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“I’m going home.” I grab my bag and keys and turn to the table. I let my eyes briefly rest on Quinn before looking at Mom. “I’m not in a place where I can handle your criticism tonight, so I’m going to leave before I say something I’ll regret later.”
*****
I’VE NEVER GIVENmuch thought to the difference between day and night. It’s just a fact that night follows day. It’s just a fact that night follows day. But it’s as I’m in bed, the world silent except for the quiet hum of the refrigerator, that the disparity between the two is displayed in full.
There’s a reason why people say everything looks better in the morning. It’s easy to distract yourself. The world is bustling, and there’s always something to do or people to talk to, so you keep yourself busy, pushing the things you don’t want to face to the back of your mind.
But when the world around you is hushed and shrouded in darkness, and your mind’s defenses are down, that’s when the ghosts of things you don’t want to face creep out to haunt you. I guess there’s a reason that most horror films happen in the dead of night. It’s as if the darkness takes on a life of its own, forcing you to acknowledge things you can successfully hide during the light.
And I can’t hide it anymore. I’m a people pleaser. I’ve always been a people pleaser, and thinking back on my life, I can’t pinpoint the moment I became one. Was I born that way, or is it the age-old question of nurture versus nature, where the way I grew up influenced me to be this way?
Growing up, I always felt inadequate and unseen. Amelia was the firstborn and the golden child. Cody was the baby of the family and Dad’s partner in crime.
“Bailey, you need to do the dishes. Amelia has an important test.”
“Bailey, you can’t go to your party. We’re going to Cody’s football game.”
Those are refrains I’ve heard my whole life. When we got into fights, I was always the one who ended up in trouble. Cody broke a vase—it was my fault. Amelia’s favorite sweater went missing—it was my fault. I learned to keep the peace, and it’s only now that I’m starting to realize that in doing that, I’ve been putting myself second.
I never did anything special. I didn’t fish, play football, or do ballet. I played with my friends, read a lot, and did average in school. I didn’t shine, which meant I wasn’t worthy of attention, so I stepped back, allowing everyone around me to shine.
When Quinn came along, we developed a friendship that became closer as time went on. Finally, I felt as if I belonged, that I was special, and I did everything I could to hold on to that, to not jeopardize that in any way.
I’ve always given in to his demands. I went to his first pick of college instead of mine because he said he couldn’t bear to be without me.
I wanted a small, intimate wedding, barefoot on the beach with family and close friends. Quinn and Mom insisted on a big, elaborate wedding. Quinn’s reasoning was he wanted to show me off, and I gave in because it made me feel special that he was proud of me.
I wanted to move into the apartment on top of the bookstore that was left to me in my grandparents’ will. Living rent-free would have meant buying a house a lot quicker. Quinn didn’t like that idea. He said it would feel weird living there, and he wanted a place that was just ours with no ghosts of the past haunting us. It didn’t make sense to me, but I gave in. If it made him happy, it would make me happy.
This last one is what hurts the most. I thought owning a home with a yard and having children was a dream we shared. In fact, I know it was something we both wanted—we talked about it often enough—and for Quinn to now change his mind without caring about what I want is something I can’t overlook.
For all my life, I’ve sacrificed what I’ve wanted to keep other people happy, and I’m done. I’m tired down to my soul.
Kallan’s words echo through my mind like a whisper in the dark—We only get this one life. What we do with it is up to us.
I don’t want to wake up one day when I’m nearing the end of my life and realize that I’ve been a passenger in my own life. I don’t want to have any regrets. It’s time I start loving myself again.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
BAILEY
FROSTY FROGSis busy, but I luck out and find a spot at the bar. Looking around, I smile when I see Maya hustling through the busy crowds, somehow juggling four plates—which I’m sure is piping hot—and still managing to dodge flying arms and stumbling bodies.
After Kallan walked me home, I couldn’t face another night in an empty apartment, so I made the impulsive decision to grab something to eat instead of my usual cooking for one. So here I am instead. The new me. Not the one sitting around at home waiting on Quinn. This place has always been our group’s go-to spot, and most times, I’ll be guaranteed to bump into someone I know.
“What can I get you, gorgeous?”
Swiveling back to the bar, I look up into a pair of beautiful gray eyes.
“You’re new here,” I observe, taking him in. I can see why Nathan hired him. His stubble-covered jaw and the tattoos running up both his arms firmly put him in the crowd-pleaser category. And judging by the smile on his face as I take him in, he knows it.
“A few weeks,” he confirms. “Can’t say I’ve seen you around. I would have remembered.”
I might not have a lot of dating experience, but I can spot a well-rehearsed line anywhere. I beckon him closer, and he leans forward, a quizzical look on his face.
“Is that one of the lines you study in the ‘How to become a good bartender’ manual?”
For a moment, I worry I might have offended him, but he barks a laugh, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “No, but it sure helps with the tips.”
