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There’s nothing else to say. But when she lifts up on her tiptoes, pressing her lips to the corner of my mouth, it feels like she’s saying goodbye.
CHAPTER 25
Laura
For some reason, it hurts to listen to music.
Every time I turn it on—the radio, a jingle on an ad that TV is playing, god forbid a music streaming app—I feel like there are knives in my chest.
It’s ridiculous. I’m not a seventeen-year-old kid. I’m not heartbroken. I’m just…
God, ithurts, and it’s annoying.
“Honey,” Alice says, looking me over with the seriousness of a doctor assessing a patient in the E.R. “Are we sure about that outfit?”
I look down. My suitcase it open on the bed, and my entire wardrobe is strewn across the bedroom like a tornado has hit specifically this room.
“It’s cute.” I lift up the shirt, a nice button-down with embroidery on the pocket. “And also, who gives a shit if it’s cute?”
I toss it down and sit on a chair that is currently holding most of my dresses. I cross my legs, curling into a ball.
The playlist that Alice has on right now is depressing me. Who the hell listens to easy listening? It’s not easy to listen to at all. It’s the worst part ofjazz, for god's sake!
Okay, I know I’m the Grinch.
But…
Alice rolls her eyes, fed up with my attitude, but dutifully folds the shirt and packs it in my suitcase.
I begin to tear up.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice wobbling.
Alice turns to me with horror on her face. “Babe, don’t cry?—”
“I think I broke up with David,” I blurt out.
She sits on the edge of the bed, leaning in. “Like, yeah, you did. A month ago?—”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I mean, again. For real. I mean?—”
“Oh, girl.” Alice grabs some tissues off the nightstand and hands them over. I dab my face, feeling like a child. “Start from the beginning?”
“I—he’s leaving,” I whisper. It hits me again. It’s been hitting me, over and over and over again, like a truck, like a wave. I’m trying not to care. I’m not supposed to care.
“Leaving?”
“Leaving.”
“I’m confused.”
“I found out,” I say, staring at the tissues in my fist. “That David is leaving. His work is transferring him. Or, he’s transferring himself. He’s not saying no. He’s leaving, and he’s… he’s not taking me with him.”
“Did you want him to?” she asks, her expression neutral, though the concern on her face is clear.
My eyes are full of tears. I blink, hoping to hold them back, but it just makes them fall faster. My stomach feels sore, like it’s empty, like it’s gnawing at itself, like I’m starving—it feels like homesickness. I shouldn’t feel that in my own bedroom with my best friend in the room.
What has David done to me?
