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Of course it was next to impossible, at first. It took me three months to accept that, no, overdosing on pills wasn’t a normal way to cope with the end of a relationship. It took a further month to understand that the way I’d thought I’d loved Warren, my high school boyfriend, hadn’t been love at all.
It had been obsession. An unrelenting obsession. And when he’d gotten the letter saying that he’d been accepted to Miami and wanted to break off our relationship, it had come to a head.
I see it now. Looking back, I see the way it developed. Classes together. Casual meetings with friends. Dates. Stolen kisses between classes. Late-night phone calls and holding hands in the classes we did share.
Like all high school relationships, we were besotted—but with lust. It wasn’t love. Love is healthy. Love enlightens you and sets your whole freakin’ world on fire. What I had with Warren was pure lust. The only thing he set on fire was my clit. And even then, he did it badly.
It’s the same with Tyler. Yes, my body comes to life whenever he’s around. Yes, all I want to do is touch him and hear him speak and seduce him. But that doesn’t mean I’m out of control. It doesn’t mean I can’t control it.
My heart says that Tyler could be my Disney prince. My Prince Charming, my Kristoff, my Flynn Ryder. My mind says to tread carefully like Anna and Rapunzel did. To take it every second at a time. To never stop believing in what you dream of.
For Anna, it was to have her best friend back, her sister. For Rapunzel, it was to see the lanterns.
For me, it’s the chance to love freely.
They achieved their dreams. I don’t see why, one day, I can’t do the same thing.
“Okay,” Mom says down the phone. “Just be careful, darling. And call me on Sunday, okay?”
I nod despite the fact that she can’t see me. “Sunday. Bye, Mom.”
I hang up after her goodbye and put my phone facedown on my coffee table. In the silence of my apartment, my emotions swirl the same way they always do when I have to talk about the past. Somehow, when it’s in my mind, it doesn’t seem as loud. It doesn’t seem as real.
Saying things out loud solidifies them—makes them more than a fleeting thought you can bat away. And I like batting. I like fleeting. I don’t like lingering words.
I glance at the time on my phone and sigh. Time to go out and be a good little bridesmaid. Today’s jobs: find Dayton some new shoes since she’s changed her mind and find my shoes. Shoe shopping, I can cope with. In fact, shoe shopping is exactly what I need.
I leave Angus staring out the window in his spot on the windowsill and get into my car. I turn the music up as I drive farther downtown in a vain attempt to brighten my mood. Music is good.
I park outside Arabella’s store, just behind Dayton’s car, and get out. She joins me on the sidewalk and locks her car.
“I’m confused. Why are we at Arabella’s and not a bridal store?”
“Because they’re all the fucking same at the bridal stores. It’s honestly like looking at one pair of shoes with minor adjustments—an extra crystal here, a bow there, a ruche under there. Now, Arabella’s,” she says, pushing open the door and glancing over her shoulder at me, “has real shoes.”
As opposed to what? The dress-up ones at the bridal stores?
Whatever. I’ll go with it.
I follow her in. My stomach flutters like a teen girl faced with her first crush. Seriously. The shoes. The shiny and the colors and the heels and the… And breathe, Liv. Breathe.
“Find pink ones,” she orders me. “Light-pink ones. To match your dress.”
“Really? I was considering those lime-green ones over there.” I roll my eyes.
I look around the store for Sean. If ever I needed my shoe buyer, it’s right now. There are so many gorgeous pairs assaulting my eyes that I don’t think I can concentrate or indeed focus on a single pair.
After ten minutes, I’m no closer to finding a pair than I was when I walked in. I groan. There’s nothing wrong with any of these shoes. I just really can’t focus on one pair for long enough to even find a freakin’ pink pair.
“Are you going to the party on Saturday night?” Dayton sits on the seat next to me and dumps four shoe boxes in front of her. That’s not fair.
“Yeah. I think so.”
“Did you tell Tyler yet?”
“How do you know about that? Ooh, I like those!” My eyes widen at the white Louboutins.
“Gorgeous, right?” She strokes them. “He came over after your little…disappearing act. Wanted to ask me why American women are so fucking flighty. Hilarious, really, when you consider that he was constantly annoyed about being hounded by women back home.”
