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Marcus sits on the empty black leather bar stool to my left, and I turn toward him. His dark brown hair is pulled back into a messy bun and he’s grown a thick beard since the last time I saw him a month ago. He looks good this way and better than I look right now. When his dark brown eyes meet mine, I only see pity in them. “Hey, Marcus.” I lean into the bar, my head barely being held up by my hand.
“You look like hell.” He laughs.
I stare back at him, unamused.
“Come on, Maci, cheer up. You deserve more than to let a guy take you down like this.”
“This all could have been avoided if he didn’t lie to me,” I spit at him, but he doesn’t seem offended by my tone.
“I wouldn’t call it a lie. It just took him a while to tell you. He kind of kept it from everyone.” He shrugs before reaching for the bourbon Jess set in front of him.
The way he lumps me in with “everyone” makes me hate myself for thinking I meant something different to him. I shift to self preservation mode, on a mission to prove how shady he was, like it’ll keep my heart from crumbling more.
At least a dozen memories shuffle quickly through my head, trying to find an example of a lie. My thoughts stop on our moment in the kitchen, the morning after the first time we had sex. Wait. I repeat myself aloud. “Wait, the first time I stayed at your house, he knew then, didn’t he? I mentioned Costa Rica when I saw that book on the counter, and he got all weird.”
“I don’t think he had decided anything at that point.” He’s not necessarily defending Dean. It seems like he’s trying to help me control my thoughts. He doesn’t have to be here, and it’s nice of him, but it’s hard to reign in my frustration.
“Okay, but what the fuck? He could have at least mentioned it. I should have seen this coming. I’m such an idiot,” I mumble into my red straw before taking another sip of my drink.
“I know it might not seem like it, but telling you was really hard for him. He wasn’t trying to intentionally hurt you. Dean is a good guy, he knows this is his loss.”
I want to believe him. “I wish that made this easier.”
“It sucks, but if you truly care about him, you should support him doing what’s best for him, even if it means leaving. Just like he did what he thought was best for you by breaking things off before he left.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way. Even if I still don’t understand why he left, he genuinely seemed torn up telling me he was leaving. I could sense how off his energy was that entire day from when he pulled me out of school to when he took me back home the next day. But the way Marcus talks about Dean’s feelings…it’s lacing my thoughts with false hope I can’t afford when being together isn’t a possibility anymore. It doesn’t matter if he felt the same because he’s gone. If I don’t believe that, I’m not sure I’ll ever get past this.
After another drink, both the conversation and I lighten up, and Marcus and I end up going dancing at the bar next door. I’m having so much fun, for a moment I think I’ll be okay. I stop dancing mid song, reaching my hand out for Marcus’ muscled bicep. He turns toward me.
“Thank you for this.”
He pulls me in for a hug, bringing me close enough to smell a trace of sandalwood and sweat. “I’m here if you need anything.” He pulls back and digs his phone out of his front pocket, opening it to a new contact page before handing it to me. “Dean asked me to look out for you, but just because he isn’t here, it doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends too.”
He keeps making statements that contradict my new beliefs of how Dean feels about me. I don’t know what to think about it. But I’ve liked Marcus since we met, and it can’t hurt to have another friend. I take his phone from him and enter my number. I text myself and wait for the vibration in the back pocket of my jeans before handing his phone back.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Ineedtoknockoff this pity party. At least I’m not drowning in my thoughts anymore, rather walking through the water and refusing to choose dry land. I don’t do anything but go to school and pick up shifts at work. I haven’t been out with the girls since…long enough ago they stopped asking me. I quit showing up for the running club. The last time I went anywhere was Jameson’s that first week in January. It’s March now. It’s clearly driving Avery insane because she comes home even less. For sure it’s driving me insane. I’m annoyed with myself. I have got to get out of this funk.
I pull up my best friend’s name from the favorites section of my phone and send her a text.Taco Thursday?
See you at 5!Flashes across my screen before I even set my phone down.
One of my favorite parts of my friendship with Avery is we get over everything quickly, regardless of who pissed off the other, or what happened. I know she’s not mad at me, but I also know I haven’t exactly been a pleasure to be around.
The second our apartment door swings open, I practically leap at her, wrapping my arms around her neck. “Hi, best friend! I love you. I’m sorry I'm a psycho over a boy. I’m done with that now.”
She giggles and pulls away to show me the bottle of Patrón she brought with her.
“Just what the tacos need!” I exclaim.
We are two shots in before the tacos are ready, reminiscing about the time we drank a shot of every type of liquor in her dad’s alcohol cabinet in high school. We play the voicemail we left for ourselves that night so we could recall our experience the next day, to make sure it's still there, and to take pride in how far we’ve come since then.
“Sometimes it doesn't feel like I’ve come that far since high school.” My laughter is replaced by a sigh.
“I’ve been thinking about your dilemma, and I have a possible solution,” she says as she pours us another shot in the green and gold glasses my parents sent us from Ireland for my birthday. We took at least two more during our flashback. I’ve lost count of what number this is.
“Oh yeah, what's that?” I roll my eyes.
