CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
KATE
I’ve lost my corkscrew and it’s terribly inconvenient. I could have sworn it was on the counter, but that was a whole bottle of wine ago and plenty has happened since then. It could be anywhere. Back in the drawer, in the trash, the sink.
Not actually in any of those places, but it could have been before I looked.
“Fuck.”
I stare at the bottle and hate it for the injustice it’s serving me. All I want to do is get obliteratingly drunk and forget the world around me. Instead, I’m left with a strong buzz and no way to continue my own destruction.
“It’s a twist top, Kate.”
I scream and grab a knife from the block on the counter. Hannah holds up her hands and smiles, apologizing.
“I knocked but you didn’t answer. I wanted to drop off some boxes for the gala. You asked me to bring them by earlier.”
“Shit.” I drop the knife in the sink and grasp my chest to still my heart. “I thought you were David.”
“You need a knife for David?” Hannah’s brow knits together. “I knew it was bad, but holy shit, Kate. Do I need to arrange security for your apartment?”
“I should have thought of that weeks ago.” How did I not think of that? Oh, right, I was too busy being consumed by Eric Stevens. The man I fell in love with and bared my soul to, only to be dropped and ignored. “Maybe. Probably. What were you saying about my wine bottle when you nearly scared me to death?”
“It’s a twist top.” Hannah takes it from me and opens it. “I guess you’ve had a bad day.”
I snort so hard it spirals into a coughing fit. Bad day just scratches the surface. I thought I had bad days in the past. Today proved I had no idea what one really was until now.
“I guess you saw the interview?”
I nod and chug the glass Hannah hands me. I hold it back out for her to refill and go collapse on the couch.
“He told them I was a cheat and a whore. He told them he was framed. He told them I slept with him recently as a ploy to get his money. His money! Can you believe that shit? It’s my money.” I throw a pillow across the room. “And let’s not forget the jerk who now isn’t returning my calls.”
“You called David?”
Oops. I sit there for a minute, trying to get my brain back on track with what’s going on. Perhaps this other glass of wine was a terrible idea. I can’t let anyone know about Eric because then everyone will believe the other bullshit David spewed.
I can’t believe Eric let him do that. First, he ignores every call and text I’ve sent him for three days. Then, he sends David on a freaking trash network show to talk about how terrible I am? Did Wonderland ever turn dark and terrifying? Because that’s where I am right now.
“Kate?” Hannah appears in front of me and hands me a new glass. It’s cold and not a wine glass. “I think you need to drink this.”
“Unless it’s alcohol, I’m not interested.”
“Do you want me to call Lily over here?” She presses the glass to my hand and sticks a straw in my mouth. I pull a sip from it despite wanting to resist it. “Or, I don’t know, someone else?”
“I’m fine.” I say around the straw. “Really.”
“I can stay, if you’d like some company. I know we never see each other outside of work, but I won’t mind.”
“No, no. I’m okay. Just a long day. He sucks.”
“I’m so sorry about David.”
“Fuck David.”
Fuck both of them, really. I don’t know what karmic deity I pissed off, but I guess it was all of them? Why else would my life spiral so wildly out of control? Every time I think I’ve found happiness, it zips away. There’s no winning for Kate. None allowed at all.
“I’ll have Lily call and check on you in a bit, okay? You can decide then if she needs to come over. I don’t think you should be alone tonight.”
“I’m always alone.” I mutter. “It’s nothing new.”
Hannah floats near the door, clearly conflicted. It angers me because she has no business being conflicted. Her life is neatly paved out with no exit ramps in sight. She’s so young and perky and has a loving boyfriend who sends her flowers just because it’s Tuesday. She needs to cut out the conflicted shit.
“Go.” I shoo her out. “Thanks for the concern, but I need to be alone right now.”
“If you’re sure.” Hannah frowns. “I put the boxes on your desk.”
“I’ll look at them tomorrow.”
“Okay. I’ll go.” She hesitates at the door again. “Have a good night, Kate.”
I wave over my shoulder and stare at the TV. I hear the door click behind me and I jump up to pull across the chain so no one else with a key can come in. I didn’t even remember giving Hannah a key, but everything is sort of fuzzy right now anyway.
I turn on the TV and it cues up a freeze frame of the video I made of my night with Eric. My fist closes around the remote until it aches. What did I do to this man that made him ignore me after we shared such an intense afternoon together?
I was so close to telling him I loved him. I know he thought about telling me the same. Now, nothing. He didn’t get to be scared. He didn’t get to hide. I couldn’t hide, why should he? Did he get bored of me? Did he decide sex with the same person got boring and he wanted to go back to fishing in the local pools again?
Stupid men. They were all the same. I should have become a nun the last time I thought about it. I’m not religious but maybe I can tell them I’m curious. Or maybe I can lie. Enough time in this stupid town has made me pretty good at it.
Across the apartment, my phone rings. I trip over the couch trying to get it and probably break my toe. I struggle back to my feet and limp to the kitchen counter, but it switches to voicemail before I can grab it.
It was Eric.
I immediately hit the redial button, but get sent straight to voicemail. After three tries, I give up. He’ll see I called and call back, surely. I pace in the kitchen, waiting for his call again.
The corkscrew sits on top of the coffee maker. How did it get there?
The ringtone for a voicemail chimes and I fly to the app to listen. I want to just hear his voice again, more than anything. I want to hear him say he’s been busy and he’s sorry he hasn’t been in touch. I want to hear him say he needs me again.
“It’s me. This is the last time I’ll call. It’s over, Kate. I’m your husband’s lawyer and I’m not going to get disbarred over this. Don’t bother calling me anymore.”
The message ends and I stare at my phone. There is no way I heard what I think I did. It was the wine talking. I replay it three times. By then, tears stream down my face and I can’t breathe. A guttural scream erupts out of me and I throw my wine glass against the wall.
It shatters into a hundred pieces. Just like me.