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And at that moment, I realized that she had lost a relationship the night of Tinsley's wedding, just like I had. She must have.
"How are you doing these days, Brittany?" I asked her, feeling my bitterness toward her lose some of its strength. "I haven't seen you since… you know."
"Yeah. I know." Her eyes trailed to the floor. "Things haven't been… great. But I'm sure you don't want to hear about that."
She remained silent as I handed her the papers and showed her where to sign her name. It was so strange seeing her this distraught. I had expected her to come in burning with confidence, glowing with pride from all the pain she had caused me. Instead, I swore I could see the lingering lines of tears on her cheeks.
But before I could think of the right thing to say, the questions I should ask to get the answers I'd been seeking, she closed her pink pen and put it back into her bag.
Turning to me, she said, "Thanks, Ms. Lawson. For everything. This was… this was a great place to work."
Until now, those had been the last words she'd ever said to me. Everything I wish I'd asked her had stewed inside me since then, questions fueled by hurt and bitterness.
Did Austin tell you he was my brother?I want to ask.What promises did he make you?And, at the heart of it all: "Why?" I just wanted to know the reason for it all. The purpose of going to such lengths to damage another person's dream.
And, as I look down at my phone, while I don't quite get the answers I was hoping for, I at least get something. Something not as good as answers, but close enough to begin my healing.
Remorse.
I'm sorry, Denise,the text says.I'm such an idiot. There's no excuse for the things I've done.
Another text pops in.I've taken Brett's advice, and I've broken up with Austin. I managed to sneak his wife's number from his phone, so I'm going to tell her what happened. Let her decide what she'd like to do about it. I'm going to be more careful with guys going forward. Again, I'm sorry.
And, as I sit there blinking, her final words pop up on the screen, making my heart sink a little in my chest.
Brett's one of the good ones, Denise. You're so lucky to have him. I wish the two of you the best.
So, she didn't know, then.
The reminder stings. I lay my head against the steering wheel, trying to hold myself together. My relationship with my daughter has been healed. My relationship with my sister, too. The things that have been broken in my life are starting to slowly rebuild.
But my relationship with Brett is one thing that will stay crumbled. I missed my chance to be with him.
Because Brittany is right, Brett was one of the good ones. He was perfect. Lightning in a bottle.
And I have to accept that he is never coming back.
* * *
Lisa returnsto Barton Beach to stay with me at the bungalow to offer her emotional support. I've already told her everything over the phone, so there's no need to repeat the story of Brett and my brother all over again. Instead, we lounge on the couch and drink, gossiping about her coworkers and Mr. Grizzly. It's so nice having her back. Lisa has always been another ray of sunshine through my gloom.
She asks me about the mess in the kitchen, and I tell her all about my new job. With the pans and containers of icing everywhere, it's obvious I have a few projects going.
Shortly after Tinsley's wedding, I started getting phone calls and emails from her famous friends, asking me to make cakes for their events in Barton Beach. It's a small business so far, mostly whatever size of cake I can fit in my fridge. I still don't have enough counter space to make five hundred cookies in one go like I used to. But I don't need it to be more than this.
It's my own space, a business I carved out for myself.
"It kind of just started as a way to get out of bed in the mornings," I admit to Lisa. "I've got bills to pay. I can't lay around and do nothing all day."
I flush a little, bringing my glass to my mouth to hide my embarrassment. I don't want to admit to her that my post-break-up depression had been mostly me curled up in the bed where Brett used to lay, smelling the sheets for any lingering trace of his wonderful scent before crying myself into a stupor.
The cakes have become a perfect distraction from all that. They give me a reason to get out of bed, to shower and put on makeup. To leave the house and interact with my city once again.
Some days, I even grab a towel and walk down to the beach near my house, losing my thoughts beneath the drone of the surging waves and the families plucking shells from the shoreline. I've never had so much time to sit and relax. And, for the first time in years, I can confidently say that I am starting to like myself again.
"Sounds like you're doing well," Lisa observes during our conversation. "Well, at least mostly."
Playfully, I poke her in her shoulder. "Maybe the great company is just cheering me up."
