****
I reread the text twice, like the words would morph. Like it would hurt any less.
It didn’t.
Slammed...don’t wait up.
It was the second time in seven days that I would eat dinner by myself and probably go to bed alone.
Jacob was at the head of Whitmore and Creighton, a PR firm whose clie nt list read like a Who’s Who of Hollywood and high society. I tried to convince myself that it was just work occupying his time. I’d seen the schedule, filled with back to back meetings. But it had been two weeks since I read the letter he wrote to his mother. Two weeks since I found out that the man I loved wanted to marry me--then changed his mind.
Two weeks since he started pulling away and spending more time at the office.
I dropped my cell on the granite countertop and went to the cabinet. I frowned when I saw that there were only a few crystal tumblers on the shelves. I pulled open the dishwasher, seeing rows of glass stems. My eyes flickered to the right where the recycle bin was filled to the brim with empty wine bottles.
I closed the door and swiped a tumbler, then filled it with water. I guess I was done self-medicating.
I was between a rock and a hard place. There was no way I could approach him about the letter without revealing that I'd betrayed his trust. Again. Even if I tried to explain and apologize, there was a risk that this would be it. The thing that pushed us off the cliff. The thing that would devastate us.
How much could he take? How many times could I disappoint him? If his letter was any indication, the answer was not much more.
My cell rattled to life on the counter and I launched to it, my heart beating a fever pitch in my ears. The sound became a whistle, and then it became nothing. It wasn't Jacob.
I accepted the call, trying to ma ke my voice sound normal. "Hi Meg!"
"What's wrong?" She didn't buy it for one second.
"Oh everything's great!" I lied, still not ready to give up the charade. I took a swallow of the water and forced a smile, like my best friend was standing right in front of me. Who was I kidding? If she saw right through me when I barely got two words out over the phone, I wouldn't fare well in person. There was no use pretending I had it together--not with Megan.
"I made dinner." Well as close to dinner as I’d get. I'd whipped up some Velveeta mac and cheese, steamed veggies, and managed to not completely dry out two chicken breasts. "Jacob's pulling an all-nighter though so it looks like a table for one." My nostrils stung and I knew I was close to crying. Table for one.
And it was just what I deserved.
"Well that’s actually kind of great!” she said excitedly. “I wanted to know if you wanted to grab a cab and meet me at Lucy's?"
I perked slightly when I zeroed in on the sound of music and conversation weavin g in and out of her invitation. “You’re at Lucy’s?”
"After the day I had I needed a margarita. And salt. And endless salsa and chips," she said with a chuckle that sounded off but I chalked it up to background noise.
I was so on board. I would have been down if she’d named a fast food joint instead of our favorite taco restaurant, Lucy’s Taqueria. Anything to get out of this house and away from the sad sight of plates languishing in the dining room. Anything to finally talk about the monstrous secret threatening to rip its way out of my chest.
I told her I’d be there in ten and swiped my purse from a stool in front of the bar, dropping my phone inside. After sliding my feet into a pair of flats and grabbing my jacket, I shut off the lights and made my way to the elevator. Downstairs, I gave the doorman a smile and didn’t even have to wave my arm before a taxi pulled up to the curb. I told him the address and settled into the seat, watching the city pass me by.
I swear, everywhere I looked I saw romance and love. Couples hand in hand, vendors selling bright flowers, smiling families; shiny, happy people. Even the taxi cab driver was
I reread the text twice, like the words would morph. Like it would hurt any less.
It didn’t.
Slammed...don’t wait up.
It was the second time in seven days that I would eat dinner by myself and probably go to bed alone.
Jacob was at the head of Whitmore and Creighton, a PR firm whose clie nt list read like a Who’s Who of Hollywood and high society. I tried to convince myself that it was just work occupying his time. I’d seen the schedule, filled with back to back meetings. But it had been two weeks since I read the letter he wrote to his mother. Two weeks since I found out that the man I loved wanted to marry me--then changed his mind.
Two weeks since he started pulling away and spending more time at the office.
I dropped my cell on the granite countertop and went to the cabinet. I frowned when I saw that there were only a few crystal tumblers on the shelves. I pulled open the dishwasher, seeing rows of glass stems. My eyes flickered to the right where the recycle bin was filled to the brim with empty wine bottles.
I closed the door and swiped a tumbler, then filled it with water. I guess I was done self-medicating.
I was between a rock and a hard place. There was no way I could approach him about the letter without revealing that I'd betrayed his trust. Again. Even if I tried to explain and apologize, there was a risk that this would be it. The thing that pushed us off the cliff. The thing that would devastate us.
How much could he take? How many times could I disappoint him? If his letter was any indication, the answer was not much more.
My cell rattled to life on the counter and I launched to it, my heart beating a fever pitch in my ears. The sound became a whistle, and then it became nothing. It wasn't Jacob.
I accepted the call, trying to ma ke my voice sound normal. "Hi Meg!"
"What's wrong?" She didn't buy it for one second.
"Oh everything's great!" I lied, still not ready to give up the charade. I took a swallow of the water and forced a smile, like my best friend was standing right in front of me. Who was I kidding? If she saw right through me when I barely got two words out over the phone, I wouldn't fare well in person. There was no use pretending I had it together--not with Megan.
"I made dinner." Well as close to dinner as I’d get. I'd whipped up some Velveeta mac and cheese, steamed veggies, and managed to not completely dry out two chicken breasts. "Jacob's pulling an all-nighter though so it looks like a table for one." My nostrils stung and I knew I was close to crying. Table for one.
And it was just what I deserved.
"Well that’s actually kind of great!” she said excitedly. “I wanted to know if you wanted to grab a cab and meet me at Lucy's?"
I perked slightly when I zeroed in on the sound of music and conversation weavin g in and out of her invitation. “You’re at Lucy’s?”
"After the day I had I needed a margarita. And salt. And endless salsa and chips," she said with a chuckle that sounded off but I chalked it up to background noise.
I was so on board. I would have been down if she’d named a fast food joint instead of our favorite taco restaurant, Lucy’s Taqueria. Anything to get out of this house and away from the sad sight of plates languishing in the dining room. Anything to finally talk about the monstrous secret threatening to rip its way out of my chest.
I told her I’d be there in ten and swiped my purse from a stool in front of the bar, dropping my phone inside. After sliding my feet into a pair of flats and grabbing my jacket, I shut off the lights and made my way to the elevator. Downstairs, I gave the doorman a smile and didn’t even have to wave my arm before a taxi pulled up to the curb. I told him the address and settled into the seat, watching the city pass me by.
I swear, everywhere I looked I saw romance and love. Couples hand in hand, vendors selling bright flowers, smiling families; shiny, happy people. Even the taxi cab driver was
Similar Books
