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I fucked up so bad.
I don't know how I'm going to make this right. I've asked everyone I can think of for advice, including Drake, who berated me so thoroughly that I hung up after fifteen minutes. Mom says not to give up. Drake didn't offer advice, merely offered to step in and comfort her now that I've upset her so completely. Bastard.
Not helpful at all. But very Drake of him.
I've tried calling her, I've texted, I've sent gifts. I tried to catch her at Polly's and failed. The only thing I haven't done is truly given her space. I figure I haven't been camped out on her doorstep, so that's as much space as I can give her and not lose my mind.
I knew the gifts wouldn't work. She's not a materialistic person.
Probably another fuck up on my part, but I was desperate.
Desperate is not a good look on me.
Neither my super supportive mother nor my laidback best friend might ever speak to me again if I don't make this right. They are both firmly on Betty's side. Not that there are sides. Well, there are only because she won't respond, I guess.
Clearly, I am losing the ability to function.
She hasn't responded to a single message. It's driving me insane.
I can't fix it if she won't talk to me.
I can't allow myself to think that we can't work our way through it.
I won't lose her... not for good.
Unless I already have.
* * *
I make it seven days before I can't take anymore. I show up at her apartment early, before five. I wasn't sleeping anyhow.
I know she'll be leaving to deliver an order to Polly's but I don't want to interfere with her business. I know I was wrong to look for her there before. Her business is so important to her. If I screw that up, she'll definitely never forgive me.
And she has to forgive me.
I stand outside and try to bolster myself, work up my nerve to knock. This could very easily backfire for me. She may wind up calling the cops and telling them I'm stalking her. She'd have evidence that's for sure.
It would serve me right.
I raise my hand to knock and the door opens before me. I'm not ashamed to say that tears fill my eyes at the sight of her. She's in the purple sweater I love and a pair of jeans, sneakers on her feet. Her long hair is pulled up into a messy bun on top of her head. She looks tired, like she hasn't been sleeping much either.
She looks sad. It makes me ache.
"Hi," she says, sounding exhausted, but not surprised to see me.
"Hi," I echo, my heart in my throat. She's talking to me, that has to be a good sign. "Do you have a minute?"
She nods and wraps her arms around herself as though trying to ward off the cold. I open my mouth and close it again. I have to get this right. I swallow around the lump in my throat.
"I know I fucked us all up," I begin, earnest even if I feel like I'm just making excuses. "I love you so much, Betty. I trust you; I swear I do. I always have. I just never found the right time to tell you. And then too much time had gone by, and I knew you'd be upset. I knew..." I trail off and clear my throat. "Just, I know I've said it and I know it's not enough–" she holds up a hand to stop my rambling. I shut up and then say, "Please, Betty... I'll beg if you need me to."
She takes a half step toward me, her hand outstretched and I grab onto her like a lifeline. Relief floods through me. She's letting me touch her, she's listening. It's not over.
"You don't have to beg," she says quietly, still so subdued. I miss her sass, her smile. "Your mom wrote me a note."
I squeeze her hand in mine and pull her closer to me. "Oh no," I say but she puts a finger to my lips. I could kill my mother. I know she probably thought she was helping but she shouldn't be interfering in our relationship.
