I know I have to go down there, it’s weird I haven’t greeted him yet, but when Marta came up to tell me, I panicked even more. This timing couldn’t be worse, what with everything that happened with Molly last night. Oh, and I’d gotten a damn good earful of Marta’s opinion when she dropped the Justin bomb, too.
The minute I walk out of my door into the hallway, Peter is there.
“So, am I keeping my mouth shut about you and Molly, then?” he whispers, genuinely looking concerned and confused.
I know he’s asking out of support, because he likes us together. But he’s also probably worried about our other best friend, though the guy didn’t bother cluing us in when he moved halfway across the world.
And honestly, at this point, what is there to tell? Molly and I haven’t spoken all day, I screamed at her on my birthday, and now her ex-boyfriend is here.
The two of them have such unresolved business, I’m not sure where I fit. Would she go back to him if he begged her? The thought of that makes me want to punch a wall or maybe my best friend’s snooty, spray-tanned face. I always hated that he went and got those fake things, it makes him even prissier than he already is.
“Yeah. Don’t mention it. Honestly, after last night, who knows if we’re even together anymore.” I bury my face in my hands.
“Well, you would know, if you manned up and talked to her. Dude, you claim that you spent the better part of a year pining over her, and now you have the chance to win her back when Justin shows up and you’re just going to squander that? I thought more of you, brother. You love her, we all know it. Don’t let that go because you’re salty and grieving. We both know Molly did nothing wrong, and that she was only trying to help. Get your head out of your ass and let someone in. You won’t do it for me, you won’t do it for your family, but don’t you lose her. You’ll be kicking yourself for a lifetime.”
His unexpected diatribe feels like a swift jab in the throat. “Jesus, I didn’t realize this was an intervention.”
Peter smirks. “I only give them when one of my very best friends is being a stubborn asshole, which you are.”
I rub at my temples, exhausted by the whole thing. “I know, I just … it’s been a tough week with Steph and everything.”
“The fact that your sister isn’t here on your shared birthday has nothing to do with the woman you’re in love with. And are possibly about to lose. You want her? Go fight for her. Don’t let that slimy, Singapore son-of-a-bitch get her back.”
He’s right, and those words of encouragement are exactly what I need to march downstairs.
Except, when I get to the living room, neither Molly nor Justin are sitting with the rest of the housemates.
“Where is Molly?” I ask them, and every eye in the room swings to me.
Heather looks fucking pissed, so clearly she isn’t going to tell me. Jacinda’s eyes flit away a second later, pretending to be oblivious. She loves both Justin and me, and I don’t blame her for not wanting to get involved.
It’s Marta who finally speaks, frustration and a little bit of smugness in her tone. “She and Justin took a walk. They’re talking.”
I know what my sister’s best friend is trying to do. She’s told me for a year that I should confess my feelings for Molly, and now that I fucked things up last night, she thinks I’m getting the medicine I deserve.
Maybe I am. But it doesn’t hurt like a bitch any less.
“Where did they go?” I ask.
“Down the beach,” she responds.
They’re talking, obviously, about their relationship and how he screwed up. Will she tell him we’ve been seeing each other? Will she tell him what she feels for me? I don’t even know her true feelings, so it’s naive to think she’ll stand on that hill in front of her ex-boyfriend.
My heart feels like a dead, leaden thing sitting inside my chest. I slump down on the couch, knowing that I should have apologized before this and now possibly won’t have the chance.
I said things last night that hurt Molly to her core, things that weren’t true and were unfair to ask of someone. I let my own anger blind me, and for the first time, was seeing how much the grief I wasn’t dealing with was hurting everyone around me.
I could lose her. I could be losing her right this moment.
That thought crushes me, and I honestly don’t know how I’ll survive if she decides to go back to him.
I did it once, and it turned me into a hateful, spiteful person. Would I have to go back to that guy?
If Molly told me she loved Justin, and that she was giving him a second chance, I’d have no choice. Turning my heart black would be the only option.
36
Molly
“This is so depressing.”
Marta shuts another cabinet door, sulking as she places a few boxes of crackers into the large shopping bags of food we’re taking home with us.
“Tell me about it. It feels like the summer just started. I can’t believe we have to leave.” Heather pretends to wipe away a fake tear, but she’s really half-joking.
I think we’re all feeling it today, since it’s our last day in the Hampton’s house. The bedrooms have been packed up, drawers emptied, suitcases placed in the trunks of cars. The pool floats have been deflated, and the random paperbacks we’ve been scattering around the living room all summer have been boxed up. Now the girls and I are working on the kitchen, while the men take the beach chairs, umbrellas, and other items on the sand back to the storage space in the garage.
“It was a wonderful summer.” Jacinda sighs, and we all know she means it more than anyone.
This is the place where she got engaged, the place where we started to talk about her and Peter’s wedding. It’s been a summer to remember.
But for me, I’m a little relieved it’s coming to a close. When this house share started, I felt like the outsider. I wasn’t even sure I should come, and I was nursing both a broken heart and battered ego. Over the last few months, I’ve really blossomed in this group. And outside of what happened with Smith, I’m happy to say that I’ve made some lifelong friends. Not only that, but for the first time in my adult life, I gave myself permission to relax. To take a break. One that I didn’t even really realize I needed until I was doing it.
It’s bittersweet, the summer coming to an end, because it was a great few months. But I can’t ignore that being in this house any longer would only deepen my hurt, that it would only crush my heart more with each passing day. Smith and I still haven’t spoken about the night of his birthday, both of our own stubbornness preventing it.
I should have apologized by now, about not respecting his wishes, but I think what he accused me of is worse. And Jacinda let slip that Smith told Peter he thought I was back together with Justin after my ex’s surprise visit. He’s been avoiding me like the plague, and the fact that he thinks I’d abandon him that easily shows just what he thinks of me as a person.
My conversation with Justin was awkward, and I can’t say much else to describe it. He tried to apologize profusely, turning on the sympathy valve as if I was ever going to understand his logic in hiding his move for months and then breaking up with me as he sat on the tarmac. Via text. He bullshitted about commitment issues and feeling too settled, but realized he threw it all away just days into getting to Singapore.
When I asked why he never called if he felt that way, he lied some more, throwing out cliché excuse after cliché excuse that aren’t even worth repeating. Justin never truly took accountability for breaking my heart, for leaving me with no explanation, and for ruining the life we were building together.
As I sat there listening to him drone on about how incredible his apartment in Singapore is, how much money he was making, and how I should come out and visit him, I couldn’t help but think that I truly never knew this person. Maybe I thought I had, but he’d fooled me. His heart was never mine, and now that I knew what true love looks like, I could never go back to something like that. Not that Justin
hadn’t asked; he’d practically gotten down on his knees on the beach and asked if we could give things a second shot. I have no idea why he asked, because he made his life and dating potential across the world sound like a dream, but maybe it was seeing me happy. He had no idea that I was with Smith, if I was even still with Smith, but I reckon that would have only served to make him want me back more. Justin is a game player, someone who likes what he can’t grasp in the moment, and I was done being his pawn. Had been done a long time ago.
I told him no, that he hurt me to my core, but that I no longer felt anything for him. I didn’t make the “I’m seeing someone” excuse or ramble about how he broke my heart, I held my head high and refused him for all the things he’d done. I didn’t need to come up with reasons why I wasn’t available; I was simply not available because he didn’t deserve to be in a relationship with me.
The walk back had been brutally silent, and he sulked the entire night he stayed with us at the beach house. He and the boys went out that night, and I have no idea if Smith told him about us or not, but I didn’t see Justin the next morning. I haven’t heard from him since, and I’m assuming he crawled back to the airplane he came from. Good riddance, and I’m glad I can say that I’ve finally closed that chapter.
The French doors open and the men come back into the kitchen. Peter catches Jacinda’s attention, and they walk out, heading for the beach. Ray pulls Marta in another direction, and when I finally pick my head up, Heather has gone off somewhere as well. It’s just Smith and me, left in our tension-filled bubble.
“Ready to leave your keys?” he asks, that deep voice sending a pang of loneliness through me.
I spent most of last week in the city, preparing my classroom, and trying not to see him. It hurts to even look at him, knowing what we had before the disaster of his birthday.
“Yes,” I say simply, my eyes cast down as I pretend to look through the shopping bags of leftover food.
“It was a good summer.” I feel Smith’s pull, the magnetic energy between us strong.
I miss lying in his arms; I miss him kissing me awake in the morning. I miss the way he looks at me as if I’m the only other person in the room.
“It was,” I agree, unsure of what to say.
Is that what he’s doing, saying goodbye? We had a nice summer fling, but once the door to this house is shut, any possibility between us is gone, too? I want to scream in frustration, or berate him for the things he said to me, but the good girl in me keeps quiet. I won’t make myself look like a fool if what we had isn’t something he even cares about.
“Molly …” Smith trails off, and there are so many words left unsaid.
I take a deep breath, knowing I have to get one thing off my chest, before I never see him again. Who knows after this, if we’ll ever be in the same room together. Smith has no reason to see me after we leave the Hamptons.
“I’m sorry about your birthday. I shouldn’t have pushed you, and it was not considerate at all to cast your pain and grief aside. I apologize for any hurt I caused you that day.”
There. My conscience is clear. Anything I felt guilty about was now off my shoulders.
Looking up, I’m met with a desperate blue gaze. “Tell me you’re not with him?”
That’s what he cares about, me and Justin? He could have said so many things just now, and he chose the jealousy inside his head.
My expression shuts down, my heart turning to dust. “No, I didn’t get back together with Justin. But the fact that it’s the first thing on your mind, the only thing of concern, is really telling. You’re more worried about this competition you have with your friend, rather than the love you say you have for me. Someone who loves another person doesn’t say the things you did the other night. And they don’t leave them hanging, without explanation, without apology. This was never about who I was going to choose. I chose you, from the minute I stepped foot in this house. Before I even realized it was you I was meant to be with. Once you kissed me, I never thought of anyone else. But you’re fueled by this envy, and you act on rage. I deserve better than that.”
I don’t raise my voice, and I don’t cry. For those two things, I’m thankful that I could keep my composure. I take out my keys, pulling the one to the front door of this house off.
Smith watches as I place it gently on the kitchen counter.
Neither of us says anything more, and ten minutes later, I’m looking out the window of Heather’s rental as we drive out of the Hamptons for good.
37
Molly
If you looked up the definition of what my September always looks like in the dictionary, you would find it under hectic.
The beginning of school always seems to happen with a poof of chaos, a lot of learning curves, and too many sleepless nights. There are lesson plans to tweak, students to get reined in, administrators to bargain with, and the lackluster parents who don’t seem to care if their children show up for school or not.
On top of all of my work as a teacher, I still pick up shifts at Aja. Because the beginning of the school year is so crazy, it means I often underestimate the supplies and books my students will need. Sometimes, I have to buy one or more of them backpacks because they show up without them. Other times, I’ll find out that one of my students isn’t eating during the day because they can’t even afford the subsidized meal plan. I need the extra cash, but the extra work hours are brutal on my exhaustion.
It’s worth it, though, to see my students safe and healthy. By the end of October, things should even out. It just feels like I’m a hamster running on a loop right now.
I did happen to get a rare Sunday off and decided to make the trek to New Jersey since my parents have been bugging me about coming by.
The scent of Dad cooking his famous ribs invades my nose, and I’m almost drooling.
“Honey, did you get serving utensils for the potato and pasta salad?” Mom asks, carrying two large bowls as she exits the back screen door.
I stand, moving to take one from her. “I did, they’re on the table.”
We set the dishes down together, and then sit, her nursing a glass of wine and me an iced tea. It’s like old times, the three of us grilling on a Sunday afternoon, and I know that Dad will turn the football game up on the radio as soon as we sit down to eat.
“How is school going?” Mom asks, genuinely curious.
I get my gene for teaching from her, and she’s one of the best educators I know. She’s tough but compassionate and goes above and beyond to help her students succeed. She’s the kind of teacher I emulate.
“It’s going, all right. My students this year are good ones, but per usual, they need a ton of help and support. I say it every year, but I can’t believe the way the system lets these kids fall through the cracks. I can’t believe some of the parents who don’t even care if their children flunk out of school, much less show up.”
Mom nods in agreement, as if she’s seen this too many times to count. “It’s a crappy world sometimes, Mol, but that’s why we keep going back. Someone has to help them, look after them. I’m proud of you, it isn’t an easy task.”
She pats me on the hand and takes another sip of wine. Dad comes over with a plate full of saucy, dripping barbecue ribs, and I have to restrain myself from digging in. It’s not often that someone cooks for me these days, and the comfort of being taken care of by your parents is one that still soothes the soul even into your thirties.
“You still picking up shifts at the restaurant, too?” Dad asks as he sits down with us.
I nod, biting into my first rib. “Of course.”
The conversation follows its normal pattern, of my parents checking in to see that I’m working myself like a dog. Then they transition to neighborhood gossip, followed by my father’s favorite electrician stories of the week.
My parents don’t know that Smith and I are no longer together. They weren’t the biggest fans of him to begin with, and I don’t need their snarky comments if
I tell them we’re not seeing each other. The reason we aren’t together has nothing to do with Smith’s money or his societal status, though that’s what Mom and Dad would make it about.
I love my parents, but they are truly blinded from the background they come from. Instead of comforting their daughter over her breakup, it would be spitting on the names of rich people. I know that’s how it would go. I’m so tired of being upset over this as it is, I don’t need more judgment or anger where my love life is concerned.
I’ve still heard nothing from Smith, though I’ve had lunch with Jacinda once, and taken a spin class with Marta. I didn’t ask about him, and they never brought him up. Part of me is grateful for that, because it means we have friendships based off something other than the men I’m dating within their circle. But the other half of me was desperate for any morsel of information, and when they didn’t offer it, I felt slightly disappointed.
It’s been almost three weeks since our fight, and two since we left the beach house. I don’t regret what I said to him that final day, or how I left things, but I won’t deny that I cry most nights.
The aching in my bones, the dry, hollowness of my eyes, the smashed up, fractured glass that is my heart … they’re a thousand times worse than any other breakup I’ve had. I miss him like crazy, and I keep hearing him tell me he loves me over and over in my dreams.
I want so badly to reach out to him, to be the one to break first, but I said my piece. I made my apology. And I don’t deserve the way he treated me. If he ever cops to that, maybe it’s a discussion we can have.
But I promised myself after Justin that I would never be that weak for a man ever again. And so I pick myself up every day, despite my broken heart, and try to hold my head high.
38
Love at First Fight Page 17
