Mariah

“Thank you.” I take the change, three dollars and thirty-three cents, and want to toss the cashier a penny back just to get away from all the threes.

It’s been three days since I talked to Lance. Each day gets a little easier and a little harder.

I’m not the same person I was when I logged onto the app for the first time and found History Hunk in my matches. Even though he doesn’t want me the way I want him, as someone I’d like to test out forever with, I feel confident that someone great will someday. That my love of books and desire to curl away from the population isn’t a complete turnoff. My pooched belly isn’t as horrendous as I’ve believed my whole life. How could I believe that when Lance Gibson has kissed every inch of it?

But it’s more than that. It’s something deep inside me that knows I can handle shit. I can handle life. I can handle my mom and Chrissy. I can call the shots with them for the first time in my life with no hunkering down and no caving to their wants or exploding with rage. Lance not wanting me is not breaking me—bending me until the point I can hear the straps creaking, but not breaking. Maybe he doesn’t love me, but I do. I love me again. I’ll always be thankful that he showed me how.

It’s the wee hours of the night when I wonder if I’ll ever fall in love again. They say it happens once and it wasn’t with Eric. I know that now. I fell in love with Lance. I’m in love with Lance. And if I never feel this way about another man, that’s a soul-crushing realization to consider.

With Eric, I thought we’d go through the motions of life—engagement complete with photos that would make me cringe in ten years, marriage with overpriced wedding hors d'oeuvres, honeymoon, kids, blah, blah, blah. The blahs though were filled with enough excitement to make me think I wanted it. Maybe I really even did. But with Lance, if I let myself consider what life would be like with him, there were no blahs. With him, it wouldn’t have been about the milestones and checking off each box that adults are supposed to check. It would’ve honestly been about the journey—the cuddles on the couch and arguing over what movie to watch, the snowy afternoons in front of the fireplace spent reading books and discussing thoughtful passages. It would’ve been a life filled with fountain Cokes and Bluebird Hills and maybe some of Nana’s Pyrex dishes brimming with leftovers. Maybe I could’ve made Sunday dinner with her and gossiped about her grandsons and really have become a part of that family.

“Ma’am?”

I jolt back to the present, stuffing the change in my pocket. “I’m sorry. I dazed off,” I tell the cashier.

“No problem. Have a great day.”

The sun shines happily through the door and I have to squint as I approach. When it opens, the glare goes down just enough for me to focus my vision. Then I stop.

Peck with his floppy blond hair and adorable grin stands in front of me. Beside him is a darker, stockier version of Lance on one side and a slightly shorter, huskier version on the other.

My throat goes dry, my drink almost falling from my hands. “Shit,” I mutter, getting it right side up.

“I have that effect on women,” the stockier one smirks.

“Shut up, Machlan,” Peck laughs. “How are you, Mariah?”

“Oh,” Machlan nods, a look of approval shifting over his rugged features. “You’re Mariah.”

“I am,” I say, looking back at Peck. “It’s nice to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you. This is Machlan Gibson,” he says, pointing to the darker man. “And that is Walker Gibson. Lance’s brothers.”

Walker twists a toothpick around his lips. “This explains a lot.”

“No shit,” Machlan laughs. “It’s nice to meet you and I’m sorry for whatever idiotic thing my brother has done.”

“What makes you think he’s done something?” I ask.

“Because you don’t look crazy.” Walker shrugs.

“I’m not following you …”

“Look,” Machlan says, waving at someone across the store, “Lance is all kinds of fucked up right now. Your boy is drinking more tequila than I’ve ever seen and I can’t even add it to his tab because he’s so pathetic.”

Peck winces. “Pathetic, Machlan? Let him keep his balls.”

“Fuck his balls,” Walker snorts. “He’s driving me nuts. Whatever he’s done, Mariah, just forgive him. Make him grovel and buy you something nice but just get on with it.”

“Before I go broke,” Machlan adds.

I can’t help but laugh at their camaraderie, the easy way in which they play off each other. Being with them seems like the best family vacation ever, filled with lots of ribbing and jokes and overall shenanigans. I also can’t help but notice how every woman who walks into this place immediately looks our way.

Individually, they’re all incredibly good-looking. Together? Together it’s hard to take.

“I hate to break it to you guys,” I say, gathering my pride, “but I don’t know why he’s being an asshole.”

Walker looks at Machlan. It’s Peck who looks at me.

There’s a kindness resting there that gives me something to latch onto for a moment. I have no idea if he knows Lance broke things off with me, but something tells me he does. Maybe he even knows why. But there’s no pity in the pools of his irises and I appreciate that.

“I need to get going,” I tell them. “I have a bunch of cupcakes in the back of my car to deliver to the nursing home over by the church.”

“Lance is outside,” Walker says, twisting that toothpick again. “He’s especially irritating today, so be warned.”

My heart clamors around my ribs, pattering so loud I struggle to block it out. I look out the windows, shielding my eyes with my hand, but I don’t see him.

“He’s in that truck over there,” Peck tells me, pointing to a silver truck.

“Feel free to take him with you,” Machlan jokes.

I suck in a breath to steady myself, keeping my eyes peeled on the truck. “I might just wait in here until you leave.”

“I’d say you have a minute before he comes busting in here looking for you,” Walker notes. “Might be easier having a conversation outside.”

Naturally, my car is parked right beside the truck so I can’t even sneak out a side door. Besides, I feel his gaze on me through the glass and it only makes me miss him more.

“It was nice meeting you all,” I say. With a quick smile at the Gibson Boys, I step into the sun.

Keeping my head down, I make a beeline for my car. I can’t hear anything over the steps of my shoes against the asphalt—that is, until Lance says my name.

Despite my brain saying, ‘Don’t look up,’ I look straight up into his eyes.

They’re the same beautiful green I remember, and the ones I see every time I close my own. There are bags underneath them, lines creasing from the corners announcing that he hasn’t been sleeping well. Or at all.

I hate seeing him like that. I hate him making me feel like this. I hate this whole damn thing.

“Hey,” I say as evenly as I can manage. It’s not even at all. It’s a shaky mess of a voice that I’m half embarrassed about. “How are you?”

He leans against my car as I unlock the door. “Shitty. How are you?”

“Fine.” My cup goes into the cup holder. The little buzzing sound that drives me crazy starts chirping, reminding me I just stuck my keys into the ignition. I want to ask him about the tequila, ask him if he lost his comb, but I don’t because those things are none of my business. “I need to go.”

“Where you going?” he roughs out.

“I baked for the nursing home. I need to get them over there before their dinner time.” I look at the blacktop beneath my feet. I’ve given him more information than he deserves, even though none of it really matters. Still, I need to stop this and get on with my day. “I really do need to go, Lance.”

He shoves off my car and stands just a few feet from me. “Talk to me.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” he sighs. “Why’d you put a lock on your door?”

“To keep you out.” I lift my chin and look at his five o’clock shadow. “I need some space, okay?”

“Mariah, I—”

“No.” My answer is firm, my tone strong. It’s a good launching point. “I’m not mad at you. I don’t hate you. But I’m very tender right now and I need to shore myself up some before you come back in. Okay?”

I put my hands behind me just so I don’t reach for him as he skirts his fingers over his face. He lets out a low, frustrated groan and I want to kiss his cheek and make him laugh, but I don’t because it’s not my place.

“This is the best thing for you.” He blows out a breath as I wonder if he meant that for me or for him. “I know you don’t understand that, but it’s true.”

“You know what I don’t understand?” I ask. “I don’t get why you let me in so much, knowing you didn’t want to keep me there.”

He looks at the sky, stretching his neck all the way back.

“You knew my reservations,” I tell him. “And if I didn’t know you better, I’d think you drug me in just to see if you could.”

His eyes fly wide. “That’s bullshit.”

“I know it is,” I say, biting back a lump in my throat. “But pardon me for feeling like you made me fall in love with you and then slammed that door shut.”

The words are into the universe with no way to reel them back in. His mouth hangs open like it’s some kind of epiphany and that just annoys me more.

There’s a bubble threatening to burst, one I’ve held back from exploding since he broke things off with me. But standing here in this parking lot, looking at him like he’s the hurt one, makes me want to scream.

“I have to go,” I say, climbing in my car with a hurried frenzy.

“What did you just say?”

I turn over the engine. “You heard me.”

“Mariah …”

With a final look his way, I smile sadly. “Goodbye, Lance.”

The door shuts as he continues his protest and I pull out with only a quick glance in the rearview mirror.