Chapter Twenty-Eight

AJ

My eyes still burn. They’re swollen and feel gritty, like when you’re exfoliating your skin with an expensive face wash, the soothing scents of jasmine and vanilla filling the air. Except these are my eyes. And there’s nothing soothing about it. In fact, it’s downright painful.

That’s why, instead of getting ready for work, I called in sick. I secured a substitute from the approved list and called it in to Mr. Stewart. Honestly, though, it wasn’t that hard of a sell. I definitely sound the part. My throat is raw from crying, I sound congested, and I can’t stop sniffling.

Though my diagnosis is nothing like a head cold.

This is a case of broken heart-itis.

And it’s the most severe case I’ve ever had.

Dammit, Sawyer.

I start to cry again, only to get pissed at myself for crying again. That’s been my cycle since I came home late last night.

I blew off our family brunch, only to be bombarded with worried phone calls. They weren’t going to stop calling, so I finally answered one of Meg’s calls. I could tell right away that she didn’t buy my excuse of being sick. It took a matter of minutes before the calling started up again, this time from Payton. And when I heard the voice of my oldest sister, I finally caved and told her what happened.

Abby: What can I do? Do you need anything? *crying emoji*

Jaime: Are you freaking kidding me? *shocked face emoji* *angry face emoji*

Lexi: I’ll fucking kill him. No, I won’t. Hemi’s hungry. I’ve sent Linkin to kill him. *knife emoji* *poison syringe emoji* *axe emoji* *squirt gun emoji*

Jaime: It doesn’t have the same effect when it’s a little green squirt gun. *sad face emoji*

Lexi: Screw that and screw him. I’m gonna beat him with a squirt gun…as soon as I get this baby off my boob.

Meghan: Do we really have to talk about boobs right now?

Me: Shutting my phone off. Just need some time. I’m fine.

I hope I’ll be fine eventually is what I should have said. Because right now, I’m not sure I’ll ever be fine again. That’s also when I powered down my phone and dropped it on my passenger seat, ignoring the fifteen texts and seven missed calls from Sawyer in the process.

I drove around for an hour, unable to go home. I couldn’t be there, trapped in the silence. What I needed was someplace loud, someplace where there’s booze. The bar was probably open by that point in the day, but that didn’t exactly sound like a great place to go and drown my sorrows. Instead, I found myself at Brandy’s apartment, where I stayed until about ten.

She didn’t ask questions, not when she realized what was going on. She let me take up real estate on her couch as though I lived there, brought me wine and ice cream, and listened to me rant about how stupid men were, how they couldn’t keep it in their pants, and only tell the truth when they’re caught with their pants down and have no way out.

I thought he was different.

That’s what hurts the most.

I really thought he was one of the good ones.

Now, Ellen talks in the background from the television I have on just for noise. My ass has been planted on my couch for the last…well, for a while. Since I got home last night, actually. The thought of going to bed–alone–held absolutely no appeal, so I cried myself to sleep on my lumpy old couch that was a hand-me-down when Dad got his new one last year, surrounded by silence and loneliness.

And I’m pretty sure that smell is me.

When a knock sounds on my door just before noon, I consider just lying there (in the divots my body has already made on the couch) and ignoring it. But the knocker is persistent and just keeps at it. “Alison Jane, you open this door before I break a window and let myself in.”

Grandma.

I slowly crawl out of the hole I’m in on the couch, my feet shuffling noisily toward the door. “That’s called breaking and entering,” I say in way of greeting.

“Semantics, AJ. I could spin it as a welfare check,” she says, pushing herself right past me and into my living room.

“What’s that smell?” she asks, turning and looking at me over her shoulder, horrified.

I don’t answer, just shrug. “What are you doing here?” I ask as I plop back down on the couch.

“You’re not answering your phone. I came to make sure you weren’t pushing up daisies.” To that I raise my eyebrows. “Your sisters were ready to storm the castle, so I told them I’d check on you first.” She glances around at the dark room, the mess of used Kleenexes thrown on the floor, and the melted and gross ice cream cartons on the coffee table. “Have you eaten real food?”

I shrug, which earns me a sigh. It’s one of those sighs I used to get when I was younger and got myself in trouble. Then, she turns and heads into my kitchen, leaving me lying in a heap of nothing on the couch. She bangs around, knocking pans and slamming the fridge, all while singing a happy tune that makes my nausea return…basically making as much noise as humanly possible.

Trying to focus on Ellen proves fruitless, especially with the one-woman rock concert in my kitchen. Shutting off the TV, I head into the kitchen to see what she’s doing. My counter is clean, the dishwasher is on, and there’s a pot of soup on the stove. She’s being total Grandma right now, taking care of everything, and doing it with a smile on her face.

“Aren’t you going to ask what happened?” I mumble, dropping onto one of the kitchen chairs.

Grandma shrugs and returns her attention to dishing two bowls of soup. And where did she come up with that? I don’t recall having any cream of whatever that is soup in the house, nor did she come in with it. Did she?

Just another Grandma mystery.

“You know, AJ,” she starts as she brings the two bowls over to the table and sets one in front of me and the other in front of the empty chair across from me. “Once, I found your grandfather in a compromising position. We were visiting friends and I walked into the room. His arms were around my friend Doris.”

I stare at my grandma, not really sure what to say.

“I left the house in a tizzy and went somewhere to be alone. This was before flip phones and those little square thingies that buzzed, so you can imagine how hard it was for your grandfather to find me.”

Swallowing hard, I nod. “I bet.”

“Turns out, I walked in on a kiss that wasn’t initiated by your grandfather. My friend Doris had your grandfather on her hall pass list. He was such a looker back then, AJ. All the ladies wanted him.” She gets this dreamy look in her eye.

“Hall pass?” Did she really just say that?

“Oh, sure. Everyone has them, AJ. Sean Connery has been at the top of my list since Dr. No. What a gorgeous man he was, my sweet Alison.” And just when I think it’s safe to have a conversation with Grandma. “I mean talk about wet knickers…”

She smiles again, as if recalling something that I probably don’t want to know about. “Anyway, it turns out that Doris was home from working on Pillow Talk, and she always thought your grandpa was a stud, which of course, he was, if you know what I mean. So, she approached him and kissed him.”

“What did you do?” I ask, my soup all but forgotten.

“Well, I had a choice. I could believe your grandfather that nothing happened and he didn’t initiate the kiss, or I could walk away.”

“Obviously, I know what decision you made.”

“Your mother was conceived that very night, AJ. There’s no sex like make-up sex.”

My stomach actually twists and I wonder if I’m about to lose my lunch. Well, if I actually had food in my belly, then maybe I would. “Thank you for…sharing that, Grandma, but I don’t think my situation is the same. Sawyer was naked in bed with Carrie.” And again, I feel like I’m going to vomit.

Grandma just looks at me with a soft smile. “You know, AJ, sometimes a cheater is that. A cheater. But sometimes a cheater isn’t a cheater at all. It’s a misunderstanding.”

I watch as she goes back to eating her soup. I want to reply, but the words just don’t come. This isn’t a misunderstanding. Is it? I mean he was naked for God’s sake, as he scrambled from the bed we had shared just the night before. I may never get the image of Carrie lying on my pillow, blonde hair fanned out across the dark sheets and a wicked, delighted smile on her face.

Grabbing my spoon, I take a tentative bite. It’s still warm. The creamy potato soup tastes amazing and I find myself inhaling the entire bowl as if I hadn’t eaten in days. In a way, I guess I haven’t. Not real food, anyway.

Silence settles in around us as we both finish eating (I have a second bowl). So much is running through my head and it’s hard to distinguish between what my head is saying versus my heart. My head is telling me not to get sucked into the trap. Once a cheater, always a cheater. But my heart is telling me it’s Sawyer, and I know him.

I. Know. Him.

My brain is on overload. It just hurts to think now, which is why I push Sawyer out of my mind for the time being and turn my attention back to Grandma. She’s definitely met some interesting people in her time. I mean Joe DiMaggio? Elizabeth Taylor?

Doris?

Pillow Talk?

Wait…

“You knew Doris Day?” My voice is definitely a higher pitch as I stare, wide-eyed, at the woman across from me.

“Sure,” she says casually. “Who do you think introduced her to Martin Melcher?”

And that, folks, is how my Monday went…