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Yours,
Jackson
I want to be able to read between the lines to know what talking looks like, but I can’t. So I tuck the note and the jar of stars in my nightstand drawer. I don’t know when I’ll be ready to talk, if ever, in the wake of what feels like such a massive betrayal.
I don’t know who I feel worse for right now. Myself or Selene. I suppose if this makes him realize she means more to him than he led me to believe, then I have my answer.
An hour later I leave my room and decide it’s time to move forward. I can’t wallow in misery like this. First of all, I don’t have time. And second, I’m so miserable, I don’t even want to be around myself.
I throw myself into my Etsy orders—lord knows I have enough of them to tackle—and when I’m not at work planning events, I’m at home, putting together orders and doing everything I can to avoid thinking about Jackson and the letter still sitting in my nightstand.
It’s two weeks post-breakup, and every morning when my alarm goes off, I open the Google Doc, and check for Jackson’s message. Once I’ve read it, I drag my depressed butt out of bed. I force myself to shower, to put on makeup, to put effort into getting dressed. I choke down breakfast that tastes like sawdust.
I feign cheerfulness when I take phone calls and force a smile when I meet new clients, but every day feels like an uphill climb through emotional sludge, and no matter what I do, I can’t make my heart forget to love him. I don’t understand how I can feel this strongly about someone after only a handful of months. It doesn’t seem logical or reasonable for my heart to ache this way or feel this hollow.
It’s a Monday, and I’m sitting at my desk reading emails when Harley clears her throat.
I glance up and she holds out a tissue.
“What’s that for? Did something happen?” My stomach twists at the thought that something happened to Avery. Again. Or Grandma Spark. She’s been enjoying Europe and her new boyfriend, and I can’t see her coming home until we’re close to the wedding.
“Nothing happened.” She gives me a sad smile. “But you’re crying.”
I touch my cheek and my fingertips come away wet. I don’t know what it says that I didn’t even realize it was happening, or that I’ve been staring at the same email for probably twenty minutes, processing nothing.
Harley takes a seat in the chair across from mine. “Maybe you need to just hear him out, at least get some closure so you can move on, if that’s what you want to do.”
I shake my head. “I can’t.” I can’t handle seeing him. I can’t deal with him in three dimensions. I can’t let him see how much this has affected me.
Harley sighs and passes me another tissue before she covers my hand with hers and squeezes. “I know this is hard for you and that you feel very betrayed, but there are two sides to every story. Don’t you want answers?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know. I don’t want to love him, but I do. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to say no to him if he wants me back, or if I can deal with the other side of the coin. I feel like I need to apologize to every single guy I’ve ever dated and broken it off with. I feel like I’ve been purposely choosing the wrong guys so I couldn’t get hurt, and now I feel like I finally met the right guy, but he hasn’t been transparent about his past, and I don’t know if I can trust him to be honest with me.” I dab at the corners of my eyes, trying to get a handle on my emotions, but it’s pointless. Once the tears start, I can’t stop them from coming. “I had no idea it could hurt this much to lose someone you love. The only comparison I have is when our parents died. And somehow, even though Jackson is still very much alive, it almost hurts worse, if that makes any sense.”
Her smile is sad and knowing. “It does. Because he’s still out there and you’re still here, and those feelings haven’t gone away.”
“When does it get better?”
“I don’t know. But avoiding the pain isn’t going to help make it go away. If nothing else, talk to him so you can start to mend your heart. You have to tend to the wound so you can heal.”
25
WOMAN TO WOMAN
LONDON
Gifts start to show up a little more than two weeks after I left New York. First, it’s little things—a package of new star strips in designs that are impossible not to fall in love with, treats from the bakery we stopped at before the estate sale. Then a framed photo of me and my sisters at the Spark House event that was clearly inspired by my Etsy store. After that, a pair of earrings made from my puffy stars arrives. It would be so much easier if they were gifts I could send back, but they’re thoughtful and they’re wearing me down.
