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Fifteen
Christa
Ihave a decision tomake. I have about three weeks until Eric’s six-month supposed stint is over. I can’t stand the not-knowing, so I drive to Taryn’s house. The badass, beautiful house Carter had built for her.
I ring the doorbell and Taryn answers almost immediately, in yoga pants and a sports bra. “Chris... what are you doing here?”
“I need answers, bestie.”
“Come in,” she gestures, opening the door wide for me.
I walk into her massive gourmet kitchen that makes my tiny, rented house look like a hovel, and set my purse down. I plop my ass in one of the barstools lining the kitchen island. I cross my legs, my new skirt tight against my thighs and ass, and look down at my black heeled mary-janes.
“What’s going on?” she asks, pulling two bottles of water from the fridge and handing me one.
“When is Eric coming home?” I ask bluntly, ignoring the sweating water bottle on the white marble kitchen island.
“I...” She pauses for a drink as if buying her some time for an answer. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.” I spy her phone sitting on the island and grab it. “I bet it’s in here.”
She snatches it back, opens the fridge door, and sets it inside.
“Did you just put your phone in the fridge?”
Taryn crosses her arms. “Yes, I did. I’ll give it to you straight, you don’t need to snoop through my texts.”
“Well, I wasn’t gonna snoop, I was gonna go through them with you watching.”
She narrows amber eyes at me. “Not cool.”
I stand from the barstool and pace. “I need to know, Tar. Please tell me. I need closure, or to be prepared, or whatever.”
She eyes me speculatively, and then blows out a breath. “I’ll tell you, but I’m going to stick by what I said. Give him space.”
At that, I stop pacing, and explode. “Are you kidding me!” I snap. “Give him space? I texted him after he left—which he never fucking responded to, mind you—and since then I’ve given him his goddamn space. And you’re gonna stand there and tell me togive him space. You have lost your mind!”
Her eyes widen and she takes a step back. “Whoa, Christa, I had no idea... I thought y’all were just hooking up...”
“No. For fuck’s sake.” I slam my fist on the kitchen island and run my fingers through my hair. “No, we were not just hooking up.” Tears form in my eyes and I blink them back. I slump into the barstool chair, bury my face in my hands, and start to cry. “I’m miserable, Tar. Miserable. I can’t eat or sleep. He left me without so much as a goodbye, and all I’ve been told over the past months was to leave him alone. I did that. I did as you asked, out of respect for you, out of respect for him, but I can’t do it anymore!” I cry harder, my tears dripping fast and splashing onto the white marble. “I need to know if he’s coming back to Denver so I can be prepared, but you’ve done nothing but block me at every turn.”
She stares at me from where she stands near the fridge. I look up at her through blurry eyes. “Christa... I don’t know what to say.” She offers me a box of tissue and I snatch one.
“This wasn’t a fling. I kept what we had private because... because... just that. It was private and I didn’t think you wanted the dirty details, but I fucking love him, Tar. I can’t breathe or eat or sleep or drink or function. I’m a zombie.” I cry again, the tears falling hard and fast, and I hate how vulnerable I feel.
“What the hell is all this shouting?”
We look over to see her husband standing there in workout clothes, heaving breaths.
“Carter... I’m sorry. We’re having a heated discussion. Go back to your workout.” Taryn gives him a look.
They have a full gym in their basement, and I know this because Eric and Carter used to work out down there while Taryn and I would drink wine and watch reality TV up here in the meantime.
Things have changed so much since I fell in love with her brother and then he just up and left the country.
“What’s the problem?” he asks, heaving while sweat coats his gray Under Armor sleeveless tee.
“Christa’s going through some stuff—”
