“Regardless,” I say, “I will wake up tomorrow and get dressed and go to work and have lunch, and I’ll be fine. I’m well equipped to deal with rejection. It would be a forte of mine if those kinds of things were braggable qualities.”
“I wasn’t there, so let me start off by saying that. But it doesn’t sound like he all-out rejected you.”
“No, I’m sorry. He just embarrassed me repeatedly by acting like I was one of his . . . what does Matt call it? His harem?” I snap down on a cookie out of frustration. “You know what it is, I think? I think that what makes me the angriest about this, and maybe the most hurt, is that he’s acting like there are two of him. The Penn that wants me, that’s so sweet and gentle and kind. And then there’s the Penn that’s so afraid of feeling that way that he’s an asshole and he doesn’t even know it. If he were just one or the other—either one of them—I could handle it.”
“I’m so sorry, sweet pea.”
The bolt of sadness that comes and goes hits me again, and I set the cookies down. I’ll never be able to replace the way it felt to be alone with him with all the cookies in the world. But the highs of those times aren’t worth the hit to my self-worth and confidence from the lows of the times in public.
I’ve been given a list of ways to act while out and about since I was a little girl: don’t do this, don’t do that, always be polite in case a story is written, even if you’re having the worst, most human day, because we can’t hurt Mom. I can’t go through a period again of walking on eggshells because someone else is messed up.
Tears hit my eyes as I think of his warm hugs and silly grin and the way he’d nuzzle his face in my hair. And how he’d listen to me and tell me stories and open up about his life. He’d text me throughout the night when I’d stay at Harper’s, like we were teenagers.
How he’s the realest, deepest, most vulnerable man I’ve ever met.
“I feel weak saying this”—I sniffle—“but I really liked him.”
Harper gets to her feet and sits by me. She pulls me close. The contact dissolves the wall that was holding back the majority of my tears, and they begin to fall.
My hair sticks to my cheeks. My lips start to swell. I’m a hot mess and I know it, and I don’t care, because falling apart and having someone care is freeing and needed.
I get it out—the sadness and the pain and the feeling of rejection. When I pull back, I know my anger lies within myself.
“I’m my own worst heart-keeper,” I say, brushing my hair out of my face.
Harper looks at me with the deepest concern. “That’s why we give our hearts to the people we can trust with them, sweet pea.”
“But how do you know? I mean, clearly you probably don’t know since you’ve been married so many times.” I fight a grin as I watch those words sink in.
“Touché, Avery. Touché.” She laughs before taking a cookie. Sinking back on the couch beside me, she nibbles on the dessert. “I think these are stale.”
“Good. I was afraid I was losing my cookie connection.”
I take another, anyway, and fall back into the cushions. We chomp away, both lost in our thoughts. I forget that I’d even asked a question when Harper sits back up.
“Okay,” she says. “Here’s how you know: you trust the person that doesn’t give up.”
“You just go with the most persistent? No offense, but that doesn’t sound like solid advice.”
“Hear me out.” She tosses the last half of the cookie on the end table. “Everyone makes mistakes. It’s human nature. I screw up, you screw up. We all do, but that doesn’t make someone a villain because they don’t know what they want right off the bat. Heck, sometimes it takes the eighth or eighteenth try to get it right, if they ever do. We’re all just trying our best.”
“So we’re all screwed up, so pick the less screwy one?”
“No,” she says. “The people worth giving your heart to are the ones that keep coming back and trying to do better. You can’t hold out for the one that’s perfect because you’ll never find it. Think about that—the people you’ve known in your life that look like they have everything figured out. Do they?”
She’s right. I know it immediately. I’ve seen so many people that aesthetically appear completely together. You imagine their pantry has those cute little tubs with stickers labeling every bin and that all the clothes in their washer and dryer were just put in there an hour ago, not maybe a week.
Those people are always the worst when you peel them back. It always looks good because they’ve spent special effort to try to hide the truth from the world.
“At least the mess-ups are being honest,” Harper points out. “Those are the people you can trust. The people being real.” She pats my leg and lets that thought dangle in the air.
I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to think about anything, really. No amount of tossing this back and forth is going to fix anything.
“You know what,” I tell Harper. “If you don’t mind, I’m kind of over talking right now. I think I need to just mull it over myself.”
“Got ya. I’m going to run you a bath and hope you decide to skip the rum tonight. I know that’s not what your best girlfriends are supposed to say, but I want you to keep a clear head about things.”
“Thank you. Honestly.”
We get to our feet before Harper pulls me into a hug. It’s a warm, motherly embrace, and I’m so thankful for it.
“You’re going to figure this out,” she says. “Whether it’s with Penn or not isn’t in your control. He has to sort himself out. All you can do is be ready to identify whether someone is qualified to love you when they come into the picture.” She gives me a satisfied smile and disappears through the doorway.
I hear the pipes squeak in the wall before the sound of water filters through the air.
Penn’s face takes over my mind as that reminds me of him and Dogwood Lake and our time there. I can almost smell his cologne and feel his touch. Tears fill my eyes again as I fight my heart not to squeeze so tight.
He felt right. Being with him felt so good.
If everything that’s supposed to work out does in the end, why does this feel like the end of the road for us? Because I know that Harper is right. You trust the person who doesn’t give up. And, at the moment, the man who gave up is Penn.
That breaks my heart.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
PENN
Fuck it.”
I sit back down for the three hundredth time since I got up an hour ago. I get ready for work with the intention of going and then end up right back here when I realize I shouldn’t.
I can’t.
My house is so quiet. Eerily quiet, even for this early. It’s as if it refuses to talk to me until I get my shit together.
It was a long night. Miserable, actually. Not checking on her killed me, but I think it would make matters worse—for both of us.
My head goes into my hands. Everything is spiraling harder and harder, and I keep screwing up worse and worse. I can’t even find one thing to focus on to fix or how to cope with any of this.