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Normally, I wouldn’t do this—this is what I tell myself as I keep a safe distance behind Carter.
I wait for him to cross the road before approaching the pedestrian crossing. But to my horror, I can see Carter entering a flower shop.
A flower shop.
Even as the stop light turns green, my legs decide not to cross the road anymore. I don’t think I want to watch him buy a bouquet or something.
For somebody else, of course.
Maybe I’m wrong about how Carter feels toward me. Maybe he’s just innately kind and delicate and sincere. Maybe our moments were nothing but things he normally does for other people.
“It’s so hard not to like you,”he told me one too many nights ago.
But feelings change, don’t they?
As these thoughts burden me, I watch Carter leave the flower shop with a bouquet wrapped in pretty paper.
So, I run in the other direction just until he heads back the way he came from and gets into his vehicle.
From a distance, my heart constricts as I watch him put the flowers in his passenger seat and answer a call from his phone.
I can see him laughing as if nothing happened.
But that’s the thing—nothing did happen.
Sure, Carter and I had some drinks, spent a night together, had dinner, shared a kiss, and walked down a fake memory lane, but that’s all it is. We don’t have a relationship to break off or cry about.
So, of course he’s laughing.
Still, I bring out my phone and hope that he’d call me to tell me he wants to talk and he’s heading to my apartment. But seeing him make a U-turn on the road, I laugh at myself as I watch him drive in the completely opposite direction of my apartment.
Who was I kidding?
After his car is out of sight, I begin trudging back to my apartment, unsure what I’m feeling right now.
Is it jealousy? Is it regret? Is it grief? Is it outright acceptance?
Or have I finally found a way to grow numb to every little petty human feeling?
Regardless, I drag my legs home to where I find Clara waiting for me as she eats a lollipop. “You’re home!”
I give her a weak smile as I help myself to a glass of water. “Sounds like somebody missed me.”
“Well, yeah.” Clara jumps off the couch as she approaches me. “Also, I recall that you’re meeting that shithead tomorrow. So, I was wondering, maybe we should go shopping for a revenge dress.”
I almost choke on my water. “A revenge dress?”
“Yes,” Clara answers confidently. “Like Princess Diana after her divorce from Prince Charles or Jennifer Aniston with Brad Pitt.”
I snort at the absurdity of it all, ignoring her remark. “Right.”
As I head for my bedroom, she blocks me with her body. “Are you serious? You’re not even going to bother dressing up to see him?”
“Why should I?” I ask innocently.
“Because… it’s the last time he’ll see you, so you may as well put on a show!”
While I see Clara’s point, I refuse to put in any effort to seeing Larson. He can see me in my PJs for all I care. So, I tell her, “I’ll be fine.”
