I wasn’t even sure how much time had passed since Nick had broken up with me. A few weeks? A month? A year? It could have been any of those options at this point. Every day felt longer than the last, and the incessant pain of missing him hadn’t waned.
There was nothing worse than missing someone. Especially when that someone would never be yours again. It was a constant battle between your head and your heart. You knew you should move on, your head reminded you of that every day, but your heart, well, it wouldn’t let go. It seemed content in misery, giving off the impression that you’d never be able to get over that person.
I’d spent the past week and a half distracting my mind with work. I’d go into the office early, and if I was working from home, I generally worked through the late-evening hours for lack of anything better to do.
The money I’d made in commission and bonuses in that span of time was nearly double what I’d earned in the previous month. I guessed I could have treated myself, spent a few hours shopping Fifth Avenue, but what was money, or material things for that matter, if you weren’t happy?
Nothing. It meant nothing and did nothing to soothe the constant ache stemming from the bottomless pit of heartbreak.
And the realization that made it even worse? I’d understood why Nick had ended things. I hadn’t blamed him for not taking any chances when it came to his daughter. Which meant I didn’t even have anger to fall back on.
If anything, I loved the fucker more.
It was a real fucking bitch.
My phone pinged loudly in my small, loft apartment, and I already knew who it was before I snagged my phone off the coffee table to look at the message. My best friends had been trying their damnedest to get me out of the apartment—so far, to no avail.
Ivy: Just come out tonight. It’ll make you feel better.
Harper: Ivy’s right, dude. A girls’ night out with wine solves everything.
I called bullshit. The only thing that would solve my problems was if my connection to Remy magically didn’t exist and Nick and I were still together.
Me: Believe me, you don’t want me around. I’m a complete sad sack. We’re talking armpit hair and complete lack of personal hygiene. I’m just going to hang out here tonight. Read a book. Take a bath. Binge-watch GoT.
My phone rang a minute later, and I sighed when I saw, Incoming Call Harper, flashing across the screen.
Cripes. They wouldn’t let this go. I appreciated their concern, but it was unwarranted. I just needed some time to lick my wounds and get my thoughts in order.
I warred with the idea of sending the call to voice mail, but because friendship and shit like that, I ended up muting Game of Thrones and accepting the call by the fourth ring.
“Seriously,” I said by way of greeting. “Couldn’t we keep the eventual interrogation about my breakup to the group text?”
“Nope,” Harper responded, popping her p loudly. “We wanted to hear your voice. Are you sure you’re okay? Aside from the days old pussy smell you have going, of course.”
“We?”
“Ivy’s on, too. Consider it a three-way.”
“Hi, Char. How are you holding up, sweetie?” Ivy asked, her voice soft with concern.
Jesus. Their sympathy was nearly my undoing.
What was it about that emotion that urged tears to form in your eyes? Like, even when you thought you had it together, that you’d cried all you could cry, one tiny inkling of sympathy and concern in a loved one’s voice and bam! The dam burst, and you were back to square one all over again.
I swallowed hard against the building pressure in my throat. “I’m fine, guys. Seriously. I just need some alone time.”
“Bullshit,” Harper muttered. “We all know you’re not fine.”
“It’s okay to say you’re not fine, Char,” Ivy chimed in. “I know I wouldn’t be feeling too good after a breakup.”
“Okay. Okay.” I sighed heavily into the receiver. “I’m in a real rough place right now, and honestly, your sympathy and concern are much appreciated, but it’s too overwhelming for me at the moment. I just need some time to be alone with my thoughts and process it all.”
“What exactly happened?” Harper asked. “I mean, you never really explained why you and Nick ended things…”
“God, it’s a big, fat fucking mess to be honest,” I muttered. “You know he has a daughter, right?”
“Yeah,” they both answered simultaneously.
“Well, his daughter’s mother is Winnie.”
“Who is Winnie?”
“You know, Winnie,” I repeated.
A few seconds of silence passed over this, until it all clicked into place for them.
“Oh, fuck!” Harper shouted. “You mean, Remy’s sister, Winnie?”
“Yep.”
“Jesus,” Ivy muttered on a long exhale. “What are the fucking odds?”
“Probably so slim I should have bought a lottery ticket the day I met Nick Raines.”
“I’m so sorry, Char,” Ivy said, and Harper added, “Me too, Char. That’s a fucking bitch of a problem. I understand the braids under your arms now.”
I rolled my eyes at their jokes, but I was too sad to laugh. “Yeah, it really a hell of an issue.”
“Is there anything we can do?”
“Not right now,” I answered honestly. “I just need some time. But, I promise that if I do need anything, you will be the first ones I call. Love you guys. Thanks for being such awesome friends.”
“Love you too,” they responded, and shortly after that, we ended the call.
But before I could go back to my binge-watching, my phone pinged with another message.
Harper: Oh! One more thing! When do we get to see the new Brooklyn digs???
Ivy: Oh my gosh! I almost forgot about that! Invite us over soon, Char? Pretty, pretty please?
Well, unless they wanted to hang out with Doreen and Harry, it would most likely be a while until I could invite my friends over to my house. Hell, it’d be a while until I could invite myself over to my house. I still hadn’t found the strength to start the process of evicting them.
I knew I could tell Harper and Ivy the truth—I could tell them anything—but I couldn’t do it without going a few rounds of mocking. And I wasn’t in the mood.
Me: Soon. :) Once I’m all moved in.
Fingers crossed that milestone actually occurred.
Ivy: Don’t forget to send us pictures of the new place!
I wasn’t sure how that worked. Should I send them the barely there shots I’d downloaded off the auction site or just take some candid shots with Doreen and Harry milling about in the background?
Me: Will do. :)
After I sent my response, I chose to put my phone on silent. And then, I thought better of it and just turned the damn thing off. Surely, I could use a good twenty-four hours without any human contact or the temptation of sending messages to someone I just needed to let go.
Nick. God, I missed him.
I’d sent him all of two messages since he’d broken up with me. Variations of “how are you,” both very vague in nature, and a hard-left turn from our normal witty repartee. Not only were they painful to send, it was even worse when I got his equally vague responses.
But he’d made his decision, and even though it hurt like a motherfucker, I’d understood where he was coming from.
He’d worked too hard to make things right with his daughter, and now, with their relationship stronger than ever, I wouldn’t want him to risk anything related to her either.
Don’t go there, Char. Think about something else. Find a distraction.
I grabbed the remote off of the coffee table and turned up the volume, loud enough to drown out my thoughts, but not too loud that the other tenants in my building would start banging down my door for the disturbance.
It worked for all of fifteen minutes. And then, my mind started to race. Dissect. Relive. But most of all, wish things were different.
I just wanted to go back to that happy space where Nick and I had all the time in the world and nothing standing in our way.
Eventually, I gave up, switched off the television, and slipped on a pair of Converse to head downstairs and check my mailbox. Generally, I wasn’t a fan of mail. I hated that I had to check a box every day, only to receive a stack of bills, coupons, or credit card approvals. But today, I was in need of the monotony. Surely, there would be something inside there that would take my mind off things.
With one turn of my key, I came face-to-face with a single envelope. I broke the seal with my index finger and unfolded the sheet of paper that was inside.
It was the deed to my house.
A house I absolutely adored and one that I wasn’t currently living in.
I had to stop dragging my feet and find an amicable way to get Doreen and Harry the fuck out of there.
Obviously, in a way that meant they didn’t end up homeless. Or didn’t cause them to be angry with me. Or feel sad.
Jesus. I really needed to get things into perspective. They were living in my house—one that I’d paid for. They didn’t necessarily deserve my sympathy, right?
Over an hour later, I stood outside of my three-story brownstone and smiled at the view.
My home. God, she was gorgeous. I pulled the deed out of my purse and slipped it into my back pocket as a reminder. I should be living here now. I should be unpacking my boxes and setting up my home. Stay strong, Charlotte!
With my knuckles to the door, I knocked three times and mentally prepared myself to woman the fuck up and finally take what was mine.
Nick was yours, too, but that didn’t turn out too well.
Fuck, my subconscious needed to chill with the bitchy attitude.
The door opened on a quick swing, and Doreen stood in her slippers and robe, smiling back at me. “Charlotte!” she greeted, and before I could stop her, she set her cane against the door and pulled me in for a tight hug. “It’s so good to see you.”
“Hi, Doreen,” I muttered into her shoulder.
Eventually, she released me from the bear hug and ushered me inside. “Come in. Come in. Harry will be happy to see you.”
She shut the door behind us with a quiet click and glanced around me as if she was searching for something. “Where’s Nick?”
“Uh…” I awkwardly shuffled my feet across the hardwood floors. “Well…we’re not together anymore.”
“Oh no,” she responded with a frown to her lips. “Are you okay?”
I shrugged. “I’ll be all right.”
“Bless your little heart.” She wrapped one arm around my shoulder, grabbed her cane with her free hand, and led me into the hall. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
Once we reached the kitchen, she basically forced me to sit down at the table. “Sit here,” she instructed. “You look exhausted and like you’re in need of a good home-cooked meal.”
“Oh no. I—” I started to refuse the generous offer, but Doreen waved me off with a determined hand.
“Harry!” she shouted toward the living room. “Charlotte’s here, and dinner’s just about ready!”
“Char’s here?” he called back. “Is Nick with her?”
“Nope!” she responded. “They broke up!”
“You’re kidding me!”
“I know! It’s terrible, isn’t it?” she yelled back, and I had the urge to bury my head in my hands. “Now, go wash your hands, Har, and come eat dinner with us!”
She smiled a sad smile before turning away.
“I’ve got the perfect comfort food in the oven, honey,” she announced as she moved toward the stove and opened it. A few seconds later she pulled a pie out with an oven-mitt-covered hand. “Homemade chicken pot pie. It was my mother’s recipe.”
“That smells and looks delicious, Doreen, but I don’t really feel comfortable crashing your dinner.” Sure, I’d once crashed her house entirely, and I still owned the place, but…
She tsked. “Don’t be silly, dear. You’re not crashing anything. I insist you join us.”
Well, I guessed, not but anything. I could crash their dinner if I wanted to. Harry bounded into the room just as his wife set the chicken pot pie on the table.
“Looks delicious, Dor!” he exclaimed.
“Manners, Harry!” his wife chastised before he could plant his ass in his designated chair at the head of the table. “Greet Charlotte before you sit down and start stuffing your face.”
He flashed a soft grin in my direction. “Hi, Charlotte. It’s nice that you stopped by.”
“Hi, Harry,” I greeted back awkwardly.
“Okay. I hope you’ve got your appetites,” Doreen said after she finished pouring all three of us a glass of fresh lemonade. “Because I’ve also got a homemade apple pie in the oven for dessert.”
Harry winked. “Goodness gracious, woman. I sure do love you.”
Doreen blushed as she sat down in her seat.
“You’re in for a treat, Char,” he said as he cut himself a piece of chicken pot pie. “Doreen is an amazing cook. And this pot pie is one of the best things that will ever touch your taste buds.”
“Oh!” Doreen exclaimed and hopped up from the table. “Your heart meds, Harry! I almost forgot.” She hurried back into the kitchen and opened up the cabinet over the sink. Five orange pill bottles in hand, she made her way back to Harry’s side of the table and started setting out his medicine.
“This is what happens when you get old, Char,” he teased. “You get wrinkles and a bad heart.”
“Oh, don’t traumatize her, Har!”
Honestly, the two of them didn’t even need me to be involved in their conversation. It was a show, and I was just the audience. Given my current mental state, that probably wasn’t a bad thing.
“What?” he retorted. “You know it’s true.”
“Harry had to have a triple bypass about a year ago,” she explained with a knowing glance in my direction. “And these medications are now an everyday thing.”
“Last year was a real rough year for us,” he admitted. “I had to stop working. And one surgery and a hundred-thousand worth of medical bills later, I’m just thankful I’m still able to enjoy time with my wife.”
Jesus. No wonder their home had been put in a foreclosure auction.
Discreetly, while Doreen and Harry argued over the right order for him to take his medications, I slipped the deed for the house out of my back pocket and put it back into my purse.
I just couldn’t have that discussion with them. Not after they had invited me into this house with open arms and insisted I eat a home-cooked meal. And especially not after I’d heard about everything they’d gone through over the past year.
Maybe one day I’d find the strength to find a solution to this problem, but not right now.
Right now, I was going to enjoy chicken pot pie and the nice, adorable, and oftentimes comedic distraction that these two lovebirds provided.