She’d lost an entire day of her life crying over him.
And no, she didn’t feel better. She felt worse.
She didn’t feel cleansed. She felt hungover.
And she didn’t feel refreshed or whatever other self-help bullshit emotion she was supposed to feel after a good cry. No. She felt like a dirty Raggedy Ann doll hanging on by a few thin threads after being dragged through a mud puddle and tossed around by a dog.
Because something had broken inside her. Mack had broken something inside her. And maybe that, above all else, was the thing she hated him for.
She threw her hair in a ponytail, splashed some water on her face—scrubbing for a moment at the orange stains on the corners of her mouth. Then she changed into fresh clothes and opened the door to her apartment for the first time in hours.
She paused on the stairs to see whether the world felt different. But nope. She was greeted by the same sounds as any other day. Randy squawked in his tree. The goats bleated. Move along, the world seemed to say. Nothing to see here. Just a girl with a broken heart and a lesson learned.
There were only two eggs in the nesting boxes, and a dusting of feed on the ground told her Rosie had already tended to the hens. A surge of determination straightened her spine. This was officially the last day Rosie would have to pick up the slack for her.
She marched into the house, planted her hands on her hips, and got ready to say just that to Rosie. But she didn’t get a word out because Rosie turned from the sink, titled her head, and said, “Oh, honey. I promise it will get better.”
And, goddammit, the tears started again. Liv let out an argh and stomped to the sink. “I am so fucking sick of this.”
She splashed more water on her face. Rosie rubbed a slow circle in the center of her back. “Hungry?”
“Is there any tuna noodle casserole left?”
“Got a plate waiting in the fridge for you. Sit down. I’ll heat it up.”
Liv thought about protesting and saying she could do it herself, but she was out of energy again. Rosie puttered unobtrusively around the kitchen as Liv shoveled hefty forkfuls into her mouth. When her plate was clean, Rosie wordlessly took it away and rinsed it in the sink.
“I made chocolate pie too,” Rosie said, her back to Liv.
Guilt clanged again against her temples. “I’m sorry about last night,” Liv said.
Rosie looked over her shoulder, confusion tugging her brows together. “What do you mean?”
“I ignored you when you brought me food. And you had to do all my chores.”
Rosie snorted and put the plate in the dishwasher. “Honey, you were in no condition to do anything yesterday or last night. You don’t need to apologize. Sometimes the best thing a girl can do is spend the day feeling sorry for herself.” She turned around and pointed. “Just as long as she gets up the next day and gets back to work.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I promise I won’t do it again.”
“Livvie, I am not talking about the damn chickens.”
Liv nodded. “I’m going to start looking for a job again—”
“I’m not talking about that either.” Rosie marched back to the island. “I’m talking about Royce.”
Liv groaned and shook her head. “I don’t even care anymore.” Which wasn’t true. But it felt good to pretend it was true. Her capacity for teetering on the edges of emotional cliffs had reached its limit. She needed the comfort of gravity for a while.
“Nonsense,” Rosie said. “You’re just feeling sorry for yourself.”
“I thought you said I deserved to feel sorry for myself.”
“That was yesterday. Today I need you to pick up the pieces and carry on.”
Shame drew Liv’s gaze to her lap. “I feel like I made things worse.”
“It feels that way because you poked the bear and the bear attacked. He struck you right where it hurts most, and now you’re nursing your wounds and scared to finish the fight.”
“Maybe this isn’t my fight.”
Rosie slammed her palm on the island. “Bullshit!”
Liv jumped in her chair and snapped her head up. She’d never heard Rosie raise her voice like that. Not even at Hop.
Rosie pointed her finger again. “This is every woman’s fight, Olivia Papandreas. And I know you didn’t ask for it, but this one landed in your lap. Jessica is counting on you. Alexis is counting on you. Every woman on that damn list is counting on