Once my parents and Dillon are sitting in front of me at the kitchen island, I fling my arm out from behind my back and shove my hand in their faces, squealing with excitement. “I’m going to be Mrs. Ava Turner!” I shout, jumping up and down.
My mom flashes a smile and stands, walking around the island and pulling me into a hug, her signature perfume lingering on her clothes.
Dillon, on the other hand, looks at me with one eyebrow raised. He takes a sip from his soda can and clears his throat.
I let go of my mom and turn my full attention to Dillon, my sweet brother, whose support has never wavered.
“Dill, why are you looking at me like the world’s coming to an end?” I ask.
“I don’t think you should marry him.” The words fall from his lips and I recoil back into myself. Dillon blurts things out without fully thinking about the consequences sometimes, so the rational part of my brain tells me to cool it, to hold off on being pissed at him.
But those seven words strung together, take up such a small amount of space in the world, yet hold this gigantic meaning that settles in the very depths of my stomach. A bout of severe nausea washes over me, making me weak in the knees.
It’s not the response I’d expected, so I don’t know what the hell to make of it or how to combat the growing feeling twisting at my insides.
“Sorry, sis. He just rubs me the wrong way.” He picks at the skin at his nails, refusing to make eye contact with me.
“Dillon Edward Keyes!” our mother scolds. Her hand finds mine on the island before she intertwines our fingers. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I have no idea why your brother has decided to be an asshole about this.” She snaps her attention to him, shooting him a look that means he’s in for a bunch of shit the moment I leave the house.
I feel a small burst of pride despite my hurt, that my mother has no qualms about calling Dillon an asshole when he’s being one. And he is being one right now, borderline ruining my moment.
“You know,” my dad chimes in, clearing his throat, “Brady seems like a nice guy, but I bet he doesn’t quote Jim Morrison like my buddy River did.” He tries to laugh but it starts a coughing fit, so my mom offers to take him to rest. Before she rolls him out of the kitchen he adds, “More good days than bad, kid.”
Thinking about it now, I swear to God, I almost break all over again.
I left after that, kissing my mom on the cheek before hurrying out the door. I needed time to process what Dillon said to me before having a conversation with him and possibly saying things I didn’t mean.
While I knew deep down that Dillon thought Brady left a bit to be desired, I never imagined him saying I shouldn’t marry him. It hurt me more than I’d like to admit, even now.
But he was clearly right. I shake my head at the memory and take one last sip from my wine before grabbing a water bottle. I don’t need a hangover tomorrow when I work on editing the second draft of my latest novel.
I’m not sure why I’m writing a main character who’s being cheated on. It only brings back painful memories of my own life and my short-lived engagement to Brady “The Cheating Bastard” Turner.
Maybe I write about heartbreak so well because I’ve been torn in two—more than once.
I’ll never forget the phone call from Hailee that changed my life, when she told me Brady had cheated on me with someone at his office. That he’d confessed this to her boyfriend—Brady’s best friend.
I found out on a Thursday night while watching the Bachelorette.
By Friday, I’d kicked him out—not only of our apartment, but my life.
Track Seventeen: Somebody That I Used to Know
by Gotye
AVA
It’s been six weeks since I found out about Brady, and while six weeks hasn’t cured everything, it sure as hell has been enough time for my sadness to morph into a lesson: Don’t waste time on men who don’t deserve you.
I just wish I had seen it before I wasted three years on Brady, but alas. At least it’ll make for a damn good book one day.
Hailee, tired of my moping, finally convinces me to go out. We’re both already a bit buzzed from our pre-game at the apartment. I figure I can reward myself for my long, hard day of work. Editing makes my brain hurt and I could use some best friend time.
Chicago nightlife is always a good time. Each little neighborhood has something different to offer. We decide on a fun little hole-in-the-wall dive bar in Logan Square, known for its cheap beer and diverse crowd. The bar smells of sweat and whiskey, and the eighties jams are so loud the music is shaking my drink on the table.
“How about that one?” Hailee winks at me before nodding to a man with a clean-shaven face and a blue button-down with vertical stripes. She’s dead set on finding me a rebound.
“He looks like he just walked out of Yale and went shopping with his daddy’s credit card. Next.” I laugh, the alcohol flowing inside of me and tainting my sense of humor a bit.
The men in the bar significantly outweigh the women, which is favorable for me, I guess. But I still don’t think I’ll wind up going home with anyone. Maybe we’ll just find some hot guys to have fun with here and then Hailee and I can go home and pass out.
Hailee points out a burly man with a beard down to his chest, an older gentleman in a sweater vest (I hope she’s kidding about that one), and finally, a man sitting with two others by the bar’s entrance. He’s handsome. His eyes look dark in the dim light of the bar. His smile is nice—contagious almost. He throws his head back and sips on his Corona.
“All right, let’s go,” I tell her. The guys in the group are easy enough on the eyes, and it might be better than the two of us sitting alone and being approached by randoms all night.
Hailee trails behind me and just as we get to the door, needing to pass it to get to the guy’s table, he walks in.
I stop so suddenly that Hailee runs into the back of me and pushes me straight into his chest. I breathe him in before quickly stumbling my drunk ass backward. He smells like he always has—woodsy, spicy, home. I am devastated and elated all at once.
Every single ounce of air inside my lungs suddenly evaporates and I’m left breathless, like I’ve seen a ghost. How is he here? River Jacobs. My first love. My first heartbreak. My first everything.
“Ava.” His voice is low and husky—the same as I remember.
The way he says my name brings every single emotion I’ve ever felt for him surging back, making me lightheaded.
I allow my eyes to pan up to his, a green emerald forest I have no problem getting lost in. “River.” His name tastes good on my tongue, sweet and sultry. I gulp it down. “How are you here?” I’m not subtle, and I suppose I have the wine and two vodka shots to thank for that. I hope I don’t look as messy on the outside as I feel on the inside.
When he smiles his crooked, perfect smile, I melt into myself. I know that smile so well and God, I’ve missed it. I’ve tried to convince myself I don’t but, the truth is, I’ve never been able to get him out of my head. He’s always been there, far, but his lasting impact remained relentless.
“Don’t look so surprised, Ave.” He chuckles. It’s a deep, throaty laugh and I’m reminded of yet another thing I’ve missed infinitely. “I’m back visiting my sister, trying to sort things out. Long story.” He runs his fingers through his hair and sighs.