Which leaves me with nothing but accepting it. Processing the grief and pain. And somehow getting over it. I’ll have to eventually.
I’m still sitting on the couch in exactly the same position when Damian reappears. He’s carrying his saddlebag and an overnight bag.
“I’ll stay in my apartment tonight,” he says, stepping into the living room to face me. “I’ll come over for the rest of my stuff tomorrow. I’ll contact Aurora so we can wrap everything up.”
“Okay.”
Okay. It’s the end of everything, and I say okay.
He walks out the door, closing it with a quiet click.
I stay on the couch, unable to move, for several minutes until I find the will to pick up my phone and call Steve.
He comes right over, and he stays with me for the rest of the night.
Ten
I FLY UP TO CHARLESTON the following day to spend the weekend with my mother.
I wasn’t planning on it, but I don’t want to be alone right now. Steve has a lot of stuff to do this weekend, and he already spent all of Friday night with me. He said he’d be happy to cancel, but there’s no reason he needs to do that. I’ve got other people in my life who love me too.
It feels like I need to go home right now, so I do.
At three o’clock on Saturday afternoon, I’m stretched out on top of the covers of the guest room bed in Pop’s house. Pop and my mom’s house. It’s her house too now. I spent hours with her today already. I told her the whole truth. I wanted to anyway, and I didn’t have a choice when I started crying the moment I saw her.
Being my mom, she didn’t give me a hard time for the lie. She shook her head and said I shouldn’t have done that—that’s she’s a grown-up who could have worked through any problems that arose—but after that she let it go.
I feel okay right now. Still sad. Still nursing a ball of pain in my chest that isn’t going to go away anytime soon. But I feel like myself again. I’ll be able to get through it. Damian isn’t all I had going in my life. I have my work. I have my family. I have really good friends. I have purpose and meaning and value, regardless of whom I happen to be coupled up with (or uncoupled, as the case may be).
I’ll be okay. Eventually I’ll be okay.
My mom already had plans for this afternoon—a knitting circle with some ladies from church—and I didn’t want her to miss it on my account. I told her I’m exhausted (entirely the truth), and I’d like to rest for a couple of hours anyway.
I was fully prepared to doze, but then Melissa stopped by to drop something off for Pop. When she heard I was here, she came upstairs to say hi, and I somehow (I honestly have no idea how it happened) ended up telling her the whole convoluted saga.
“I’m sure you think I’m out of my mind,” I tell her when I’ve finished talking. “I mean, who does something like that?”
“Fake a husband?” Her mouth twitches slightly, although her eyes are sympathetic. “It’s been known to happen.”
“Maybe. In soap operas.” I close my eyes and groan. I’m stretched out on the bed, my head propped on three pillows, while Melissa is sitting sideways on the window seat, her back against a cushion and her legs bent up to fit. “Anyway. That’s what’s happening and why I’m such a wreck.”
“You don’t seem like that much of a wreck.”
“Ha ha.” I enunciate both syllables dryly.
“Seriously. Did you end up sobbing on the kitchen floor in front of the man who broke your heart?”
My eyes widen. “Uh, no.”
“So there. You’re holding up pretty well.”
“Did you do that?”
“Yeah.”
“With Trevor?”
“Yeah. And I never cry. Never. But there I was, bawling like a baby on the floor.”
I pick up my head, interest prickling in the murky cloud of grief and devastation in my mind. “What did he do?”
Melissa’s expression softens. “He got down on the floor with me.”
Ridiculously, the quiet words bring a lump to my throat. “Yeah. That’s what a man in love should do.”
“I bet Damian would do that for you.”
“I bet he wouldn’t.”
“Now seriously. Be honest. I don’t know the whole story—obviously—and I don’t know what’s going on in his mind. But I’m not a stupid person. I’m observant. I’m good at spotting fakes and phonies. I’ve had to be