by Monica James
“Yes…but—”
There are no buts in this equation. What she did, I know what it feels like to be on the receiving end. I thought I knew her, but I don’t know her at all.
“Did you know he had children?”
“Yes.”
I press my eyes closed, wishing I could shut out the truth.
“Can I come over? Please let me explain.” I wince, her words the same words Liz used when I caught her cheating. History seems to be repeating itself.
“Now isn’t a good time,” I reply, sighing, utterly defeated.
Liz chooses this precise moment to speak. “Now or ever is not a good time.”
“Who is that?” Carrie asks. I can just imagine her wise eyes widening in horror.
“It’s no one,” I respond honestly.
“You’re with her?”
Sick and tired of the lies and games, I sigh. “Yes.”
“Oh, my god,” she cries. “Have you been with her this entire time?”
My silence is all the answer she needs.
“How could you? Did you…sleep with her?” She sobs, breaking my heart all over again.
What does it matter? This is all fucked up, regardless of my response. “No, of course not.”
“Then why are you there? Why?” She chokes on her tears.
“I thought I was doing the right thing, but I don’t seem to know what that is anymore.”
“Leave her. Come here. Let’s talk. Please.”
Her pleas are too much, but I can’t leave, and it has nothing to do with the fact Liz is blackmailing me because that all seems obsolete now. “I can’t, Carrie. I’m sorry. I can’t be with you. What would that say for everything I’ve experienced these past six months if I were? You lied to me. You cheated with a married man. You did what Liz did to me.” This is my hard limit, and I don’t know if I can forgive and forget.
“When I spoke to Liz, I was talking to the past me who fucked up epically. I know I’m no better than she is. Hell, I am her.” Remembering the phone call, I now understand why it felt so personal…because it was. “That’s why I was so afraid to tell you. I knew you’d never forgive me.”
“You should have told me,” I mutter, defeated.
“I wanted to tell you. So many times. But you hate Liz for what she did, so how could you not hate me? We’re both…cheaters.”
“No,” I utter, shaking my head, unable to hear the awful truth. This entire time, she had me believing we weren’t right for one another because of my past…but it was her past that was the issue.
“So that’s it? Everything you said to me…it was all a lie? You won’t even let me explain.”
“No, I meant every word, but I just wish you’d have told me. This is something I needed to know.”
“Like you telling me you were spending the night with your wife,” she counters, wounded.
I understand her pain, but this isn’t tit for tat. Two wrongs don’t make a right. I was here to protect her and save her from the shame, but it appears I can’t save her from herself and the mistakes she’s made.
“I’m not perfect. I never said I was. But I told you everything. I never lied.”
“Until now,” she whispers.
“It seems we’re both liars then,” I counter, sealing our fate for good. “You knew I had issues with trusting people. I asked you never to lie to me because whatever you’d done, I could deal with as long as you were honest. This is my deal breaker. You know that!”
“I kn-know. I’m s-sorry.” Her remorse is clear, but I need some time. I’m not angry about her poor choice. We all make mistakes. I’m wounded by the fact she didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth.
“I am too.” So many emotions are running through me right now. I don’t know how to feel.
“So, th-this is i-it?” Her stuttering is crushing every fiber in my body, but I need time.
“For now.” Until I can figure this out, I need to distance myself from Carrie, and I think she needs the distance too.
“Are you getting back together with Liz?”
Looking at her, at her smug, pretentious being, I finally shed this skin for good. “No, never. I can’t be with someone I don’t trust.”
I’ve never meant that more than I do now.
Carrie is holding back her tears, but it’s too late. We’re both broken. Something beautiful has shattered us both. “Goodbye, Carrie.”
“Jayden, no. Please…” She sobs, but her pleas…they are just like Liz’s. I can’t do this again. I don’t have the strength to do this and come out sane.
“I’m sorry, dove. I’m sorry…I just…I just need time to think. Goodbye.” Her tears tear a hole straight through me, but I hang up before I lose the strength to.
I crush the cell to my chest, closing my eyes, unbelieving this just happened. I don’t know what to feel.
“So you see, I did all this to protect you.” For a few glorious minutes, I had forgotten Liz was here.
“Protect me?” I snicker, ready to end this once and for all. “You did this all for your personal gain.” When she attempts to refute, I walk toward her, steady and slow. “But I’m done. No more games.”
My confidence diminishes hers. “I’ll ruin her. I’ll ruin you.” But her threats, they’re empty—just like her.
“Go ahead.” I spread my arms out wide. “Tell whoever the fuck you want. Tell Gerry. Tell Axle. Tell Yale. Tell the world. It doesn’t matter anymore. I was trying so hard to make this right, but there is no right in this situation. We’re all sinners. And it’s time we make amends for our sins.”
“I lo-love you,” she falters, launching forward, but I reach out and grip her upper arm. It’s the first voluntary touch I’ve made. It will also be the last.
“No, you don’t. All I am to you is one of your fancy jewels.” I flick at the thick gold necklace around her neck. “I’m someone to show off because, god forbid, you enter a room alone. But that’s all you’ll ever be, Elizabeth. No matter how much money, men, and materialistic shit you buy, it will never fill the void because you’re running away from the one thing that scares you most in this world—being alone.”
Tears fill her eyes, but she sniffs them back. “I me-mean it. I’ll tell them.”
Lowering my face toward hers, I smile. “Tell them, I dare you. Because if you do, I have some stories of my own to tell.”
“What stories?” Her eyes widen, and I see something I haven’t seen from her for a very long time. Humanity.
“I’m sure your friends would love to know how you screwed most of their husbands. I mean, by Michael’s wife’s reaction, I dare say you may need to find some new friends.”
“They won’t believe you,” she says, showing me her colors by not even attempting to deny my claims. I had my suspicions all along, but she’s just confirmed them.
“I think that they will. The fact Michael got bitch-slapped proves it. Maybe they’ve suspected all along.” She clenches her jaw. “What’s the matter? Don’t like being on the receiving end for once?”
This is the ultimate standoff. The gloves have come off.
“And you will sign those fucking divorce papers. If you don’t, I will give Yale a juicy story which just happens to be true.” No one knows the exact reason we separated—it was none of their business—but I have no qualms about divulging it all. Hell, it might even win me brownie points with whoever my new employer might be because after tonight, I have no doubt my career is over.
Our “friends” undoubtedly will be leaking the information to whatever source they can find. You know the anonymous “friends” you read about in gossip magazines who love to spill the confidential beans about their “friends.” I was just sitting in a room full of them.
My woes will be tomorrow’s headlines. But funnily enough, I’ve never felt freer.
“Okay, fine, you win.”
I shake my head, letting her go. “This was never a game. Well, to me it wasn’t.”
&
nbsp; “I did love you,” she says, and the real Elizabeth Evans, the one who walked into that Starbucks before all this heartbreak occurred, shines.
“And I loved you, too. Remember that. Not this. Because this is ugly—and I know you’re not. Beneath everything, you’re still beautiful. You just need to find that beauty again. Goodbye, Liz.” No matter if that is true or not, I choose to believe it is. I choose to believe she will keep her promise and I will keep mine.
I believe that when I leave her standing in the middle of the room, sobbing into her palms. I hold that belief when I make my way downstairs, suitcase in tow. Liz’s friends quieten down when they see me, but I don’t care.
Today is a brand-new day—the death of J.E. Sparrow and the birth of someone new.
One Month Later
“A skinny tall cappuccino and an extra hot latte,” says the hipster, Barry, who just happens to be my boss. “Got that, old man?”
He’s lucky I like the cheeky bastard.
“Yes, I’m not deaf,” I reply, passing Wanda, my 11a.m. regular, her mint tea.
“Not yet anyway,” Barry quips, laughing.
This is my life now. Working for twelve dollars an hour at a coffee shop and getting picked on by a boy with a curly moustache and trouser braces. But it’s a life I’ve chosen, and it feels fucking terrific to shed my skin.
After the night I said goodbye to J.E. Sparrow for good, I called Nick and told him everything. I needed a break from the crazy. I asked him to call Gerry and tell him the deal was no longer on the table. He begged me to sleep on it, but there was nothing to sleep on. My decision was made.
It had nothing to do with Liz blackmailing me. It was all me.
When it came to Axle, however, I had the pleasure of telling him I would no longer be writing for him, or anyone else for that matter, because I was on hiatus—effective immediately. He asked if it had anything to do with Daisy, which made me happy. Why? Because that indicated he knew nothing of Gerry’s offer, meaning Carrie was in the clear.
This also meant that Liz kept her promise, and I knew she’d stick to it when I received the signed divorced papers in the mail. I thought I would celebrate when the day came, but I didn’t. It was filed away with another part of my life that I moved on from.
I thought I’d be missed, but it’s amazing that another hundred up-and-coming authors are ready to take your place. I was yesterday’s news.
I left behind the person I was for so long and became this unnamed face in a sea of many. My job is pouring coffee, or if you want to get fancy, I’m a barista. It seemed fitting I go back to the beginning and uncover what’s next for me.
A day doesn’t pass when I don’t think of Carrie and the error of our ways. What we had was real—a whimsical romance that one reads about in books. It’s no surprise the day we stopped talking was the day I stopped writing.
I haven’t written a word since. And I’m okay with that.
I was trying so hard, believing she was the magical cure, but all along, that cure was me. Yes, Carrie may have inspired a new lease on life for me, but in the end, I wrote those words for me. But now, I don’t want to write. And I don’t know if I ever will again.
So I spend my days working, watching life pass me by. Things may be slow moving, but it’s a nice change of pace.
When I hear, “I’ll have a beer,” I look up to see Nick harassing Barry, just as he always does.
“For the tenth time this week, we don’t sell alcohol. Just coffee.”
Nick blows a raspberry while loosening his tie. “What kind of an establishment is this anyway?”
“A respectable one,” I reply, shaking my head at my best friend. He rounds the corner, as he seems to think he works here too.
“Is that for me?” When he attempts to reach for the cappuccino I just prepared, I elbow him in the gut. He grunts on impact while I smirk. I live for these moments.
I pass the two ladies their orders. One of them has been giving me flirty eyes, but I simply smile. “Enjoy your day.”
She clears her throat, as no one likes being shot down, and once upon a time, I would have most definitely returned the affection, but not anymore. I am done with relationships for the moment because I am focusing on the most important relationship of all—the one with myself.
After Liz and I split, I self-medicated on sex when I probably should have seen a shrink instead. I never thought Carrie was my rebound, but I suppose in a way she was. No matter what Liz did, I loved her, and she broke my fucking heart. I should have dealt with those feelings before becoming a walking hard-on.
“Oh, no. You’re having one of your touchy-feely moments with yourself, aren’t you?” Nick says, ruining the moment.
“Why are you here?” I ask, slapping his hand away when he reaches for a chocolate chip cookie.
He pulls out his bottom lip. “I can’t visit my best friend? I miss you.”
“You literally saw me an hour ago.” It just happens where I work is around the block from Nick’s office. Convenient or a curse—I’m still undecided.
“Fuck you. Let’s go out tonight. It’s Friday. You do remember what your Friday nights used to entail, right?” he poses with a grin.
To shut him up, I pass him a cookie.
It doesn’t stop him, though. “One beer then. Just because you’ve given up on life doesn’t mean we all have,” he says around a mouthful of food.
“On the contrary. I’m embracing life,” I argue with a smirk. I know what he’s doing, and it’s working.
“You’re embracing boring,” he counters, pointing his half-eaten cookie my way. He looks at Barry for moral support, who nods. Fuck them both.
“He’s right, Jay. You get hit on at least ten times an hour, and you hardly seem to notice.”
“Ten times an hour?” Nick cries, horrified. “What the fuck is your secret?”
“Not caring,” I reply with a shrug.
“Now you’re just being smug.”
I burst into laughter while Barry goes back to the cashier to serve the line of thirsty patrons.
Nick leans against the counter, making it clear he’s not going anywhere until I agree. “My morning is free,” he explains, which means he will be here annoying me until he needs to go back to work.
Barry passes me the next order, which consists of about fifteen coffees. Nick may have all the time to chitchat, but I don’t. So I have no choice but to cave. “Okay, fine. If I agree to come out tonight, will you leave me alone? Some people actually come to work to work.”
Nick clutches his chest, feigning horror. “They do? And it’s a deal. Now, I’ll have a long macchiato. To go.”
Rolling my eyes, I get to work, wondering what exactly I just agreed to.
Nick texted me the address of some bar downtown.
I went home and changed after work, not really in the mood to socialize, but it might be good to go out after being an almost hermit for the past month. Besides, it’s just for one beer. What’s the worst that can happen?
The moment I step into the overcrowded bar, I want to step back out and go home. I’d much rather be a couch potato and binge watch the new season of The Walking Dead. But I suck it up and wedge my way through the throng of people.
No surprise, Nick is at the bar with a row of shots in front of him. When he sees me, he raises one in a salute. “You made it!” In celebration, he throws back the clear liquid and slams the glass onto the bar. “Here.” He slides a shot over, but I slide it back.
“A beer, thanks,” I order from the bartender. “Are you celebrating?”
Nick tosses back two shots, replying with a sluggish shrug. “I signed a six-figure deal for some little up-and-coming snot whose book is about two robots who fall in love. That’s remotely exciting, I suppose. But I miss the days when authors wrote for the love of writing. Some manuscripts I read—” He scrunches up his face as though he’s just smelled something bad.
“The literary world is changing. With self-publ
ishing taking off the way it has, authors have to stand out in a saturated world,” I explain. “It’s not just about writing good stories anymore. It’s about image and who’s cool to read. An industry where we’re not supposed to conform has become just that. Sad, but true.”
Nick sighs, mussing up his brown hair. “Maybe I need a new job. It’s no fun without you anymore. So you’ve given up writing for good?”
I’ve asked myself that question often, and I’m still no closer to uncovering what exactly the answer is. “For the moment, mate, yes. I used to love writing, but now, I feel like a phony. How can I write about something I have no idea about?”
“She really fucked you up, didn’t she?” There is no need for him to elaborate who that is.
The bartender chooses this moment to place the beer in front of me. He clearly can sense my dire need to forget my woes when he places a shot of whiskey beside it. “I don’t know what she did, but this feels different than it did with Liz. Carrie and I shared something…unique. Two ships at night, desperately seeking the solace of a lighthouse to welcome them home.”
“When you say shit like that”—Nick wipes away his imaginary tears—“it confirms that no matter what you’re feeling, you will always be a writer at heart.”
I suppose he’s right.
“You still haven’t called her?”
Reaching for my whiskey, I cherish the burn as it slides down my throat. “No, it’s too late, and what would I say?”
“Hello?” Nick offers, making this sound so easy, but it’s not. I know what I feel for Carrie. I think I knew from the first moment we met. But before I commit to someone else again, I need to make sure she won’t be my rebound, and I won’t be hers because that’s what we both were.
A rebound kiss that turned into something else.
“Let’s get drunk,” I declare, needing to switch off for just one night. This constant ache I feel in the middle of my chest is because I miss Carrie—I miss her so much it fucking hurts. But if she wanted to call me, she could have. Just as I could have called her. But until I figure myself out, this is the only solution that makes any sense.
