I knock on the door and wait. Caleb must be home; I saw his car downstairs. He might not let me in, and to be fair, I’m not sure what I’m doing here. But it’s been almost a week since I moved out of Kendra’s house and I’m starting to lose my fucking mind. I don’t know what else to do.

He opens the door and I keep my distance in case he wants to hit me.

“What the hell?” he asks.

I keep my hands in my pockets and look at the floor. “I don’t know, man.”

There’s a moment of silence, but he doesn’t slam the door in my face. I just wait, letting him decide what he’s going to do with me. If he tells me to leave, I’ll go.

“Dude, you look like shit.” He opens the door further and steps aside.

I come in and step around the suitcases sitting in the entryway. Must be his bags to take to the wedding. I do look like shit. I haven’t shaved and my hair is an unkempt mess. My clothes are rumpled. But I just don’t care.

I sink down onto his couch, grateful he let me in.

Caleb goes into the kitchen and returns with two beers. He hands me one and sits in an armchair. “Charlotte’s asleep. We don’t have to be silent, but just be aware.”

“No problem.” I take a long pull from the bottle. “Thanks.”

“So, what the fuck are you doing here?” he asks.

I take a deep breath. “I don’t know.”

“I guess this means you’re not going to Napa,” he says. “Didn’t Kendra leave this morning?”

“She must have,” I say.

“If you want to just sit here and drink a beer, that’s fine,” he says. “But my sister will probably murder me if she knows I let you in. I’m risking family loyalty here. I don’t want to have to ask you a million questions to figure out what’s going on. So either talk, or don’t, but let me know what it’s going to be so I don’t waste my time.”

I stare at my beer for a long moment. “I’ll talk.”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“I don’t know what she told you, but it was my fault. I got some bad news at work, and then my dad showed up in my office. He was being worse than usual. He said… it doesn’t matter what he said. I went home in a shitty mood and I took it out on Kendra.”

“So, what, you guys argued?” he asks.

“Basically,” I say. “I was such an idiot. I laid into her about making me change and some other bullshit. And then I told her I was leaving.”

“Okay,” he says. “Then what happened?”

I shrug. “She left. So I packed up my shit and took it to my house. The remodel is done, so I guess I was moving out anyway.”

“Huh,” Caleb says after a momentary pause.

“What?”

“Well… is that it?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“So, what you’re saying is that you came home in a pissy mood, got in a fight with your girlfriend, and said some things you regret,” he says.

“Yeah.”

“And in the midst of that, you moved out?”

I nod.

“When was that?”

“Last Friday.”

“Okay, so what’s the problem?” he asks.

“What the fuck kind of question is that?”

“Well, I mean, what happened then?” he asks. “Is she not responding to your calls or texts?”

I furrow my brow, looking at him like he’s crazy. “I haven’t called her.”

“Not once? Not even a text?” he asks.

“No.”

He gapes at me for a few seconds. “Are you serious?”

“What the fuck would I say to her?” I ask. “I screwed up. I ruined it.”

“Well, you acted like a jackass,” he says and ignores my glare. “But did you tell her you hate her?”

“No.”

“Did you run out and bang some random girl?” he asks. “To get back at her or something?”

“Fuck no,” I say, too loud. I lower my voice. “Sorry. No. God, no I didn’t go out and bang some random.”

“Good,” he says. “But I think I’m missing something important, because this doesn’t add up.”

“What doesn’t add up?”

“Why getting in one fight with her means you broke up forever,” he says.

“What?”

He rolls his eyes. “Dude, this is what you get for avoiding relationships your entire adult life. Getting in an argument—even a really shitty argument—doesn’t mean it’s over. Do you really think people in long term relationships never fight?”

“No, I know they fight. I’m not an idiot.”

“That’s debatable,” he says. “People fight. They say things they don’t mean. It happens.”

I shake my head. “You don’t get it. This was worse than that. You didn’t see the look on her face.”

“Well, then you need to talk to her,” he says. “Call her. Send her a text. Apologize.”

“There’s no way she’ll talk to me.”

“I guess you’re fucked then,” he says. “I don’t know why you need my advice.”

I glare at him.

“Do you want to know what I really think?” he asks.

“I don’t know, do I?”

“You’re sabotaging this,” he says. “I don’t know if it’s fear of commitment, or a fear of rejection, or what. That’s on you to figure out. But you’re doing everything wrong, like you’re trying to make it worse.”

“The fuck I am,” I say.

“Maybe you don’t even realize it,” he says. “There’s nothing wrong with taking some space to calm down. But fighting with your girlfriend doesn’t mean it’s over, even if you say things you have to apologize for. Unless you move out and stop speaking to her. Then yeah, that’s going to mean it’s over.”

I open my mouth to argue, but he’s making a little too much sense.

“What do you want?” he asks. “That’s what you need to figure out. Do you want to be with her? Then talk to her. Apologize. Tell her how you feel. I know that’s not exactly your strongest skill set, but anyone can learn.”

We sit in silence for a few minutes and I stare at the table, tapping my finger against the cold glass bottle.

“I want her back,” I say, my voice quiet. “I never should have left.”

“No, you probably shouldn’t have,” he says. “And you should have called her by now.”

“You’re right, I’ve done everything wrong,” I say. “I don’t think she’s going to forgive me.”

Caleb laughs.

“What?” I ask.

“Sorry, I was just remembering something,” he says. “When we were kids, I put four pieces of chewed up gum in her hair when she was asleep. The next day, it was so sticky and tangled, our dad had to cut most of it off. She went from having long hair, all the way down her back, to this short little pixie cut. She was so mad at me.”

“Your point is?”

“She forgave me,” he says. “Well, at first she came at me like a feral cat. I think I still have a scar.” He pulls up his sleeve and looks at his forearm. “But eventually, she did forgive me. Trust me, you can fix this.”

“You think?”

“Yeah,” he says. “It won’t be easy. Every day that goes by makes it a little worse, to be honest. And she’s in California until Sunday, so that’s not working in your favor. But you should at least text her and let her know you want to talk when she gets back.”

I let out a long breath. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

“But Weston?”

“Yeah?”

“If you’re not sure, you should just walk away now,” he says. “Don’t string her along. Kendra deserves better.”

“Kendra deserves everything.”

He meets my eyes and nods. “Exactly. You have to be willing to give it to her.”

I put the half-empty beer on the table, pull out my phone, and start writing a text.

“Are you texting her?” he asks.

“No, Mia,” I say.

“Mia? Why?”

I finish the text and hit send, almost afraid to hope. “Because I need her help and she’ll know what to do.”

“Mia will know what to do?” he asks. “I’m confused.”

I stand and pocket my phone. “Yeah, me too. But thanks.”

“Sure,” he says as I head for his front door. “Where are you going?”

I pause and look over my shoulder. “I’m going to go fix this.”