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Sara
The rest of the wedding week in Italy spun by in a blur of hot days, gorgeous nights, breathtaking views, endless sea, and delicious food. But better than that, was spending time with Lia and Ty, so hopelessly in love, so happy to be a family, and include all their friends in their joy. Mario, despite being so far from home and on a weird sleep schedule, hung in there pretty well for a toddler, and more than one afternoon, Lia and I spent a few hours playing with him, talking, and watching the shadows grow long.
Meanwhile, Daniel lurked on the sidelines, affable and polite, but even more coolly aloof and hard to pin down than ever before. We were playing pretend so well that it almost worked, I could almost believe that nothing had happened between us, and that we’d never wrecked the best and worst of ourselves on each other.
Except the few moments where our gazes met by accident, clashing and tangling, when it became impossible to breathe, and the sharp, broken shards of my heart seemed to grow longer, piercing every piece of me. Daniel, however, was unaffected, save for a flare of lust in his eyes—which hurt, however much I found myself wanting it, too. It was so tempting to just throw myself at him and use sex to try and forget.
But I kept myself in check and with some relief, I parted ways from everyone, leaving so early on the last day that I didn’t even see Daniel. I slept most of the plane ride, worn from all the adventures, and was disoriented and groggy upon landing in Boston. Getting through customs took forever and felt like a unique form of torture to my tired body, as did the muggy air outside when I went to the rideshare bay. The heavy smell of salt and exhaust that lingered in Boston in the summer filled my lungs as we drove along, and it seemed surreal to get back to my apartment in Back Bay, the stars lost in the glaze of light pollution.
In my apartment, the air was still and too warm, and I hurried to turn on the air conditioner, water the plants, and then take a shower. Afterward, feeling a little more human, I unpacked, ate, and wondered if I should finally get a start on my next big project—packing up to move across the country.
I swallowed hard. I hadn’t even told Lia—I was moving to San Francisco in two months. There had been no good time, not with the wedding and the travel to Italy, and everything else. But I couldn’t keep putting it off.
Still, I knew I should’ve started packing, or at least start sorting what I wanted to keep and get rid of. But everything in me was balking at it, and I kept procrastinating.
Tomorrow,I resolved, and went to my room, climbing onto my bed with my laptop.
Going to my email, I jolted at all the spam that I’d received, and proceeded to delete it all. Damn, I’d never seen so many vaguely threatening email subject lines . Didn’t these spammers have anything better to do? Shaking my head, worn to the bone, I set my laptop aside, got ready for bed, and went to sleep.
Or tried.
Alone, with nothing to look forward to but packing, without Lia to help or Mario to babysit, or anyone to talk to—I thought of Daniel. My entire body tensed up and I gritted my jaw, but I couldn’t get him out of my head. I saw Daniel dancing, his smile loosening and becoming real, laughing as Lia teased him and spun him around. Ty and his guys surrounding him, encouraging him, and Daniel letting go—I’d seen the old Danny.
He's not gone,I’d thought with a leap of wild hope, so much so that I’d almost run onto the dance floor and tackled him.
But I knew by the time I’d get to him; he’d be gone again. More and more, Daniel was crushing himself into nothing but a cold kingpin, all gangster, and those moments were meaningless.
Even if Danny had looked up at that moment, and had seen me, he hadn’t known why I was looking at him like that. He hadn’t been able to hide the concern as he faltered, puzzled, and the connection had tugged between us—too real to be ignored when our walls were down, and all bets were off.
Tears leaked onto my pillow—the first time I’d let myself cry in two and half years for him. The slow tears became sobs until I was curled in a ball, racked with longing and grief, wishing that I could hate him, knowing that I should hate him, and knowing that I never would.
Finally, I fell asleep, my tired brain hoping that a country between us might start to mend my broken heart.
Only right before I slipped into dreams, I knew with an agonizing clarity, I’d probably never get over Daniel Michaelson.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Sara
Iwoke up late the next day, every part of my body aching, and my head pounding. I’d wanted to get up early, go to the gym, then go work in a café. Instead, I dragged myself to my kitchen table and made a cup of coffee, swallowing a few Excedrin. After, I did a half-hearted yoga routine and flopped onto the bedroom floor, gazing around at the packing materials and a sense of being frozen by everything that I had to get done took over me.
At least, that was what I told myself, as my heart seemed to ache with a pain and wanting that I couldn’t quite breathe through.
I should call Lia,I thought, trying to distract myself, and my stomach squirmed with guilt. I couldn’t keep putting it off and I dragged myself upright, pulling my laptop off the bed. I’d see when their flight got in, maybe send them dinner from their favorite place, and set up a time to talk.
Would they immediately tell Daniel? I couldn’t help but wonder and I blew out a sigh, then navigated to my email, my brain too scrambled to remember what airline they were flying, never mind what time they were getting in or anything like that. It wasn’t that I cared if Daniel knew or not, not exactly. But there was a faint guilt, there, as though I should tell him myself.
You do not owe him that,snarled a voice in my head.Don’t forget that he left you out in the cold, on the sidewalk, that he’s wanted nothing to do with you for two and a half years. He made his choice—you’re nothing to him.
Nothing but a liability, that is,hissed a nasty little voice in the back of my head.
Too late, I realized I’d been staring into space for the past few minutes, and shook myself, going to search my email. Then I paused and my head began to hurt again. Last night, my email had maybe ten or so messages. Now, there were over a hundred, all from that same spam account, with the same threats and all capitalized subject lines, and I scrolled through, a little unnerved when my eyes snagged on one, then another, and another.
I gasped and began to shake, reading them over and over.
Sucking mobster cock won’t save you now, bitch.
Boston or San Francisco—you still owe me.
