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For a moment I don’t say anything. I stay in her arms, playing with her long blonde hair. “I want you to stay,” I finally whisper.
She gives me a squeeze, then steps back and kisses my head. “Okay, then. Your only job is to pick what you want to watch. I’ll handle everything else.”
She turns and walks across the apartment to the kitchen, swaying like usual. I swear, Hyla just sort of floats. Maybe it’s because she’s tall and thin with that willowy blonde hair, but she seems to move so effortlessly.
I walk back over to the living room area and pick up the remote control from the coffee table. I need something funny. I pick out one of the raunchiest, most ridiculous movies I can find—Eurotrip. By the time I’ve found it on a streaming service, Hyla has returned from the kitchen with two large bowls of the pasta and meatballs I made for dinner and the entire loaf of garlic bread. She sets it all on the coffee table, then smiles softly at me and sits down in the corner of the couch. Wordlessly, I sit down next to her and we dig into our food while watching the ridiculous antics of the movie and pausing our Italian food binge long enough to belt out Scotty Doesn’t Know. We continue eating in a silence that’s somewhere between comfortable and tense.
Maybe I’m just tense.
Why did I call my ex to come over the second I broke up with my girlfriend?
God, I’m a pathetic cliché.
I pull my knees up to my chest again, wishing I could shrink inside myself, hide in a cave of my own making. My heart hurts, and despite Hyla being mere inches from me, all I feel is loneliness. Maybe I’m destined to be alone. I’m like the old dog that no one wants. I’m nice and friendly and still have a bit of spunk, but at the end of the day, I’m unwanted. Well, if I adopt a dog, I’m adopting an old one. One I can give the love it deserves. Hell, maybe I’ll adopt a few. I’ll be the crazy animal lady with a bunch of random jobs.
Oh God. I’m becoming Kirk from Gilmore Girls.
I drop my head against my knees and laugh as I cry. After a moment, the movie stops, and Hyla runs a hand through my hair. “Come here.”
I lift my head and turn to look at her. She’s patting a pillow resting in her lap. I stare at her for a moment, then give into the temptation. Sensing that the movie isn’t doing much to help me, she switches it to an episode of Gilmore Girls. It’s like she read my mind. Sometimes, I think she can. Other times… I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.
Hyla gently trails her fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp, and twirling my curls around her fingers. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“You can say anything.” Her words are soft. Encouraging but not pushing. She’s changed so much. Grown in big, beautiful ways. I’m proud of her. And mad at her. I wish she could’ve done it before we fell apart. Before she walked away from me. Although, she’s sitting here now. Did she walk away?
“Why am I not enough?” I mutter. “Why am I never enough?”
“You are more than enough, Mackenzie. If she doesn’t realize that, then she wasn’t worthy of your love.”
How can she fucking say that?
“Why did you come over?” I spit out, looking up at her.
She bites her lip, but doesn’t drop my gaze. “Because you called,” she says, giving a little shrug. “I’ll always be here when you need me.”
Silence crashes over us as we stare at each other. Longing and hurt twist together inside me as I stare up at the girl whose love I’ve never gotten over and probably never will.
“Do you still love me?” I barely recognize my own voice as I say it.
Her hand in my hair stops moving as she continues staring at me. I watch the muscles of her neck flex and contract as she swallows. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to talk about that tonight.”
She’s right. That doesn’t change how badly I want to know the answer or my wish about what that answer would be.
I shake my head and push myself upright. “I’m tired of crying. I want to be messy and drink the pain away.” I wince, then look at her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—”
She laughs and squeezes my hand. “I’m not sober. You can drink in front of me.”
“You don’t drink much, though.”
She smiles and gets up, walking into the kitchen and returning a moment later with a bottle of bourbon. “You’re right. I don’t. And tonight, I’m not going to drink at all. You are going to get as drunk as you want, and I am going to be here, sober, to make sure you stay in one piece.”
I nod. Alcohol is a shitty coping mechanism, but it’s been a shitty night, so the theme fits. For once in my life, I want to not care. I want to not feel. I just want to let go. Let fucking go.
Hyla sets the bourbon in front of me, then a glass, but I don’t bother with it. I lift the bottle to my lips and chug, playing my own sad solo version of never have I ever.
Never have I ever been broken up with.
