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They were so beautiful.
And they were from Chuck.
She swept up the vase and headed out her back door to the garbage. No more reminders of that stupid fantasy portion of her life. Outside, she heaved open the trash-can lid and tossed them in headfirst, watching them crush and break at the bottom.
Done. Gone. The jerk was entirely cleansed from her life.
The old Candy who cared more about fantasies than what was real—she was also gone.
Now, new Candy wanted nothing more than to get ready for the most romantic date of her life, featuring pizza, Star Wars and Justin. Because on Valentine’s Day, love was the only thing that mattered.
Candy sat on her kitchen stool wearing red heart-sequined pasties and G-string under sweatpants, impatiently kicking the rung of the chair next to her. Five to Northern Oriole on the bird clock. Twenty-five minutes after Justin was supposed to come over. Valentine’s Day. She’d already gotten rid of the boyfriend she’d thought she wanted, and the roses she’d thought she wanted. All she wanted now was Justin, take-out pizza and a movie, yes, even Star Wars. Chuck had been half right: the trappings of Valentine’s Day were commercial and silly. But celebrating love on that day wasn’t, and she still planned to do exactly that with Justin. If he ever showed up.
No, no worries. Wherever he’d gone, whatever he was doing that had delayed him, he’d be in touch with her at some point and they’d have their celebration. She knew it with every chamber of her heart, and didn’t need anyone else to verify it for her. Not Abigail, not Marie, not any of her four personalities. Just herself.
Doorbell. Candy leaped up, nearly tripping, the same way she had before their first date. This had to be him. If it was Chuck, Candy was going to brain him with a crowbar. The fact that she didn’t have a crowbar or the capacity for such violence wouldn’t stop her.
She peered through the peephole and electricity zapped every nerve ending to full attention. Justin. Looking harried but excited, not miserable, not as if he’d received the worst news of his life or got in a terrible accident or anything dread-ful. Thank God.
Candy wrenched open the door. “Hi.”
“I’m late. I know. I’m sorry.” He was holding a pizza box, grinning as if she was the most wonderful thing he’d ever set eyes on, which was fine by her because she was positive she was grinning the same way. “I should have called but I was…
well, it’s complicated.”
“It’s fine. You’re okay and you’re here, and that’s all that matters to me. Come in.” She leaned in for a quick kiss as he passed, but the kiss was so delicious and whetted her appetite so thoroughly, she wanted another one, and one more, and by then her desire had risen considerably, though nothing truly sexual had happened yet. Arousal had become a Pavlovian response to any touch from him. She wanted to knock the pizza out of his hands and beg him to take her up against the wall.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Candy.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day.” She managed to break away and close the door behind him, feeling fizzy as always around him, but with a solid-centered core now, no longer splintered into parts. She was only looking forward, to all the places she wanted to go in life, literally and figuratively, hoping most of them included Justin.
“No disasters tonight at the party?” He was looking around.
“No news is good news.” She pointed to the kitchen table.
“Want to put the pizza there?”
“Um, yeah, sure.” He peered into the living room before 210
walking into the kitchen, craning his neck toward the dining room.
“Looking for something?”
“Oh. I just wondered. The flowers…”
Candy gaped. “How did you know about the flowers?”
He eyed her strangely. “Because I got them for you?”
“You?” She put her hand to her heart, absolutely wretched.
She’d thrown away flowers from Justin. She was going to kill Chuck.
“Where are they? Upstairs?”
In the trash. “Oh, God. Justin. I thought they were from Chuck.”
“Chuck.” He swallowed, holding her eyes. “No, they weren’t.”
