know I did the right thing for Warren, but it doesn’t mean I can’t be miserable about it now. It doesn’t mean I can’t feel like I just walked away from the love of my life.
It can all feel like shit, even if I have to set him free because I love him. Like some tragic motivational sign, in which I’ve crossed out And if they return to you, it was meant to be. Because that’s shit. Real life doesn’t work like that.
I’m making my sad walk to the station when I see it. A beacon of hope for heartbreak. It’s a cupcake shop, and I’ve never seen a more welcome sight in my entire life, except maybe when I saw vintage Chanel in perfect condition at a thrift store.
I walk into the shop. The entire thing is painted baby pink and white with a cartoon baker grinning from behind a mural of cupcakes. She’s so proud of those damn cupcakes. I bet Cartoon Baker has always made the right life choices. She’s never gotten drunk and mad and committed a crime. She didn’t ruin her life. She just focused on the future, one cupcake at a time.
“I’ll take a dozen,” I tell a teenager behind the counter, who is radiating far too much hope and joy for my state of mind at the moment. “Whatever the emergency assortment is.”
“Excuse me?” The girl blinks at me in confusion, as if there’s an actual assortment named for heartbreak.
There should be. The heartbreak dozen, served to-go, with one fork.
I tell her to give me an assortment of whatever. It’s cake and frosting, and there’s not a whole lot of ways to fuck that up.
Why couldn’t I have been born a cupcake? I’d never have to make decisions, good or bad, and everyone would love me. Except for the people with gluten issues. And the diabetics. Scratch that, not even cupcakes can win them all.
I carry my sad box of cupcakes to the station. Then I get on the train, not even worrying about the looks I’m getting. I’m overdressed for the train, clearly. Out of place in my evening dress clutching a bakery box and a bouquet of sadness. Go ahead and think what you want. Nothing any of them could say or think is worse than what I’m thinking about myself right now.
God, I’m such a loser.
The train ride’s three hours, and I work my way through four cupcakes before I feel sick and have to stop. Even the cupcakes are betraying me because, normally, four would be… well, it would be a piece of cake. But now? The cupcakes are tasteless and just stacking up in my stomach like a painful reminder of my shame. Which is a crime. Another one I can add to my rap sheet. I managed to ruin cupcakes.
By the time my train arrives, it’s pretty late. I check my phone, grateful to see that Miller’s pulled up outside. Waiting curbside with half a dozen cupcakes while still in high heels would be too depressing to handle.
Fine, yes, I ate two more of them. Three hours is a really, really long time to reflect on your shortcomings.
I spot his car and walk over. As soon as I open the door, he raises his eyebrows.
“It’s really inappropriate of you to ask a child to pick you up at this hour.”
I groan. “Ugh, Miller. Now is not the time. You do nothing but brag about not going to bed at nine p.m. so I know you were awake, and besides, emotionally you’re forty-seven.”
“Still,” he says. “What happened? I know you wouldn’t willingly humiliate yourself by texting me unless you had to.”
“I’m not talking about it,” I insist, wishing tears weren’t filling my eyes right now. “Just drive. Please.”
“Hmm. I will drop the conversation permanently if you give me a raise. And by permanently, I mean twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”
Ugh, opportunistic little bastard. But I have to admire his grit. And after everything, I can’t deny that he deserves it.
“Done,” I say. “Specifics can be discussed later. Now, please—”
“Drive,” he says, pulling away from the curb. “Yes, I know. Though where exactly am I taking you?”
“My place,” I say. “I don’t care if I have to pee in a bucket. I’m never going back to the mansion.”
He arches an eyebrow. “That bad?”
“I plead the Eighth,” I mutter, resting my head against the driver’s side window.
“I think you mean the Fifth.”
“The Eighth Amendment protects me from cruel and unusual punishments,