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And he made it clear that he doesn’t feel the same way.
On the third afternoon of wallowing, I’m awoken by an insistent knock.
“Hellooo,” Skye calls, rattling the doorknob. “I’m using my spare key. We’re coming in to check for signs of life.”
“Okay!” I call, voice cracking. The more dignified part of me wants to sit up in bed, sweep the tissues into the wastebasket, and put on my brave face. But the heartbroken part wins.
I stay, slumped in place.
They come in, Jen going immediately to the kettle. Skye sits on the end of my bed. “Aw, babe. Talk to us.”
In my brain, there’s a whole thesis on what happened and why, with eloquent thoughts about bad cycles and choosing hope. But all I can squeak out is, “It hurts.”
Hearing myself say it brings on a fresh round of tears. Skye hugs me close. “Oh, baby. We’ve all been there. This is just a painful subway delay, yeah? Not the end of the line.”
I nod into her shoulder. “I know this is pathetic, but I feel even worse than I did with Miles.”
“Not pathetic,” Jen says, from the kitchen. “Miles was a goon. Charlie was lovely, just… Not ready, maybe.”
Yeah. That sounds right. “He was more than lovely.” I sniffle. “Hesawme. really, saw me. He believed I could do anything. He pushed me to actually go after what I want and then helped me do it. But now…”
“Being true to what you want means parting ways with him,” Skye finishes.
“Exactly.” When I go to wipe my tears, I’m surprised to remember I have my backup glasses on. The thick, black plastic is too severe for my coloring. For some reason, this sets me off again. “Plus, I can’t find my regular glasses, and I’m starting to worry I left them at Charlie’s. But asking will look pathetic, like I’m inventing a reason to get in touch. And I’m crying too much for contacts, so I’m just stuck here, looking likethis!”
“Charlie wouldn’t think that. And those frames are cute, too,” Skye says, completely unconvincingly.
“I look like Stanley Tucci!” I cry.
“An objectively handsome man!” Jen reassures me. She picks up of a box of frosted animal crackers from my nightside table snack collection. “Have you eaten any foods with actual nutrients in the past three days? What the hell is monosulfatine?”
I snatch it back. “Don’t judge my comfort food.”
“I would never,” Jen says with a smile. “I’m simply pointing out that a food with a vitamin might be a nice pairing for… What appears to be a tub of Funfetti icing.”
Skye stifles a laugh, and I glower at them both. “Judgmental! You just barge in here with your pro-vegetable agenda.”
“We did try to call!” Skye says. “You weren’t answering my phone.”
… That would be because I threw it out of reach, to keep myself from obsessing over old texts and photos of Charlie. I even spent some of yesterday searching pics of Poppy and Dylan’s wedding hashtag, hoping to spot Charlie in the background, looking regretful.
As if he cared enough to regret me.
“Here,” Skye says, handing my phone back. “You have a bunch of missed calls.” Sure enough, both my aunts had called and texted. But I also have one missed call from Katherine Vanderberg.
“Oh, crap!”
I press play on her voicemail. “Miss Sommerville?” her patrician tones coo. “Please call me back at your earliest convenience to discuss your services.”
“Everything okay?” Skye asks.
“Just… Potential work.” I sniffle. “I’ll call back when I’m not in a sobbing heap. It might not be the professional impression I want to give.”
Jen and Skye exchange a quick look, and then Skye pulls back my coverlet.
“Hey!” I shriek, arms flailing. “Give me back my heap!”
“No way,” she declares. “Nope. You’re not going let a breakup derail everything. Opportunity just called! Literally! What are you going to do about it?”
