by Meghan Quinn
“They’re not in a twist. They’re perfectly straight.” She takes a bite of her pasta and turns back to me. “My boobs are straight, right, Colby?”
Her boobs are nice . . . although I haven’t seen them in a long time. Boobs I would love to see while having phone sex, but I don’t think she’s that kind of girl, and I’m too damn nervous to ask her. I don’t want her to judge me, but fuck, wouldn’t it be great to watch her come on FaceTime?
“Completely straight,” I answer, swallowing hard. Changing the subject, I ask, “What are you eating?”
“Rotini with meat sauce. I added some parmesan on the top.”
“Nice.” I nod my head.
“What about you?”
“Uh, some chicken thing with veggies. It was all right.”
“Sounds lovely.”
We stare at each other, my mind racing to say something, anything else. Her day was nice. We covered that. She fitted a girl with glasses. I thought of Ryan. We talked about dinner. Uhh . . .
“Holy shit, this conversation is riveting. I’m going to get out of here before things get too heated for me.” Rowdy gives me a two-finger salute as he stands. “Peace out, bro.”
He takes off, and I’m left alone with Sage who also seems to be trying to think of something to say.
“So . . . there was a dog on base today.” I inwardly roll my eyes. That’s so fucking lame.
“Oh yeah. That’s cool.” She bites her bottom lip, raking her teeth over it. “I saw a dog today too.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
I let out a long breath and take a look at the time. Nine o’clock. “Hey, it’s getting late. I have an early morning tomorrow. I should get going.”
She nods. “Okay, yeah. I’m going to finish up dinner and maybe watch some TV with Rowdy. He has me watching American Ninja Warrior.”
“Nice.” Is it weird that I don’t care that she seems to be spending so much time with Rowdy? Shouldn’t I care? “Have fun.”
“Thanks. Sleep well.” She waves and then hangs up.
Turning toward my nightstand, I plug my phone into the charger and turn off the light, my mind analyzing the conversation I just had with my fiancée.
Not my friend. Not my girlfriend, but with my fiancée.
It was uncomfortable. It shouldn’t be that difficult, especially when we’re supposed to be in the “honeymoon” phase of our relationship. When we’re supposed to be head over heels for each other.
Did something change?
Are we not the same couple I thought we were a few months ago? Were we ever really the couple I thought we were in my head?
God, it makes me think of the words I said just before I left for the Springs. “Maybe if you spent a little less time planning the damn wedding and trying to get to know me, you would know. It’s like we’re not even a couple anymore, Sage.”
We’d never really returned to that conversation, never cleared the air. Did I conjure up a fantasy of what I thought we possibly had?
I have no fucking clue, but there is one thing I am certain about.
I talked to my fiancée on the phone today and when we hung up, neither of us said I love you.
Chapter Thirteen
RYAN
“Dad, you’re spoiling me.”
“It’s not every day I get to see my little girl, so yeah, I’m going to spoil you when you come home.”
“You know Stryder is going to freak out, right?”
“Well, it’s the least I can do since you’re going to be staying with them. Are you sure I can’t change your mind?”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
Sitting in the parking lot of Amy’s Donuts, Stryder’s favorite place in Colorado Springs and my dad’s go-to donut shop, he turns toward me with a dozen donuts between us and says, “Your mom isn’t a bad person.”
I shake my head. “Dad, I don’t want to get into this right now.”
“Ryan, I need you to understand.” He uses his stern voice—so he’s going to talk about this and there is nothing I can do about it. “She is a good person. Does she have her moments? Yes, but genuinely she just wants what’s best for you.”
“Okay,” I answer, looking out the window. He can talk all he wants, but it’s never going to change anything. No matter what, my mom will always have something negative to say about me, and I’ll always take it to heart instead of brushing it off. Some comments I can wash away after a day or so, but other comments, they stick with me, burying deep within my soul and making an everlasting imprint.
“Is that all you’re going to say?”
Exhausted, I say, “Dad, I really don’t want to get into this right now. I had a nice evening with you, catching up, we got donuts, and I think we should go to Rory and Stryder’s house and call it a night on a positive note.”
With agitation seeping into his features, he turns on the car and looks forward. “Can I ask you something, and you need to be honest with me?”
“Okay,” I drag out, feeling nervous.
“Was your mom ever abusive toward you?”
“Why are you asking that? You just told me she was a good person.”
“Because she’s a good person to me, always has been, but there is always a tension between the two of you I’ve never understood. I never got. I’m trying to figure it out, and from the reaction you have whenever she’s around—the flinching and the cowardly way you duck around her—unlike the Ryan I know, I’m wondering what it is that makes you dislike your mother so much.”
I turn toward him, head cocked to the side, confused. “Dad, were you really that blind when I was growing up? Were you really consumed with work so much you never saw the way she treated me or heard the things she said?”
“Help me understand.” He looks baffled. I have no idea how he missed this.
I cross my arms over my chest. “She might not have physically abused me, but she sure as hell mentally and emotionally abused me. I was never good enough for her, and I know I never will be. Too fat, too ugly, not wearing the right clothes, my hair’s a mess, my teeth are crooked. It was always something. I was never the perfect Barbie doll daughter she wanted.”
“You were perfect. You are perfect.”
“To you, Dad. I was perfect to you, but not even close to perfect to her.”
He’s silent, staring out the window, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. I take a moment to take him in: the salt and pepper of his hair, the set of wrinkles around his worn eyes, the small hairs on his earlobe. He’s aged, and not just in the last few months since I’ve been gone, but over the years. It seems like today is the day I’m recognizing it, because instead of the fun, happy-go-lucky man who thinks I’m an angel on earth, he looks tarnished and weathered, like he’s harboring guilt.
“I should have been there for you more,” he whispers. “I was trying to give you a life where you didn’t have to worry about things like buying your own car and having to pay for college. I was trying to give you the kind of life you deserved, but in the process, I let things slip. I didn’t catch the jabs and the hurtful things your mother said.” He shakes his head. “So in the end, instead of giving you the childhood you deserved, you lived in a nightmare.”
A gut-wrenching pain takes over as I watch my dad break down in front of me, head bent, shoulders shaking, tears falling from his soulful eyes, the same eyes we share.
“Dad, it wasn’t a nightmare,” I lie, wanting to make him feel better, wanting to show him it’s not all his fault.
“Don’t lie to me. I see the woman you are today, insecure and unsure of your decisions. That’s not because I gave you a stable environment to grow up in. I left you to suffer the wrath of your mother.” He shakes his head. “This has been a long time coming, and even though I think she can be a good person, I know deep in my bones, she’s not the person I married. She changed along the way, and she took her anger out on you.”
“What are you saying?”
He starts the car and puts it into reverse. “What I’m saying is I’m going to have a long conversation with your mother when I get home.”
“Does she know I’m in town?”
He nods and pulls out onto the road. “She does.” I don’t want to ask this question, as I don’t think I’m strong enough for the answer. But equally, I need the truth.
“Does she want to see me?”
“She didn’t say.”
She didn’t say.
Fucking. Awesome.
I look out the window and watch cars pass us by. A sinking feeling hits me square in the chest. I shouldn’t care—I know I shouldn’t—and yet, knowing my mom didn’t even say she if wanted to see me crushes me. What mother doesn’t jump for joy when their child comes home? I don’t get her, and I don’t think I ever will. I guess I truly know where I stand now with her.
I wipe the stray tear cascading down my cheek. My mother doesn’t give a fuck about me. Never has. Never will. My best friend is married and pregnant, therefore moving farther and farther away from me in life. My other best friend loves me like a friend, and is moving on with his life with his future wife and career. My dad is disappointed in himself, because he feels he failed me. Which he so didn’t. Fuck, he didn’t.
I’m desperately trying to cling to the good things in my life right now, and I know when I’m not suffocating under a fog of despair and defeat, there are many great things. So, attempting to swallow my melancholy, I take a deep breath and thank the man who has given more than I deserved in life. Unconditional love.
“Thank you for dinner and donuts, Dad. I really had a great time.”
“So did I, boo bear. So did I.”
It feels weird that Rory and Stryder don’t live in their small apartment in Manitou Springs anymore but actually own a real-life house. And it’s also weird that I’m staring at my friend who has a protruding pregnant belly, and a husband wrapped tightly around her, one hand on her stomach, the other holding a donut.
She’s so grown-up and I’m . . . I’m dating Don-the-douche who had a temper tantrum when I told him I’d be gone for a few days. And of course, he hasn’t texted me since.
I’m so not in the same place as Rory, and hell, it makes me feel like I’m doing nothing with my life.
“These are amazing. Babe, take a bite.” Stryder holds the donut in front of Rory who gladly takes a bite and leans into him.
“Ugh, so good. This might have to go on the rotation of what we get. Who knew the cherry lemon was so damn good?”
“This is heaven.” Stryder takes another huge bite. The man is obsessed with Amy’s Donuts, which I know from Rory has to do with something about his childhood. When he saw the box, his entire face lit up, and it was cute.
“It’s the least I could do since you guys are letting me stay here.”
“It was no problem at all. We were so excited you asked us. You’re our first overnight guest. I made up the guest room, and I’m making waffles in the morning.”
My lip curls, a crease in my brow. “Waffles? When did you start cheating on our pancake addiction with waffles?”
“Ever since I had a craving and bought a waffle maker. It’s been waffle weekends for the past few months.”
“Thank God we get the protein-packed waffles.” Stryder pats his flat stomach. Pretty sure the guy doesn’t absorb one calorie from anything he eats. “Which reminds me, Colby is coming over for breakfast tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, how—”
“What?” I ask, cutting my friend off in sheer panic.
They both turn their attention toward me, confusion written over both their faces.
“Uh . . . Colby is coming over for breakfast,” Stryder says. “Is that a problem?”
“Yes, I mean no,” I shake my head. “I mean . . .”
Shit.
Rory and Stryder exchange looks before turning back to me. “Care to explain what’s going on?”
I bury my head in my hands. “Not really, no.”
“Ryan.” Rory uses that tone that tells me not to fuck around with her. And pregnant Rory is scary—more harsh around the edges and not so patient. I think it’s the constant pressure on her bladder that’s starting to get to her.
“I really don’t want to talk about it.” I clap my hands and say, “How about we all brush our teeth and go to bed? Wouldn’t that be fun?”
They both shake their heads. Stryder says, “No, I really want to hear why you’re being weird about Colby. Did he say something stupid? You know he’s not great with words.”
My heart hammers in my chest. “No, he’s fine. He didn’t say anything. He’s . . . my friend. I’m just tired. Hard day.”
Another exchange of glances. Their ability to communicate from only a look as a married couple is powerful and annoying.
“If he’s your friend, why do you seem so shell-shocked, Ryan? This isn’t like you. What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” Rory has known me for a long-ass time, and I know—I know—she’s going to put this together, and I’m barely breathing waiting for her.
“You like Colby.”
And there it is. Rory’s power of deduction knows no bounds.
I shake my head, feeling the defeat in my shoulders as I sag into my seat, hand cupping my forehead. “No, I don’t like Colby . . . I love him.”
Cue the silence.
And the gasp.
And then the squeal followed by clapping. “Oh my God. You love Colby? This is so great. I can’t believe it, but then I can. Gah, I kind of want to think this is all because of me, but I won’t take all the credit, I’ll give some—”
“Rory.” Stryder places his hand on her shoulder and leans forward. “Are you forgetting the fact that Colby is engaged?”
Her mouth falls open, words nowhere to be found as she remembers the one thing that has been tearing me apart every damn day since he proposed. He’s getting married. And there is nothing I can or will do about it.
“Oh shit, I completely forgot.” Another gasp as Rory whips her head toward me. “And you’re the maid of honor.” I slowly nod. “Holy shit, you’ve been helping her plan this entire wedding while you’re in love with the groom. That’s like a Lifetime movie.” No. Not even close. It’s a nightmare.
“A screwed-up one.”
“Does he know?”
“Of course not,” I practically screech. “And if either of you two tell him, you’re dead to me. I don’t want anything messing with his feelings for Sage. She’s such a sweet and caring woman, perfect for him. I don’t want anything screwing that up.”
“Ryan, don’t you think he deserves to know?”
“No. Absolutely not. He doesn’t feel the same way about me. He’s happy with Sage, and there is no point for him to be aware of my feelings. It wouldn’t be fair to him or Sage.”
“And what’s fair to you?” Rory asks, her hand coming to mine. My mother told me many years ago what was fair for me. You can’t look like that your whole life . . . no one will ever want to date you.
“Nothing. Nothing is fair in life, and I’m okay with that. Rory, I will not be the girl who broke up a wedding.”
“And what about the girl who gets the guy? Are you ever going to be her?” In a word? No.
Why is she pushing this so hard? How can she not know how much her suggestion to intrude on Colby’s joy is hurting me? Trying not to raise my voice—she is pregnant and delusional—I say, “Rory. Stop. You’re not really suggesting I tell Colby I love him in the hopes that he throws away his engagement to someone as sweet as Sage for someone like me, are you?”
“Someone like you? What is that supposed to mean?” Oh dear. Angry Rory has arrived. Stryder is wisely silent. He knows Rory well now and knows not to intervene. Yet.
I give her a get real look. “Come on, I’m not stupid. Compare me with Sage. I’m the devil to her angel. We both have blonde hair but where hers is pure innocence, mine is pure sin. We are polar opposites, and Colby floats t
oward women like Sage.” I pause and look away. “Her kind heart reminds me of yours. I can see why he’s marrying her.”
Struggling slightly, Rory stands to her feet and walks to my side of the couch where she sits and lifts my chin so I’m forced to look her in the eyes.
I connect with my best friend, the girl who’s been through everything with me. We’ve held each other’s hands through some of the toughest times, and when we weren’t protecting one another, we were laughing and sharing our deepest secrets, cheering for each others successes, and eating pancakes together during our fails. I love her. I have missed this so much. Missed her.
The familiarity of having her in front of me, next to me—consoling me—creates a wave of emotion. My eyes begin to water. I don’t want to cry, but I can’t keep my broken heart in one piece any longer. I just feel so alone.
Holding me firmly, she says, “You have a kind heart, Ryan. Do not put yourself down like that. The woman sitting before me is so much more than you believe. You have a heart of gold and a vivacious soul that is addicting to be around.”
“Then why . . .” A sob rips through my throat. God, this is so embarrassing. Stryder—amazing man that he is—doesn’t leave, but instead, sits on the other side of me, placing his hand on my back where he gently rubs it back and forth.
“Why what?” Rory gently asks with her soothing tone.
“W-why doesn’t anyone love me?” Another sob rips through me as I bring my hands to my face and let the tears fall. The sorrow I’ve been building up—for what seems like decades—pours out of me. “I can’t find anyone who wants to stick around long enough. My own mother doesn’t love me; she doesn’t even care enough to see me while I’m here.” Letting it all out, I continue, “I found this incredible man, someone who truly cares about me. But not only is he taken, about to get married, when he had the chance, he told me he loves me as a friend. Do you know what kind of a blow that was? I know he’s engaged”—I hiccup—“and he’s not mine, but hearing him finalize the fact that we’re friends and only friends, it was a gut punch I wasn’t ready for.”
