27 Ways to Mend His Broken Heart

by Tapscott, Shari L.

  “Practical as always.”

  “You have a hangover, don’t you?” She clucks her tongue, reprimanding me.

  Yes, and it’s the first and last time. I lost my head last night and let Daniel convince me to go out. I’m not proud of it.

  I refuse to acknowledge Kaylee because I’ve always cared too much what she thinks, and right now, I don’t want to care.

  “Come on,” she coaxes. “You’re not a moper. You’re a ‘this too shall pass,’ ‘things will look brighter in the morning’ kind of guy.”

  Kaylee’s tone is chipper, but I can tell it’s forced. She’s worried about me, but she doesn’t know how to help, and it’s driving her insane.

  Groaning, I release the pillow and turn to her. “It is morning, Kaylee—it’s not brighter.”

  She purses her lips, hiding a worried frown. Her brunette hair is up today, twisted into a chaotic bun. A few strands have already escaped, and she impatiently shoves them behind her ear.

  I press my fist to my chest. “It feels like she ripped out my heart.”

  I’d never admit it to anyone else. Kaylee, however, has been my best friend since the time in fourth grade when Ted Erwin cornered a scraggly stray cat by the overgrown Russian olive tree at recess.

  (In case you’re wondering, young Kaylee marched up to him, eyes ablaze, and punched him in the face. Blood ran from his nose, and he cried like a baby all the way to the principal’s office. Kaylee was suspended for a week. Since we lived across the street from each other, I was chosen to deliver her schoolwork, and we ended up becoming friends over her mom’s homemade sugar cookies and hours of Mario Kart.)

  I flop back on my bed and stare at the ceiling. I should get up, change my wrinkled T-shirt and flannel pajama pants for a less wrinkled T-shirt and jeans—attempt to act human. But right now, it sounds like too much.

  Kaylee stares at me for several long moments, and then she narrows her eyes, nods to herself, and crawls on my bed. She sits right next to me and crosses her legs, preparing for a conversation I don’t want to have.

  Unfortunately, curiosity gets the best of me. “What are you doing?”

  “Kyle, you trust me, don’t you?”

  “In theory.”

  “Well, believe me when I tell you that lying around in bed, bemoaning your bad fortune, isn’t going to help.”

  I glare at her, tempted to tell her to get off my bed and out of my house. “What exactly do you want me to do?”

  “For starters, I want you to return the ring.”

  She couldn’t have taken me more by surprise if she’d punched me. Silence blankets the room, and she watches me with her sympathetic, yet unwavering, gaze.

  “It’s too soon,” I finally say, and then I roll over, burrowing under my pillow.

  She gives my shoulder a tight squeeze, and this time, her voice softens. “There’s no reason to keep it, Kyle. It will just sit there, haunting you.”

  With all my being, I wish last night never happened. If I’d known it would end like this, I would have never bought the ring, and I certainly wouldn’t have proposed.

  “This isn’t the way it was supposed to go,” I tell Kaylee, my voice muffled in the pillow. “I just don’t understand what happened.”

  With a soft sigh, she lies down behind me and wraps her arm around my waist. “I’m so sorry, Kyle,” she whispers against my shoulders.

  It’s the gentle tone that undoes me. I push the pillow aside and roll over, trapping Kaylee close, taking the comfort she offers. It’s a chaste embrace, chaperoned by sorrow.

  A lump forms in the base of my throat, and breathing becomes difficult. I choke it back, refusing to lose it over a woman who cared so little about me, she dumped me in front of everyone we know. I have to keep it together, be strong.

  I clench my eyes, fighting the pain.

  Seconds turn into minutes. I have no idea how long we lie together, Kaylee silent while I fight memories and battle an imagined future that won’t ever come to pass.

  Eventually, my head quiets, and I stay here, numb and thankful for it.

  “You hungry?” Kaylee asks gently, propping her head on her hand.

  I meet her eyes. “No.”

  “Well, I’m starving.”

  “You’re going to make me leave my bed, aren’t you?”

  She laughs under her breath and leans forward, pressing a quick, playful kiss to my forehead. “Oh yeah.”

  “Fine.” I sit up and scrub a hand over my face. “You win—you always win.”

  “That’s true.” She leaps off my bed and leaves the room. “Get dressed so we can go. Oh, and grab the ring.”

  3

  I am the worst best friend in the history of best friends. After Ava shattered Kyle’s heart, when I was all alone, I cried big, fat crocodile tears of joy. That’s right—sobbing, snotty, gulping tears of unadulterated relief.

  I know. Here my best friend is broken, embarrassed, and completely lost, and I feel like I just crawled through a war zone on my knees and somehow managed to make it out alive.

  Ava’s not just gone—she’s moved on.

  For the first time in five years, Kyle is single. Available. Not engaged. Not Ava’s.

  That doesn’t mean I don’t feel for him. I hate that she did this. I want to hunt her down, make her pay. How could she destroy Kyle—genuinely sweet Kyle? He’s the quintessential all-American boy next door—handsome, friendly, kind, and courteous. He’s the kind of guy who still tips a waitress when she accidentally dumps a tray of drinks over his head. (It totally happened.) He’s just…nice.

  “You look like a drug dealer,” I say as soon as Kyle steps into his living room in a pair of track pants and a dark blue hoodie—with the hood up. His shoulders are slumped, his jaw is covered in stubble, and his eyes are slightly bloodshot.

  “I’m up. I’m dressed. What more do you want from me?”

  I push down the hood. “It’s seventy degrees out there. You’re going to die of heatstroke.”

  He gives me a look that says, “You promise?” and then schlepps to the front door.

  * * *

  The return is painful. Kyle leans against the glass counter as if unable to stand on his own, and dark circles ring his eyes. The tall, balding jeweler checks the receipt against Kyle’s driver’s license again. His eyes narrow to scrutinizing slits. It’s obvious he wants to be absolutely certain this is Kyle Fisher in front of him and not some engagement-ring-stealing hoodlum here to collect a couple thousand dollars of easy cash.

  When the man is satisfied that the exchange is legit, he turns his eyes on me and frowns like he thinks I’m the villainous woman who turned Kyle down.

  As if that would happen.

  When the transaction is finished, Kyle shuffles my way. He’s pale, and he looks like he might throw up, but he triumphed.

  “You need food.” I eye him. “I’ll buy you breakfast.”

  “Okay,” he mumbles, heading for my car.

  I slide into the driver’s seat, trying (and failing) not to watch Kyle from the corner of my eye. He buckles his seatbelt, slouches down, and lays his head against the headrest.

  I’d ask him where he wants to go, what he’s in the mood for, but I know he’d only give me some vague non-answer, so I don’t even bother.

  Fifteen minutes later, we pull into a local hole-in-the-wall restaurant that specializes in huge cinnamon rolls—Kyle’s weakness. If anything is going to snap him out of this sad state, it’s going to be gooey cinnamon filling and cream cheese icing.

  “Two?” the hostess asks when we step inside. Her voice is a little raspy, like she’s been smoking for the better part of her forty-some years.

  A tiny gift shop lies to the right, offering scorpion lollipops, cactus keychains, a rotating rack of Arizona-themed postcards, and a collection of plush toy coyotes wearing bandanas and cowboy hats. There’s a mounted rattlesnake—real, not plush—on the counter, along with a sign that reads, “Shoplifters will answer
to Wilber.” I’m guessing Wilber is the snake.

  I nod to the hostess, and she takes us into the small dining room and seats us at a booth along the window-lined wall.

  “I’ll be your server.” She pulls out a pad of paper and a pen. “What can I get you to drink?”

  “Coffee,” Kyle says.

  I order orange juice, and then, wasting no time, add, “We’ll take two cinnamon rolls, two sides of bacon, and—” I look at Kyle. “You want eggs? Hash browns?”

  He shakes his head.

  “That’s all then.”

  “It’ll be up in a jiffy.” She takes our menus and disappears into the back.

  Kyle stares blindly at the sugar container—one of the tall glass dispensers that flips open when you tip it over, and I look around the restaurant. It’s a tourist trap meets truck stop, the very definition of a dive, but the smell wafting from the back makes my stomach growl.

  Three older guys sit at a nearby table, all wearing cowboy hats and boots, looking not dissimilar to the stuffed coyotes in the gift shop. They’re kicked back in their seats, finished with their meals, in no apparent hurry to leave as they enjoy their coffee.

  A family sits two booths behind us, and the little girl points at the western-themed memorabilia on the walls and reads the hand-painted signs to her younger brother.

  “I can’t remember the last time I ate bacon,” Kyle says suddenly.

  I turn to him, mildly surprised. I didn’t expect him to start talking until he’d downed another cup of coffee, and I certainly didn’t expect him to say that.

  “You what?” I ask.

  He leans back in the booth. “Ava wasn’t a fan.”

  “Of bacon?”

  I’d understand it if she were a vegetarian or something, but I’ve seen the woman eat pork chops, so I know that’s not it.

  He lets out a soft snort and smiles—it’s a wry smile, more of a mirthless smirk, but I’m going to call it progress. “You know Ava.”

  Yes, I’m afraid I do. She’s extremely health conscious, to the point of being militant about it, but I had no idea she expected Kyle to follow her diet. Or maybe I have it all wrong—perhaps he followed it because he wanted to.

  “You can order something else,” I tell him. “I just assumed—”

  “No.” He crosses his arms. “I want it.”

  “Okay.” I turn my attention to the table and unroll my silverware. I then fold the corners of the napkin, making a floppy, rather abstract, origami sculpture.

  I can feel Kyle sinking back into the abyss, and I need to bring him back. “Do you have a pen?” I ask him.

  He gives me a funny look, as he well should. He’s barely dressed. Where would he hide a pen?

  “I’ll be right back.”

  I hop up and wave away his questions.

  “Hi there,” I say to a woman stationed at the gift shop counter, edging away from Wilber the Snake. “Do you have a pen I could borrow?”

  Looking bored, she nods to a coffee mug holding a collection of white pens that have “Calamity Coyote’s Café” printed in red on the side. “One for a dollar, five for four.”

  “Oh…okay. I’ll take one.”

  After scrounging in my purse for spare change, I head back to the table with my new pen.

  Kyle watches me, looking cautiously curious. It’s an expression he’s been known to wear on occasion—usually when he thinks I’ve lost my mind.

  I nod to my folded napkin. “I’ve turned mine into art. May I use yours?”

  “Sure…”

  I’m already grabbing it before he gives me permission. I smooth it out, trying to make it lay flat. When I’m satisfied, I write “Number One” at the top left corner. “We’re going to do an exercise.”

  Kyle groans. “Kaylee, I’m not in the mood.”

  Not about to let him wallow, I shake my head. “You know what your problem is?”

  “That my girlfriend of five years dumped me when I proposed, making me look like an idiot in front of pretty much everyone?”

  “No,” I say, shooting him a look. “It’s that all you’re thinking about is the bad.”

  I’m going to have to act fast because he’s starting to look a little angry, and I don’t want to be the one he decides to take his frustration out on. I mean, we’re solid. We’d move past it. But it wouldn’t be pleasant, and who knows what I’d end up saying.

  “You need to think of the silver lining—the bright side.”

  “There is no bright side,” he deadpans.

  Grasping for something—anything—I say, “You can buy a mountain bike. You’ve always wanted one, and let’s face it; riding wouldn’t exactly be Ava’s cup of tea.”

  He crosses his arms and sits back in his seat, staring at me with a look I can’t quite decipher. It’s a little unnerving.

  “I’m writing it down,” I inform him, pulling my eyes to the napkin. “We’ll just list it as Number One: Buy a Mountain Bike.”

  Silence.

  “Okay.” I tap the napkin with the back of the pen, refusing to meet his eyes while I think. “Dogs! You love them, but Ava’s allergic. You can get a dog, Kyle! You know, if you want. Sometime.”

  Still…crickets. This isn’t going as well as I’d hoped.

  “Number Three,” I continue, nothing if not determined. “Drive-in movies.”

  I bite my bottom lip as I write it down. I don’t have to explain this one—Kyle knows. We used to go all the time back before Ava made her debut our senior year.

  She thinks the old drive-in is lame, mostly because they schedule so many older movies. Even if Kyle and I went just as friends, it seemed a little too date-like when they were together. Neither of us even suggested it.

  But now he’s free to go again. You know, with me.

  I wish Kyle would just say something. Anything. I wish he’d crumple the list, throw it on the floor. Tell me it’s stupid, and that would be that. Something.

  “Remember the time we finished three tubs of popcorn during The Lord of the Rings marathon?” he finally says.

  I pull my eyes up, and hope blooms in my belly. “I remember I couldn’t eat popcorn for a year after that. I was so miserable.”

  “I still have no idea where you put it all.”

  “Excuse me—I had some help.”

  He stares at me, wearing the same look as before, but it’s somehow softer now. “It was good, you know?”

  “The popcorn?” I ask. “Or the movies? Sure, the fight scenes are a little longer than I like, but—”

  “No. Us.” His eyes bore into mine. “You and me.”

  My mouth goes dry, and I blink at him like a china doll.

  “Before Ava, I mean.” With a sigh, he picks up a tiny container of grape jelly and twirls it between his finger and thumb. “We had fun.”

  “Yeah,” I manage, articulate as can be.

  “I’ve missed that.” He motions between us. “I’ve missed this.”

  Tell him you’ve missed it too. Tell him you love him. Tell him you want to get married, wear matching Christmas sweaters, and have his babies.

  Okay, don’t tell him that.

  “Number Four,” he says, thankfully oblivious to my thoughts. “Spend more time with Kaylee.”

  I stare at him as an obscene amount of happiness washes over me, warming me all the way to the tips of my fingers and toes.

  Kyle jerks his chin toward the napkin. “Write it down.”

  “Okay.” I give myself a mental shake and write the words with a trembling hand. Spend more time with Kaylee.

  4

  I stare at the sentence, insanely tempted to do a Sound of Music spin in the restaurant—or just as bad, stare at Kyle with a lovestruck expression.

  Thankfully, the waitress returns with our drinks before I make a fool of myself. “Your food should be up shortly,” she says before she heads to another table.

  I clear my throat after she leaves, pen poised on the napkin. “What else? Just list ever
ything you’ve wanted to do in the last five years but couldn’t. Everything you’re free to do now.”

  Kyle is quiet for a moment, and then he says, “I want to drive to Phoenix and get a hamburger from that old place we used to go to, the one that’s been around forever. Remember it?”

  I gulp because I do remember—the last time we went was the summer I turned seventeen, right before we started our last year of high school. We took a day trip to the city, just the two of us. I wanted to do some clothes shopping. For the first time ever, Kyle held my hand as we walked through the mall. It felt monumental. That day I just knew we were finally, finally, becoming something more.

  But when we got home that night, when Kyle parked his old Jeep in front of my house, nothing happened. I waited in breathless anticipation, but he didn’t kiss me. I didn’t kiss him either. I was too chicken to make a move, and apparently, he had no desire.

  And the rest is history. Two weeks later, we met Ava.

  “Got it,” I say, still staring at the napkin, trying not to drown in memories. “What else?”

  “There’s a lunar eclipse coming up, and I want to drive out to the desert to watch it. Ava hated that sort of thing.”

  He didn’t say he wants to drive out with me necessarily, but my pulse kicks up a notch like he did.

  “Number Seven?” I ask.

  “I want to go four-wheeling.”

  “Did you forget what you do for a living?” I ask.

  “I want to go four-wheeling for fun,” he clarifies and then takes a long drink of his coffee. “We don’t get to take the Jeep out enough.”

  We. That’s a definite inclusion.

  “I want to play paintball,” he says, moving on. “And go fishing.”

  He adds several more, and I dutifully write them down. Our food arrives just as I’m finishing. By the time I’m taking my first bite, Kyle has inhaled half a piece of bacon.

  He waves it in the air. “I want more of this.”

  “You can have my other piece.”