edge of the couch. She reached out her hand for me to take. With a sigh, I slid out of my chair and moved to sit beside her. She held my hand and once again fixed me with a stare that was almost too understanding.
“Do you want me to kill him?” she asked, her tone serious.
I laughed and threw her hand away from me.
“I’m serious!” she said. “I’ll do it. I have the shovel in my trunk already.”
“You’re insane.” I rolled my eyes.
“That may be true,” she said. “But I’m here. Whatever you need.”
“I’m glad you came,” I said.
“You needed me.”
Her response was simple, but it spoke to the core of who Andrea was. She and I had been through everything together. From Kindergarten to college graduation. From weddings to funerals. It wasn’t a surprise that she knew what I needed better than I did.
“I’m glad I moved,” I said. “This place is going to be good for me. I went into town today, and it’s perfect. There’s this little coffee shop in the square that I could spend all day in. I’m going to get so much writing done here.”
“That’s amazing,” Andrea said. “Now that Dr. Assface isn’t holding you back anymore, you can finally get some real work done.”
I frowned. “Holding me back?”
I was angry and hurt by my break up, but I never thought of Joshua as someone who held me back.
“Oh, come on,” Andrea said. “You know he did. In the two years, you were with him, you barely wrote anything, Julie.”
“My career has been successful,” I said defensively. “I’ve had at least one article published every month since college. That’s pretty damn good.”
Andrea held up her hands. “Listen,” she said. “I’m not questioning your success, okay? But I’m not talking about your articles. As a journalist, you’re killing it. You always have.”
“Then, what?”
“Your book!” Andrea said with frustration. “The book you’ve been writing since high school. The book you’ve been stressing about and dwelling on for ten years. Remember that book?”
“Oh.” I blinked. “Right.”
“See?” Andrea said. “He was holding you back.”
“I don’t know if we can blame Joshua for that,” I said. “I let the book slide. That wasn’t his fault.”
“Do you remember what he told you after he read the first chapter?” Andrea asked.
