by Kim Jones
Perhaps that’s why I feel like I’m drowning. Because not once has he asked what I want. Every minute of every day we’ve spent together has been about him. His life. His career. Is my life that insignificant to him? Or does he just not give a damn?
“Jake?”
He pauses at the door. Tells Sandra to hold on a minute before tilting the phone away from his ear to address me. “Yeah, baby?”
Baby.
“Do you know who The Proclaimers are?”
“The band?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“I’ve heard of them.”
“Well, you should listen to their Sunshine on Leith album. They have some songs I think you’d like. You know…for your helicopter fear.”
“I’ll do that.”
He winks and his lips curve into a smile.
That smile…it’s something to behold.
Something to remember.
To cherish.
But it’s the sound of the door closing behind him, and the punch-in-the-gut feeling at my core, that brings me to this….
Step 5: Acceptance
Our story could’ve been a romance novel. I mean, we had the makings of something great—I found my That Guy. I fell in love. He did too….
We had the chemistry. The build-up. The sex. The sixty percent mark where we found out why Jake was a dick. Then he redeemed himself.
I had a damsel in distress moment.
He did all that sweet shit like the hair-tucking and the bath and the whispering of shh, I got you.
We danced. We dated. We laughed. We shared. We bonded.
I swooned. He smirked.
I fell. He caught.
I wore his shirt. He dressed me in it.
Yep. We had it all.
Almost.
Problem is, we’re missing the best part…
The motherfucking happily ever after.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“He’s never coming for me! He’s never going to call! He doesn’t love me!” I fall across the bed next to Emily and bury my face in her shoulder. I need her to hold me. Instead, she pulls away and stands up.
“For crying out loud, Penelope. You’ve been home three hours. Chill out.”
I know Emily is annoyed with me. Hell I’m annoyed with me. Running away without so much as a goodbye? That’s typical heroine bullshit. And I pride myself on not being the typical heroine. But at the first chance I had, I ran. Now here I am—back home in Mississippi. Sad because I miss Jake. And angry because he hasn’t come begging for me back yet.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Millions of women would kill to be casual with a man like Jake Swagger. Me? Noooo…I’m in love….
Why do I think my heart is so important? Who cares if it gets crushed? Jake is good looking. Great in bed. Rich. Smart. Fun. Sweet. How many people are married to men who aren’t even half that?
Stupid heart.
But right now isn’t about me. It’s about Emily who needs to step up and be a best friend. If that means lying or doing something extreme to make me feel better, then that’s exactly what she needs to do. But when I tell her this, she rolls her eyes.
“What do you want? Hmm? Me to fly to Chicago and set a bag of flaming dog shit on his porch?”
I don’t even have to think about it. “Yes.”
She leans against the dresser and narrows her gaze at me. Even after all these years, I still haven’t gotten used to how creepy her crystal blue-gray eyes are when she squints like that. “You know what you are, Penelope? A hypocrite.”
Shocked, I rise up to a sitting position. “Hyp-hypocrite? D-did you just call me a-a hypocrite?”
“That’s exactly what I called you. And stop with the stuttering theatrics. There’s nobody here but us.” Bored, she takes a pull from her vape. She doesn’t even vape. She’s just doing it because it tastes like blueberries and she claims it helps curb her appetite. She also claims she needs to lose fifteen pounds. Which is ridiculous.
“How am I a hyp…hyp…I can’t even say it.” I cross my arms and look away from her.
She breathes out an exasperated—overly dramatic, if you ask me—breath, and pulls her long black hair over one shoulder. “You’re mad at him for calling what the two of you had casual, but you never once told him you wanted more. You’re mad because he didn’t tell you he loved you. Even though you never told him. And you’re mad he hasn’t come after you. Yet you’re the one who left without so much as a goodbye.”
I know these things. These things are the truth. I know that too. Doesn’t mean I want to hear it.
“Fine.” I grab my keys and my phone and push past her.
“So you’re going back?”
“No.” I take the steps two at a time until I reach the garage.
“Then where are you going?”
I look up to find her leaning against the door of my apartment. Fighting a smile. Which solidifies my decision to do what I should’ve done when I first got home. “To find a new best friend.”
I glance over at the empty carton of Blue Bell Dutch Chocolate ice cream sitting on the coffee table and feel tears well in my eyes.
I ate my new best friend.
After I bought the ice cream, I came to my mom’s house—which is literally in my front yard, since I live in an apartment above her work shed in the backyard. I planned to pout and sniffle until she asked what was wrong. Then I was going to tell her everything as she held me and stroked my hair. She’d say all the right things. We’d watch a chick flick. And my tear-soaked ice cream would be the result of someone else’s heart breaking and not my own—because my sweet mother would assure me that Jake would indeed come.
Problem is, she wasn’t home. So I was forced to eat ice cream soaked in my tears, shed over my own broken heart, all alone.
God I’m pathetic.
And what do pathetic people do? They get in their best fat clothes—a size 3xl T-shirt and threadbare stretchy pants—eat junk food and watch Pretty Woman, all alone, curled up on their mom’s couch feeling sorry for themselves.
Ninety minutes later
“…She rescues him right back…”
“Oh, fuck off, Vivian. Nobody says that shit.”
I throw a Funyun at the T.V. And when that doesn’t make me feel better, I throw the entire bag.
“Whoa, kid. What did my T.V. ever do to you?”
My head jerks up from my crumb-covered pillow to find my Mom smiling down at me. All the anger and envy I’d built up toward Vivian and her ability to get Edward to chase her vanishes as a deep sadness sweeps over me. Tears flood my eyes and a choked sob escapes as I struggle to untangle my body from the covers and throw myself into my mother’s arms.
“What’s got you so upset, sweet girl?” I cry harder at the sound of her voice. It’s controlled. Even. Soothing and soft, yet strong enough to penetrate my cluttered thoughts. She smells like cookies and apples and everything wonderful.
She smells like Mom.
“Jake wants casual and I want more and I left thinking he’d come for me and he hasn’t.”
I swear I hear her chuckle but when I pull back, I only see sympathy on her face. “Did you tell him how you felt?”
I just stare at her.
She sighs. Smiles. Smooths my hair out of my face and dusts the crumbs from my shirt. “Why don’t you take a shower and I’ll fry you something.”
“I’m not hungry. I already filled up on Funyuns and beef jerky.” I poke my lip out on a pout.
“And you smell like Funyuns and beef jerky. Which is why I suggested the shower.”
Emily, who has been standing silent behind my mother, nods emphatically. She even goes so far as to scrunch her cute little button nose up and curl her lip in disgust.
I’m surprised Emily and Mom aren’t happier that I’m back. We all know they couldn’t make it without me. Who would Mom cook for? Who would make Emily laugh when all she’s done lately is cry? They should be doing ever
ything in their power to make me hate Jake—cursing him. Prank calling him. Threatening his life on social media. Or at the very least, starting a vicious rumor.
I think I need to find new people to comfort me. These two are only interested in pointing out my flaws. I mean, every girl with a broken heart deserves to fall apart. Especially the one who holds these two together. Why can’t they just let me stink for a while?
“Fine. I’ll shower.”
“There’s my girl,” Mom says at the same moment Emily mutters, “Thank God.”
I give her the evil eye as I pass. And just because she looks perfect and maintained good hygiene during her breakup, I can’t refrain from breathing my hot, onion-jerky breath in her face.
Instead of a shower, I took a bubble bath. But that sucked because all it did was remind me of Jake.
So I cried.
When I got out, I put on one of Jake’s shirts and a pair of his underwear—yes, I stole a pair of his underwear. But that sucked because they smelled like Jake and reminded me that he wasn’t here.
So I cried.
I found my Mom and Emily in the kitchen. Laughing. Frying dill pickles. Dressed in matching aprons. Flour on their noses and cheeks. Like a happy fucking family. And it made me realize that maybe I wasn’t needed around here as much as I thought. I felt like a third wheel in my own mother’s home. And that made my walking out on Jake an even harder pill to swallow.
So I cried.
Ugly cried.
That finally got me some attention and soon I had my head in Mom’s lap and my feet in Emily’s while we sat on the couch and watched Jeopardy and ate pickles and pie and didn’t get a single question right.
“How we doin’?” Mom asks, her voice low as she rubs my hair.
Fresh tears form in my eyes. “I think I made a mistake.” The truth of those words hit me dead in my chest. My stomach twists. Heart falls to my knees. “I’m so stupid.”
“You’re not stupid, honey.”
I twist my body to face her. “Yes I am. He was so perfect, Mom. Sweet and kind and funny and good in bed—”
“And rich,” Emily adds.
I nod. “And rich. Like, Christian Grey rich.”
Mom chooses to ignore the shallow rich comment. “So why did you leave?”
“Because I overheard him tell his friend that we were just casual. And that it was perfect. And that he didn’t want more.”
“Did you talk to him about it?”
“No.” I drop my eyes. “I just left.”
“Penelope Lane…you sound like the typical heroine.”
“I know!” I cry, throwing my hand over my eyes. “What do I do now? I can’t just call him or go back. That would be weird. And it would mess up my dream for him to do a That Guy move and miss me so much he comes to get me.”
Knowing how much I need this, everyone agrees. Even though I can see their need to tell me I’m being stupid in their eyes.
Mom stands and pulls me from the couch. “You and Emily go out. Have a few drinks and see if you can’t get your mind off of him.”
I swipe the tears from my cheeks and nod so hard my neck hurts. “Okay. That sounds fun.”
I look to Emily who shrugs. “Sounds pretty typical heroine to me.”
Whatever.
Chapter Thirty
Hiccup.
Throat cleared.
Eyes closed.
Three count.
“Des…per…ado…o…o…o…”
I suck in a breath after my killer opening, ready to amaze these people with my angelic voice that will no doubt have the angels in heaven green with envy and dreading the day I join their choir. But just as I’m about to belt out the next line, I hear a grumbled phrase from the crowd that is all too familiar.
“Oh for fuck’s sake…”
I scan the eight hundred square foot karaoke bar to find the source of the male voice who used Jake’s signature line and interrupted my song. The nearly bald, red-faced, overall wearing big guy in the corner looks like the type to get pissed over just about anything. So, no surprise he’s mad at me because I’m awesome.
I motion to the guy running the karaoke machine to stop the song. When the music dies, I turn back to the man. “Um. Excuse me, sir. But I’m kinda havin a bad day.” Hiccup. “The man I love wants us to just be casual. So I’m a little sensitive right now and I’m gonna need you to not be a dick, ‘kay?”
My speech earns me a room full of sympathetic faces, three shots of cheap whiskey and a round of applause encouraging me to finish the song. So I let everyone feel sorry for me. Drink the whiskey. And nod to the karaoke guy to restart Clint Black’s rendition of Desperado.
Deep breath.
Hiccup.
Eyes closed.
Three count.
“Des…per…” Hiccup. “Ado…o…o…o…”
“My fuckin’ ears are bleeding.”
This motha…
“Sir!” Everyone flinches at the squeal of the mic when I rip it off the stand so I can face the douche canoe who clearly doesn’t know a legend in the making when he hears one. “Would you kindly shut the hell up and let me have my moment?”
Hiccup.
“Sure, sugar. Have your moment. Just don’t sing.”
I glare at him. “Singing makes me feel better.”
“Makes us feel worse.” His weak-ass comeback earns a few chuckles from the crowd of thirteen. Laughing along with them, he turns to Emily who sits alone at the bar. “Has she always been this bad of a singer?”
“She has.”
Fucking Emily.
Hiccup.
“Can a girl have a broken heart? Please? Can I just sing like shit and drink cheap whiskey,” hiccup “and hiccup and not have to hear any of y’all’s criticisms?”
“You can do anything you want on that stage, girl. As long as it ain’t singing.”
Another round of laughs.
Another hiccup.
Another raised glass to toast the suggestion of my silence. Even Emily lifts her Green Apple Smirnoff.
What is she? A sophomore in high school?
“So let me get this straight.” Hiccup. “I can’t sing…on karaoke night…to help deal with what is possibly the worst day of my life…but I can do anything else? I guess if I took my clothes off for your pervy ass that would be okay.”
Red-faced-asshole lifts his glass. “Hell yeah it would!”
“That’s not going to happen.”
The bar falls silent.
Every head turns.
Panties disintegrate.
Men wither.
I hiccup.
Jake Swagger is here. In a suit. Staring at me so hard—so intensely—my knees go weak and I have to cling to the microphone stand to keep myself upright.
He came.
He came!
Fuck he looks good.
So damn good.
Play it cool.
Play it cool.
I cross my arms over my chest, lift my chin and square my shoulders as I try not to crumble at the sight of those gray-blue-green eyes that level me through the cloud of smoke separating us. “Can I help you?”
“Maybe. I’m looking for a girl.”
I can’t keep the hope out of my voice. “You are?”
“I am.” That damn smile of his… “Her mother told me I could find her here.”
Aww…thanks, Mom.
“Right. Um. Well. Maybe you should’ve tried calling her.”
“I have.”
“No you haven’t,” I deadpan.
“Yes. I have. Seems she forgot to pay her cellphone bill.”
You gotta be shittin’ me…
“No. I’m not shittin’ you.”
Thoughts! Be silent!
“Why are you lookin’ for her?”
“Because she ran out on me earlier today without so much as a goodbye.”
“Typical heroine.” I shoot Emily a look of warning. “What? It’s true.”
&n
bsp; I pull in a breath and stand a little taller as I address Jake once again. “Well you must’ve done something,” hiccup, “for her to just up and leave like that.”
“You’re right. Perhaps it was because I offered to buy her a helicopter.”
Some drunk chick gasps. His eyes swing to hers and he shrugs all sheepish and shit. “I know. Too much?”
“Hell naw it ain’t too much. You can buy me a heli-chopter.”
Everyone laughs. Even Jake chuckles. And I have to clear my throat to get the attention back on me. This is the Penelope show, damnit.
“I doubt it was that.”
Hiccup.
“Well maybe it was because she eavesdropped on a conversation I had this morning with a friend of mine.”
Oh shit.
“Someone should tell her how rude that is,” the drunk chick offers.
Jake nods. “Oh, I agree. And if my memory serves me correctly…,” he glares at me “someone already has.”
Hiccup.
“Are you finished yet? If not, I’d like to get back to my song.”
“For the love of God, keep talking.” Red-faced-overalls-asshole lifts up his praying hands to Jake.
Whatever.
“So my friend asks what the deal is with this girl and me. And I tell him that our relationship is casual.”
A few murmurs from the women in the room have me wanting to fist bump the air. Luckily, a hiccup distracts me.
Jake holds his hand up. “Hang on, ladies. There’s more to the story. You see, the only reason I said that was because I thought that’s what she wanted.”
“It wasn’t what she wanted,” I snap, then quickly add, “Maybe. I’m guessing. I don’t know. I mean, why would you think that?”
“Because she never said she wanted more.”
I snort. “Oh. So you just assumed without even bothering to ask her?”
“Well this girl…” he breathes out a laugh and runs his hand through his hair. “This girl is known for speaking her mind. She’ll say just about anything. I’ve never had to wonder what she was thinking. Because if it crossed her mind, it came out of her mouth. Even when she didn’t intend for it to.” He grins at me. “Sound familiar?”
