“Yeah, but . . .” Topaz’s shoulders slump. “This is all happening so fast.”
I glance over at Wren. “You can blame Fertile Myrtle for that.”
“Hey.” Wren shoots a sharp look my way.
“Are you happy with the fit?” the attendant asks my sister. She nods, and the woman helps her back behind a silk curtained dressing room.
“You sure it’s okay I’m bringing a date?” Topaz asks, reaching for my hand. We had lunch together last Monday, and I spent the entirety of it venting to her, holding back tears, and justifying my actions while she gave me some rare, undivided attention. She knows the state my heart is in right now.
“Yes,” I say with a little more force than the last time. “Do it. Bring him.”
Topaz exhales, her stare hardening. “You should call him.”
“What? No.” I don’t hide my annoyance. We’ve been over this. And she agreed. He’s obviously still in love with Kerenza. He hasn’t let go yet.
And he lied.
It’s easier this way, anyway. I’m moving. This makes things a lot less complicated. Besides, it was nothing more than a glorified summer fling, and summer flings aren’t meant to last.
At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself all week.
My stomach twists, the way it’s been doing all week every time I think of him. There’s been a heaviness in my chest, and it seems every other hour I find myself on the verge of tears over the most trivial things, like not being able to get the lid off the peanut butter jar or accidentally dumping out a brand new jar of Laura Mercier setting powder.
The fact of the matter is that I haven’t been myself all week. There’s no effervescence in me anymore. I’m not smiling or hopeful.
The fact of the matter is, I read the journal, I found the man, I got my answers, and for better or worse, I’m forever changed because of this experience.
I even threw the journal away yesterday, which was trash day. That thing is gone, buried in a pile of garbage in some landfill somewhere.
Forever.
And I refuse to dwell any longer.
People fall in and out of love every day.
Promises get made.
Hearts get broken.
Life goes on. Ace said it himself.
“You guys ready?” Wren emerges from the dressing room, her dress wrapped in plastic and slung behind her shoulder. “I’m starving. Where are we eating?”
Life, most definitely, goes on.
But it doesn’t stop me from missing him so hard my chest hurts.
Thirty-Three
Ace
* * *
Six days.
Six days ago, I held her in my arms for the last time.
Had I known it was going to be the last time, maybe I’d have held her a little tighter, a little longer.
I’m a mess.
I haven’t had a proper meal in days.
My face is covered in a thick shadow of facial hair.
And I’m not proud to admit that I’ve been watching Aidy’s Instagram makeup tutorials because I miss the sound of her laugh, the way her smile lights up her face. The way she rolls her eyes at herself and sticks out her tongue when she trips over her words.
Today is Wren and Chauncey’s city hall wedding, and tonight is their reception. I was supposed to go as Aidy’s date. We were supposed to celebrate together. I’m not a huge fan of weddings but I was excited to go there, to be with her, because for some completely insane reason that’s lost on me, I can’t get enough of this woman.
I’ve been told before that I’m too intense.
That I love too hard.
That I refuse to let go.
And for the longest time, I was convinced that was my greatest downfall. I trained myself to let go. To back off. But something tells me I’m going about this all wrong with Aidy.
She’s a feather.
And she needs a rock.
Peeling myself off the sofa, I suck in a deep breath and head to the shower.
I have to see her tonight.
I have to get her back.
My face is clean-shaven, and I stare ahead at my somber reflection as I straighten my tie. Showing up at Wren’s dinner may be in poor taste, but I’m not sure when I’ll see Aidy again. She hasn’t taken my calls or texts. She didn’t answer the door when I stopped by Monday. Or Tuesday. She needs to hear me out, and at this point, I figure I have nothing to lose because I’ve already lost it all.
I give myself a final once-over and head down stairs to the front door, my heart nearly stopping when I see the outline of a shadowy figure on the other side. For a split second, I think it’s Aidy, coming to get me. I imagine I’ll open the door and she’ll waste no time telling me she’s missed me all week and that we should stop this nonsense. I can practically feel the softness of her hand sliding into mine, and I can almost taste her cherry lip gloss on my tongue.
Only the closer I get, the more I realize the shadowy figure on the other side is a lot taller than Aidy and a lot willowier. I watch as she reaches for the doorbell, and then I yank the door open, startling her.
“Alessio. You frightened me.” Kerenza places her hand on her chest, which has got to be an empty cavity by now because this woman has proven herself to be coldblooded and void of an actual, beating human heart.
I don’t apologize.
I’ll never apologize to Kerenza. For anything.
The worst thing I ever did to this woman was love her so damn much it sent her straight into the arms of my goddamned best friend, of all people.
“Leave.” My nostrils flare, and my jaw locks. I force the door shut, only it catches when Kerenza places her heeled foot in the way.
“Before you say another word,” Kerenza starts, “I just came here to ask for five minutes of your time.”
Scoffing, I fold my arms. “I’m going somewhere. I don’t have . . . time . . . for you or your fucking games.”
“I get it,” she says, her wild violet eyes watering. “You have every right to hate me. I’m not here to contest that.”
“Then why the fuck are you here?”
I stare into the eyes of the woman who once begged me for an engagement ring because she couldn’t possibly go another minute without bearing my last name. The woman who planned a beautifully elaborate wedding, at my expense, and then left me at the altar like a fucking schmuck in front of hundreds of friends and family. The one who ran off with my childhood best friend; the one she’d been fucking in secret for months, or so I later found out.
Kerenza breaks down into tears, which I’d realized over the years was nothing more than a manipulative tactic. Any time she wanted attention or sympathy for some first world problem of hers, she’d break down into tears, collapse into my arms, and beg me to hold her.
If Kerenza were an actress, she’d have an entire case full of Oscars and Golden Globes.
After a while, I stopped playing into it. I stopped giving her what she wanted, and I began meeting her faux tears with distance in hopes that she’d learn it wasn’t the way to get what she wanted. I’m assuming that’s when she started directing her affections toward my best friend.
She’s nothing but a narcissist. Kerenza is selfish and wicked, someone who schemes in order to control the lives of everyone around her, bending and persuading until she gets precisely what she wants, and then she walks away with her targets convinced everything they did was of their own free will.