School starts, which also keeps my mind off my issues...sort of. Mark is always present, always in my mind, his name always the word on the tip of my tongue. I throw myself into lesson plans and my new leadership position as I try unsuccessfully to forget about him and everything I went through this summer.
The Summer of Sin wasn’t as fun as I thought it would be. It was more like the Summer of Heartbreak.
A few days into the school year, I find an envelope addressed to me in my mailbox with a return address from Chicago.
I tear it open, and the front of the card simply says Thanks in scripted font.
It’s from Gram.
The words inside bring every single feeling right back to the surface, and I’m in tears by the time I’m done reading.
Reese,
Thank you for the flowers. Your thoughtfulness is appreciated. I wish you could’ve been there for the boys, but I understand what happened. Mark confided in me, and I have to tell you, I’ve never seen him look at a girl the way he looks at you. You hung the sun in his sky. I know there are complications, namely Brian, but take it from someone who recently lost the love of her life. You don’t have time to waste. Another second apart from the man you belong with is one more second you don’t get to share with each other, and that’s a downright shame.
Hugs,
Gram
I tuck the note into the middle of a notebook and shove it in my desk. I can’t deal with her words right now. I have a stack of essays to look through and I’m facing forward. Allowing her words to percolate in my mind will only take me back to the past.
* * *
“Oh my God, Billy, put down the glue stick. Are you serious right now?” This is not something I should have to say to a damn senior in high school on the second Friday afternoon of the school year as he decorates a girl’s entire arm with glue. I barely restrain myself from actually using a curse word.
I hate my job this year. I don’t blame the kids, or the school, or my rigorous schedule—really, I don’t. If it were any other year, I’d be fine. I’d be loving Beowulf and argumentative writing.
I blame Mark.
I haven’t stopped thinking about him even though I left Chicago over a month ago. I never refollowed any of his social media, but I also never unfollowed his Snapchat. Even though he proved to me he doesn’t post to his own Twitter account, I still pull it up every now and then to torture myself...or to see what’s going on in his life—to see how his publicist is portraying him.
Lizzie has kept in touch with me, despite my efforts to distance myself, and we’re friends even after what went down with her brothers. She texts me almost every day, usually checking in, sometimes funny memes, sometimes just an emoji. She’s been a good friend to me, but I can’t say I’ve been the same to her. I should consider myself lucky she keeps putting forth the effort, but she just reminds me of everything I could’ve had.
My phone buzzes in my pocket just before lunch with a new text. I have exactly four minutes before the bell is going to ring. I hate waiting, but it’s unprofessional to take my phone out to read my texts when I have students sitting in front of me.
I’ve managed to shut everyone in my life out, including Jill. I’m thrilled she’s happy with Becker, and I’m happy she’s in love. But seeing her around Becker is a stark reminder of everything I don’t have. When she’s not home, I blast my favorite Vail songs on repeat. It’s masochistic, but it makes me feel like he’s with me, and that’s the one thing that makes me feel better. I’m moving in with Tess this weekend, and I’m hoping living with someone who’s around more often will help.
Billy puts away the glue stick, the bell rings, and I’m released to my half hour of quiet time.
I slide my phone out of my pocket to check my text.
Lizzie: I’ll be in Vegas next weekend for my bachelorette party. I’d love to see you and celebrate with you.
Seeing her will only drag up all the memories I’ve been trying to push away. It takes me all of five seconds to invent a lie.
Me: I’m heading home to Phoenix next weekend. Sorry! Would have been fun. Too bad it’s not this weekend.
Lizzie: Good, because I lied. It’s this weekend and I’m already here in town. You better not flake on me.
I let out a chuckle despite myself. I have to give the girl credit. She knows me better than I realized.
Me: What’s your plan?
Lizzie: We’re staying at Cosmopolitan. Cabana today, buffet for dinner, club tonight. Drinking, necklaces with plastic dicks all over them, the whole works.
Me: Who is “we”?
Lizzie: A handful of my girls. You’re one of them.
Me: I work until 3:00 today.
Lizzie: Can you meet us around eight at the buffet at Cosmo?
I think of my best friend who I’ve barely seen lately. This could be the perfect chance for a girls’ night out.
Me: I’ll see you then. Can I bring a friend?
Lizzie: Bring whoever you want. I can’t wait to squeeze you, my friend. XO
I don’t reply, but her simple response brings tears to my eyes. She’s my one link to the two men who fucked me up so royally.
* * *
When I walk into the Cosmopolitan with Jill a little before eight, I’m attacked by the memories of the last time I was here. I was with Brian. We gambled, we danced, we almost had public sex, and the entire time, I was thinking about Mark. Funny how much has changed, but one thing still remains the same: Mark is on my mind.
I spot Lizzie right away. She’s wearing a short, tight, white dress with sequins all over it, a pink sash declaring her the bride to be, and a veil. Six other women stand behind her. She runs to me and grabs me up in a hug, and that’s when I notice the plastic dicks all over her veil.
“Classy veil,” I tease, though my heart races as my mouth speaks the homophone for her brother’s band. I draw in a sharp breath. I can’t help but wonder: Why the Cosmopolitan? Why do we have to be here, of all places, when I have memories here with one brother and memories directly next door with another?
The Mandarin Oriental loomed large beside us as we pulled into the Cosmopolitan. Is Mark here in town tonight? Or is he off living his life, performing for a screaming crowd or recording new songs or charming the panties off women everywhere?
Lizzie pulls back and holds me by my biceps. “How’ve you been?” she asks, giving me a long once over.
I lift a shoulder. I refuse to cry. I won’t cry. Why the hell is one simple question from her making the heat sting behind my eyes? “Been better, been worse.”
She nods and presses her lips together. “About the same as him, then.”
I brush away a single tear that refused to listen to me.
“Oh, honey.” She pulls me back into a hug. “I’m so sorry.”
One of her friends tugs her arm. “Let’s go get in line.”
She gives me another long look. “I’m here through Sunday. We’ll find some time to talk, okay?”
I force a smile and nod, then Jill falls into step beside me as we make our way into the restaurant. One of the girls in the group hands Jill and me each necklaces with candy shaped like penises.
“You okay?” Jill whispers as she nudges me.
I nod without looking at her, because I know if I look over at her, I’ll just see all the concern in her eyes and then I’ll fall apart. I pull the penis necklace over my head and bite off one of the dicks.
Tonight’s supposed to be fun, not about tears, hurt, and dredging up the pain of the past.
Jill and I sit at the end of the table. We all get our food in shifts, one of the downsides to eating at a buffet, so there’s less chatting. Mostly I talk to Jill because Lizzie is busy with her other friends—friends who traveled from all over the country to celebrate with her in Vegas. I know she’s doing her best to talk to everyone, but I’m just glad I brought a friend with me so I wouldn’t be the odd one out sitting at the table where I only know the bride.
When Jill excuses herself to the bathroom, though, that sentiment is blown to bits. I stare down at my plate quietly. “You’re Reese?” The girl across the table from me asks.
I look up at her and nod.
“I’m Julie, one of Lizzie’s bridesmaids.”
“Nice to meet you.” I take a sip of water. I didn’t get an alcoholic beverage, and I wish I had one in my hand. Well, if I’m wishing for things, I wish I was home in my pajamas. Or if I’m really wishing for things, I wish I was in Mark’s arms—wherever he is.
“Are you the one who dated both brothers?”
I duck my head in some combination of shame and mortification. “Yeah.”
“Julie, stop it!” Lizzie’s voice interrupts us.
“I’m just saying she’s a lucky girl to land both. How many other people can say they’ve done that?”
I can’t deal with this. A month has passed since I left Mark, but nothing has changed. This girl is judging a situation she knows nothing about. I turn hard eyes on Julie as my nostrils flare.
“I didn’t land either,” I say through gritted teeth. “They both fucked me over, and I ended up so broken that I can barely function. But I guess some people might consider that lucky.”
Lizzie looks at me with surprise in her eyes. “We need to talk,” she says. She stands even though the plate in front of her is filled with food. She walks over to me and tugs my elbow. “Come with me.”
She pulls me up and doesn’t let go of my arm. We stalk through the buffet and out into the casino. We walk until we end up in some deserted hallway.
“You can barely function?” she finally asks, letting go of her grasp on me. Her eyes are wide and full of concern.
I lift a shoulder and swipe at yet another goddamn tear as it tracks down my cheek.
“Honey,” she says gently, pulling me into a hug. “He’s barely functioning, too. You two need to find your way back to each other.”
“He pushed me toward Brian. Plus there was that girl at Sevens.”
“What girl at Sevens?” Lizzie asks.
“That night he talked to you about me when we were all in Chicago. It was all over the internet. Jill texted me in the morning to ask if I’d seen it.”
“What are you talking about?”
I grab my phone out of my clutch and pull up the article that broke my heart a month earlier. I hand her my phone with the first photo pulled up.
“What the hell?” she mutters. She cranes her neck and squints. She spreads her fingers over my screen to zoom in, and then she looks up at me. She smiles triumphantly and hands my phone back to me.
“Those aren’t from that night.”
“He admitted they were.”
She raises both brows. “He said he met that chick after he talked to me?”
I shake my head, trying to remember his exact wording. “No. I asked him if it happened, and he said yes.”
“Look at his hands.”
“His hands?” My brows draw in, but I turn the phone back on and force myself to look at the pictures. I zoom in on the shot with the best view of his hands. “What about them?”
“He finished the sleeve on his left arm a couple months ago and decided to extend over the back of his hand. There’s no tattoo on his hand in that photo.”
“But what about the Sox hat? And the black shirt? It’s the same shirt he was wearing when he left.”
“You don’t think that could all be added to the picture later? Do you really believe everything you see in pictures, Reese?”
My eyes meet hers. “I’ve never had a reason not to.”
“Well, now you do.”
“It doesn’t even matter.” It does, though. This proves Mark lied to me. It proves he actively worked to ruin things between us, and I’m left to assume the reason was because he was too scared to get into something real with me. “I just want to move forward. Besides, he and Brian can’t fix their relationship if I’m in the picture.”
She rolls her eyes. “After what Brian did, he doesn’t deserve Mark’s forgiveness as far as I’m concerned. Brian’s the one who took a shit on everything, not Mark.”
“Mark pursued me before he knew Brian’s real motives. I’m sure that’s all Brian’s thinking about.”
“It’s in the past. You and Mark belong together.”
“It doesn’t matter who belongs where. The fact is it’s over, and that’s that. I’m just trying to move on, and to be honest, this is why I didn’t want to come tonight.” I start to walk away from her, away from this conversation and back to my dinner plate, but her soft voice is so full of fear that it stops me cold.
“Reese, I’m worried about him.”
I turn back to face her, and I really look at her for the first time. I see tension beneath her eyes where I didn’t notice it before. I see the way her brows are drawn together, causing her forehead to wrinkle. I watch as she twists a few strands of her hair between her fingers. What she’s feeling goes deeper than just worry. She’s fearful of what could happen, and I so badly want to ask what’s going on—what he’s doing that’s causing her so much anxiety.
But I don’t think I can take knowing the truth. I’m happier in this land of ignorance where we’ve each started the process of moving on with our own lives…or at least where we’re pretending to.
I don’t say anything, just stare blankly across the small space at her.
“I’ve never seen him like this, and I’m so afraid for him. I’m so afraid he’s going to do something stupid.”
Like what? You haven’t seen him like what? You’re afraid he’s going to do...what?
These questions flash through my mind, but I don’t ask them. As much as I wish things were different, they’re not. I care about him, of course, and I want him to find happiness. But this isn’t a clean break. This isn’t the one thing I asked for when I abided by his wishes by jetting out of Chicago.
I draw in a deep breath, and I don’t ask any of the questions in my head. Instead, I turn and head back toward the restaurant, leaving the bride to be staring after me with all that anguish for her brother in her eyes.
* * *
The nightclub isn’t fun. All I can do is think about Lizzie’s words. Music blares around us, bodies bump into me, girls laugh as their drinks splash over the sides of their glasses. I want to laugh at the girls dancing beside our group drinking daiquiris, the clear drink of choice of the younger crowd and the girls who are here on fake IDs, but I can’t muster up any of the glee that causes a laugh. I want to have fun, but Lizzie’s words war with my own good sense.
Jill is wine drunk, oblivious to my internal struggle. When I got back to the table after my talk with Lizzie in the hallway, Jill had a fresh glass of wine in her hand. It disappeared before I had the chance to pull her aside, to tell her I wanted to go home.
I’m dancing with the girls and going through the motions, but my heart isn’t in it. My heart is stuck on a rooftop in Chicago.
I don’t even bother to excuse myself when the need to just get out of here for a few minutes overwhelms me.
I beeline toward the doorway leading to the library room. It’s connected to the main club, a quiet room. I don’t know if I need special access to go in, but I slip past the security guard sitting outside it.
People mill around, and I remember the last time I was here. I sat in the chair in the corner with Brian as he slid his hand up my dress—slid it further up than he’d ever slid it before. We barely knew each other, but I wanted it to happen. I remember the thrills darting through me that this gorgeous and successful man wanted me. While he never drove Mark out of my head completely, he created a diversion, a way for me to see I could eventually get over the one night I shared with a rock star.
God, how naïve I was.
I walk over toward the bookcases and pull my phone out of my purse. I open my Uber app and put in my ride request. Then I head back to the loud room and hug Lizzie. “I need to get out of here,” I say.
She stops dancing and stops smiling. “Don’t go.”
“I have to.”
“Can I see you tomorrow?”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Too bad.” She gives me a drunken smile. “I’m coming over and you can’t stop me.”
God, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree in this family.
I say my goodbyes to Lizzie’s friends and tell Jill I’m leaving. She follows me out.
“Don’t go,” she pleads.
“If you’re having fun, you stay. I’m just bringing down everyone’s good time.”
“That’s not true.”
I roll my eyes. “That Julie girl won’t stop looking at me with daggers in her eyes.”
“Why?”
“We may have exchanged words when you went to the bathroom.”
She giggles, a sound that tells me she’s more than just a little wine drunk now.
“Call Beck. He’ll love coming to pick up his drunk girlfriend.”
She shakes her head. “We have our last night tonight.”
Right. It’s our last night in our house together. I’m moving out tomorrow, and she’s moving out Sunday. We had big plans to have one final girl’s night to celebrate all the years we’ve lived together.
But right now, I sort of just want to be alone.
“It’s okay, Jill. Have some fun tonight. We’ll have a sleepover another time.”
“Who’s coming to get you?”
“Uber.”
She clears her throat. “Have you thought about calling him?”
“Who?”
“You know who.”
“No, I haven’t,” I answer. It’s a lie. I think a hundred times every day about calling him, about texting him, about getting in touch with him. Still, even after a month has passed—even after he kicked me out.
“Maybe you should.”
“What am I supposed to do? Just call him up out of the blue and say, ‘I know we said love isn’t enough, but you wanna give it another go?’”
She lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know the answer, Reese. But I know you.” She pauses, and then she lets fly everything she’s been protecting me from as she begins rambling. “I know you’re miserable. I know you’re not yourself. I know you’re avoiding me and everyone who loves you. I just want you to be okay. I just want to be here for you.”
“I’m fine.” I know I’m being a bitch, but I don’t want to talk about Mark anymore. I don’t want to think about him anymore. I just want my life back.
She doesn’t say anything for a few beats, and then she presses her lips together and nods her head. She blows out a breath. “Okay. You keep pushing away everyone who cares about you. You keep doing what you need to do to fix whatever they broke. No matter what, I’ll still be here to help when you’re finally ready to pick up the pieces.”
She turns on her heel and heads back toward the club, and I’m left wondering what happened to my best friend...and why I suddenly feel like I’m the one in the wrong here.