Somehow I make it through the door at home without crawling and grab my charger to check if Logan has texted back.
But what I discover is so much worse.
My voice-texts had all auto-corrected and I gasp, horrified to discover what I’ve accidentally said to him.
“Good moaning. I’m really sorry forks run outside my asshole. I hope you breastfeed me. I have to run, homie. My unicorn shit. I’m having a case of the manboobs and it’s only Saturday.” And then my Ha stuck like I think I’m the funniest person alive. “Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha…” plus a million demented more, until, “Thank you for the origami and everything, Elsa. You’re a green geyser—” Finally it ends, along with all my dignity.
There’s only one possibility here, and it’s faking my own death.
Before I have a chance to make any plans to visit the Philippines (the number-one fake-death destination, don’t ask why I know), Austin walks into the living room with his thundercloud face on.
His eyes sweep over my outfit, and the disapproval emanating from him is lightning.
“Thought you had a kid party today.” Slow-motion style, I open my mouth to say—I don’t know what, but he keeps going. “Don’t worry, maid of honor, I picked up Charlotte’s tab last night for you. You’re welcome.”
He stalks out of the kitchen, and now I follow, protesting.
“I gave the bar my card to open the tab.”
“But you didn’t stick around for them to run it…and it didn’t go through.” My stomach drops even further, to somewhere in the basement.
“How is that possible? I have money! Had money? Did I get hacked?” I feel sick.
“I don’t know, did you share your pin number with Logan while you were making out in the bar?”
Says the guy who was attached to his girlfriend like a Britney-style boa constrictor? I press my lips together to keep from pointing that out. Plus, I’m taken aback by his obvious anger. Sure, I messed up, but it nowhere compares to the other mess up that took place in this very room. He’s never been mad at me before. Like, ever.
“Are you mad at me? I can Venmo you. Once I talk to my bank. I’m really sorry, and I just… I’m really sorry.”
His shoulders drop. He crosses over to me with a couple strides of his long legs, and gives me the patented one-elbow-around-the-shoulder man-friend hug.
“I’m not really mad. I’m just stressed. Work’s been crazy and last night had me really frustrated.”
He lets go and starts tidying up. I watch him pick up the throw on the couch and fold it rather than look at me. I feel terrible. I’m an even worse roommate than voice-texter. And that’s saying something. I hadn’t even stopped to think about Austin, except about how his kisses and girlfriend and move affected me.
No, I was busy alternating between paying penance for the situation I’d created with his lips, and desperately trying to forget that every stupid time I think I’m just about over him for good, the light catches him just right and I can’t look away all over again.
The doorbell interrupts my run-on thoughts.
“That’s Lucy,” he says, walking over to let her in.
“Chloe,” she says, breezing in, looking refreshed and not like someone who had way too much to drink last night. She’s even great at getting drunk. “Just the person I wanted to see.”
Things go from bad to worse when she says she wants to plan a shopping trip for the girls.
“It’ll be fun. We can even do a spa day and get our nails done.”
“Mm,” I demur, because I can’t think of a polite way to say “thanks, but I’d prefer arsenic.”
She sits on the couch and tilts her head. “Is that what you wore last night?”
“Yeah.”
Her eyes widen. “You and Logan spent the night together?”
“They did,” Austin answers for me.
“Maybe that moving in together might be a possibility after all,” she says.
“They just met,” Austin says, speaking for me again. “Doubt she’d jump into something as serious as that this soon.”
A lump forms in my throat. The kind that burns and is hard to swallow over. The kind that signals tears are next. Maybe I’m overly emotional because I’m tired and told Logan I had manboobs and my unicorn shit. I just know I can’t look at their happiness any longer. The internet experts, who so far have failed me at every turn, say that to get over someone unattainable, maintaining distance is important.
The opposite side of the earth wouldn’t be enough distance right now. So, not wanting to answer any more questions, I excuse myself. “I’ve got to make a phone call.”
“Enjoy,” Lucy says.
Well, I do not enjoy it, Lucy. Because after twenty minutes with the bank and then with Ryan, I discover that my unicorn did, in fact, shit. All those lovely online orders I thought were fattening up my bank account? The site managing the payment only sends them to me once a month. And now I’m overdrafted.
Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha.
The shower doesn’t wash away my problems like I hoped. Nothing swirls down the drain except soap suds and the remains of my dignity. From the bathroom, I hear Lucy giggling as I wrap myself in a towel and sneak to my room. There is no satisfaction in my gummy, and I can’t possibly go eat Austin’s food now. I am a failure, a fool. An absolute buffoon. I put a pillow over my face to scream into and accidentally fall asleep before I call Logan.
Seven
Cross nap dates off my bucket list. Seriously, I never want to nap again. My heart thunders against my chest as I pick up my phone to search for the meaning of the vivid nightmare I just woke from. It’s still fired into my mind.
Roger, ever a five-star Uber driver, presented me with trophies. At my pottery wheel, I accepted miniatures of each guy I’ve dated this year.
Finn for Most Embarrassing Breakup
Dune for Most Daring Breakup
Matthew for Quickest Breakup
Ryan for Best Surprise Breakup
Actually, that part of the dream was good—I like awards, and was ready to give a brief speech—until they came to life and pelted me with rocks while Austin lounged in an s-shaped coffin, eating a sandwich, shaking his head.
Lucy appeared out of thin air and climbed into the coffin with him. At this point, I tried to leave but I couldn’t because I had a drumstick stuck up my ass. Somehow, I became a puppet in Logan’s hand, spouting dating facts.
Weird stuff, man.
Really, I don’t need Madam Psuka’s dream analysis site to tell me what the nightmare means. It’s obvious and I can either lie here lamenting over what I’ve done wrong, or do what’s right. The New Improved Chloe has learned many things over the past several months. She’s kickass and improving her life. I will not run from my mistakes like I did from Fun Affairs.
Yesterday was a really bad day, but that doesn’t erase all the work I did to get here. I can fix it.
First, I call Charlotte, because hoes before bros.
When she answers I waste no time apologizing for my lack of manners. “I am so sorry I skipped out on you last night.”
She’s a better friend than I deserve by blowing it off. “Are you kidding me? You didn’t skip out, we all left at the same time. And I got your text and ugh, I’m sorry. I fell asleep on the ride home.”
“It’s okay.”
“I really thought this call was going to be about sex, so please don’t disappoint.”
“I will not, as Logan did not, but I had to apologize first. Austin gave me The Guilt. You know how it is, when he looks at you with his not mad, just disappointed eyes?”
“Well…no. He doesn’t get disappointed in me. But I wouldn’t take it personally. He’s really stressed right now.”
Ugh, I really have been selfish. Even Charlotte noticed, and we’ve hardly seen her lately, what with all the wedding stuff. “At least he has Lucy.” She’s probably so in tune with Austin that her mood ring shows his feelings.
“Are we go
ing to have to have a spa day with her?” Clearly Charlotte’s gotten the spiel too.
“Does anyone ever say no to Lucy?”
We’re both quiet for a moment, imagining lives in which no one ever said no to us. Well, that’s what I’m picturing, anyway.
“So how are you?” I ask. “When will the Bridezilla make an appearance?”
Charlotte laughs. “I’m still oddly calm. Everything is set. The new caterer is booked so Austin can relax and enjoy himself during the ceremony. And I do hope the hookup with Logan went well, because I’ve booked Scarlet Letter for the wedding.”
“Yes, and yes.”
We have an extremely serious discussion about whether Charlotte can change “their song” by requesting a different one for the first dance, or if the song that was playing the first time they kissed has to be their song forever, and how their parents would feel about watching them dance to “Muskrat Love.” When we hang up, it’s time to clear up things with Logan because those texts were a mess. Sometime during my nap he’d responded with a string of LOLs and laugh-cry emojis and a “Call me when you can.”
I dial his number.
“Hey, you,” he says. “I’ve been waiting to hear what’s happening. Is your unicorn okay?”
A slow burn ignites low in my belly at the sound of his husky voice.
“Sorry about the weird texts. I was trying to tell you I’m not an asshole and sorry for running out.”
He laughs. “It was the best thing to happen to me all day. When can I see you again?”
“Would you like to go to dinner next Friday? My treat or we can’t go.”
“Playing hardball, huh?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, I’ll give in. What are you doing for dinner tonight?”
“Not sure.” Starving since I can’t eat Austin’s food out of guilt. I should be cooking for him.
“Pru is spending the night and I’m making the best homemade pizza you’ll ever have. Want to join us?”
I sit up straight in bed. Why does this feel so important? Part of me no longer trusts my instincts, but I agree to come over to his house. He offers to pick me up, but I decline so Pru isn’t missing uncle-time with Logan by shuttling back and forth. See, I’m a good person. After we hang up, I kick back the covers and dress in jeans and a black sweater. Austin is on the couch with Lucy, watching TV, when I enter the living room.
“See you later. I’m going to Logan’s for dinner.”
“He can’t pick you up?” Austin asks, with a pointed look.
It gives me great pleasure to say, “Actually, he offered, but I declined because his niece is spending the night so I thought it would be best I drove myself.”
“Little people will be present? That serious, huh?” Lucy asks. She nudges Austin.
“It’s going well,” I say, grabbing my handbag and keys. “We just started seeing each other, though.”
“How funny would that be for you to end up with a guy from the same band Belinda did? When I had you help me, I had no idea I’d be making a love match.”
I’m not going to jinx anything because the universe will surely punish me. Like now, when Lucy nuzzles closer to Austin and says, “Maybe you can babysit for us someday. Not that I’m pregnant or anything. But who knows what the future will bring.”
Austin remains silent and I distinctly remember the conversation where he said no children. The effort it takes to not question this is greater than the monumental effort it’s taken to get over this ridiculous crush.
Austin’s eyes meet mine for a split second before he stands and heads into the kitchen.
“I better get going.”
“I’ll text you with the girls’ day plans,” Lucy says on my way out the door.
Wonderful.
On the drive to Logan’s, I give myself a pep talk between drops of water leaking from my eyes. Mourning is a tricky bitch with no apparent end in sight. One minute, you’re having spectacular sex with a great guy, and the next you’re back weeping at the grave of the wrong man. The internet says there are seven stages to wallow through. I’ve completed two and want to skip over the rest of this whole process:
Shock and denial—done.
Pain and guilt—stuck here.
Anger and bargaining—pass.
Depression—ugh, pass.
The upward turn—can’t wait to be here.
Reconstruction—maybe I can rebuild using all the rocks from FriendsOfFriends?
Acceptance and hope—I want to be here.
What Lucy and Austin do is not my concern. Everyone is proceeding with their life and I’m just now discovering what life is. From now on, I’m jumping ahead to the upward turn.
Prudence does not live up to the definition of her name. She’s a pint-sized version of me, exhibiting no caution when it comes to her crush. Seven is much too young to make such big mistakes that are going to ruin her little life.
Standing at the island in Logan’s gourmet kitchen, I listen as she chats about Hannah, while shaping Logan’s ball of home-made pizza dough into a heart.
“She has Snapchat, but Mommy won’t let me have it yet.”
“As she shouldn’t,” Logan says, assembling a variety of toppings in front of us.
“She has everything. It’s not fair that I can’t send him pictures too.”
“You can always draw him a picture,” Logan says.
No. She needs to move on from him. I spread sauce on my crust, wondering how to broach this topic with her. Maybe it’s not my place.
“I’m not good at drawing. Hannah is, though.”
“Help me out here, Chloe,” Logan says, giving me the green-light.
“What’s so special about Lucas anyway?”
She drops pepperoni on her pizza, lining them up along the edge of the heart. “I don’t know. He’s funny, and he gives me his snack at lunch sometimes.”
“Sounds like a very nice boy,” I say as Logan leans his elbows on the counter, silent, watching us top our pizzas. “Anybody else funny?”
She shrugs. “Yeah. But it’s not the same.” Little girl, I feel your pain. Perhaps a seven-year-old will be better at taking advice than I’ve been.
“Well, don’t try to recreate Lucas. Find something different. Sometimes something different is better than you thought it would be.” I sprinkle mushrooms on my pizza. “It seems to me that maybe you should just focus on friendship and the pizza-making empire you said you wanted. Don’t rely on a man to feed you. Make your own snacks! Really, boys can wait for many, many years.”
Logan smiles. “Yeah, they’re nothing but trouble. Don’t even bother with them. Yuck.”
I smile back. “Exactly.”
“Then why do you like my uncle? Shouldn’t you be focusing on something besides guys like my Mommy says she is?”
This is exactly why children are terrifying.
“Well, your uncle is different. He’s hard to say no to. Don’t you agree?”
“Yeah. He says no to me all the time, though.”
He throws a bit of cheese at her and she giggles.
I find that hard to believe he’d deny her anything. It’s clear Logan is wrapped around her tiny finger and it’s so sweet it makes my chest do this weird squeezing thing. He’s someone I could be boyfriend/girlfriend and really good friends with. Maybe the fact that I didn’t dive in headfirst emotionally the way I normally do is a sign that I’m finally growing up. I’m letting it happen naturally, start to finish. Autocorrect fails and all.
“What else do you want on your pizza, Pru?” Logan says, pushing off the counter. “Time to get these in the oven.”
“Just pepperoni,” she says. “Lucas likes pepperoni. And that’s all Hannah eats on hers.”
I lean in and whisper. “Can I tell you a secret?” She nods. “Always get what you like because someday there may be only pepperoni and you’ll wish you’d had the other things while you had the chance.”
She thinks for a minute, then
drops some sausage and onions in the center. The look Logan gives me is hotter than the oven must be; it’s smoking. He slides our pizzas in and then we head to the living room to watch a movie while they cook. A fire burns in his fireplace, casting shadows on the walls, and we get cozy on the couch with Pru between us. He’s probably the most stable guy I’ve ever dated. I can’t find one thing wrong with him.
There are no red flags. Nothing. I haven’t justified a single bit of his behavior to myself.
This is what relationships are supposed to be like.
Why is it that reasonable men are somehow harder to find than an actual unicorn?
The pizzas are delicious, and I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but it is the best homemade pizza I’ve ever eaten. Including Austin’s. Feels like sacrilege to even think that, but it’s true. The lingering looks Logan gives me, the ones that say he would rather eat me as he takes a bite, make it even better.
We play a game of Go Fish with Pru and then he leads her off to bed. While he’s gone, I cross the hardwoods and study the framed pictures on his mantle. Most of them are of Pru and his family in the outdoors. A few are with the band. His crooked smile is mesmerizing. He’s kind of the perfect guy with the perfect house in Gunbarrel with a perfect view of the mountains. I could see this one really lasting. The fact it doesn’t scare me should scare me, because I am definitely not perfect.
When Pru falls asleep, we have an intense make-out session on the couch, where he whispers that he wishes I could stay. He whispers dirty things that make me wish I could, too. When he walks me out to my car, he leans in, running his hand through my hair, and kissing me soft and slow.
“See you Friday night,” he murmurs against my lips.
“Don’t forget I’m paying.”
He smirks. “Yeah, yeah.”
When I drive away from his home, he stands on the large front porch, watching. I feel cared for, and better than I have in weeks. I think I’ve found the upward turn.
Eight
At what point have you paid restitution? Is it when you wash your Scarlet Letter hoodie until the acrylic S cracks and peels? Or is it when you’ve given advice on sexy lingerie to the goddess your former crush is moving in with so they can start their life together? Right now, looking at Lucy in a sheer—sheer as in totally see-through—bra and panty set, I feel I’ve paid my debt in full.
Winter Bloom (Dating Season Book 4) Page 5
