33. Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter thirty-three
Kennedy
It’s been almost a week since my sudden departure from St. Lucia, even though it feels like yesterday. The wounds are still raw, and I’ve been licking them since I left. My heart physically aches. I’m so angry at the way things ended.
The first few days were a blur. No, seriously, I couldn’t see clearly from all the tears I shed. I might have kept my composure the entire time I packed as I waited for Tristan to chase after me but, like a coward, he never did. The minute I climbed into the car, I lost it. I don’t know what I would’ve done if Tristan had come after me. Right now, I like to think I would have heard him out, given him a chance to explain why he didn’t have the decency to give me a heads-up. But at that moment, I was so completely devastated that I’m not sure I would’ve listened.
One thing I know is that I’m grateful this happened on a Friday, and I had the entire weekend to prepare for the office on Monday. The anxiety of how my coworkers would react kept me paralyzed with fear. Not only did I not want to deal with their looks and whispers, but I didn’t want to have to answer their questions, especially since there is no me and Tristan. Us was a fragment of my imagination, a fairytale ending to rivalry .
I spent the whole weekend tossing and turning, sleepless night after sleepless night. Turns out, my body didn’t get the memo that she has to sleep alone now. No more cuddles with a sexy guy named Tristan. I dodged every call and text, only answering work-related emails. Long gone is the playfulness, and in its place are only the utmost professional responses. Mom always said to kill people with kindness, and that’s exactly what I plan to do.
He’s nothing more than my boss.
Oh, hell, who am I kidding? Even with this massive ache in my chest and the constant way I feel—mopey, miserable, and heartbroken—I still miss him.
God, I miss him so much.
Tomorrow is his first day back in the office, and I have no idea how I’m going to handle being in the same room as him again. The grand opening was Tuesday, and I was notified by email that he would be back in the office Friday for a debriefing meeting with the entire team. I wonder if it’s too late to call in sick…
As I’m lying on the couch, a romantic comedy plays in the background, because even if I can’t keep love, I can watch other people chase after their happily ever afters. My phone vibrates on the cushion underneath me, and I bring the screen to my face. A flash of excitement courses through my body at what I see. It’s the first time I've felt a positive emotion since I returned.
There on my screen is the news notification on Paradise at Piton Peaks' grand opening. Sitting up in my seat, my blanket falls to the ground as my heart pounds while I swipe open the article. My stomach churns with nerves as I skim over the article. It’s full of praise for the resort, giving it a glowing review for the grand opening. The article mentions the modern renovations, state-of-the-art technology, lavish guest experiences, and delicious food. My renovations. My ideas. They loved everything I put together. Tears flood my eyes as I’m hit with an overwhelming burst of pride.
As the article comes to an end, that pride quickly morphs into something else. Pain, disappointment, utter shock. Not once is my name mentioned. Nowhere in the article is it known that I had anything to do with this project. The only name mentioned over and over again is Mr. Nelson’s prodigal son, Tristan Nelson.
Rationally, I know it’s not Tristan’s fault his name is splashed throughout the article, but the irrational voice inside my head sure can blame him. Tossing my phone aside, I melt back into the couch. Add another tally to why I’m dreading tomorrow.
How could they not mention my name? Sure, they mention the team, but when does the lead architect not get any acknowledgment? I poured so much into this project, and nowhere will I receive the recognition I deserve. While I know it’s not that big of a deal at the end of the day, it was important to me. This project was everything to me. It was a steppingstone in my career.
Everything about it feels so…wrong.
“Don’t read the article! Don’t read the article!” Lana comes running out of her room in pure panic. Coming to an abrupt stop in front of the couch, my facial expression must say it all, because her shoulders deflate.
“Too late.”
“Dammit.” She moves around the coffee table and sits beside me, curling her body into mine as she wraps her arms around me. “Talk about a shitty week. ”
“You can say that again,” I grumble, placing my head on her shoulder.
“Talk about a shi—” My hand covering her mouth cuts her off.
“I didn’t mean that literally.” She shrugs and tightens her hold.
“Zoe will be here any minute. We’re having a girls’ night in.”
“Lan, I’m really not in the mood.”
“That’s precisely why we are having it. It’s time for Kennedy to get her groove back.”
“Wasn’t her name Stella?”
Lana rolls her eyes as she moves to the opposite side of the couch. “Stop being so literal.”
Before I have a chance to respond, there’s a knock at the door. Lana jumps from the couch and practically hurdles through our townhouse to answer. I hear hushed voices coming from my two closest friends, and I know they are discussing me. I hate feeling like this. I’m giving myself one more night to wallow, then I’m putting on my big girl panties and striding through that office like that bad bitch I am.
“Hey, babes,” Zoe’s soft voice greets. “I brought Chinese takeout and wine.”
“Zo, I’m not a scared animal. You don’t have to use that sugary voice with me. I promise not to pounce on you or take off and hide.”
“Well, I wasn’t sure where your headspace was at.”
Lana comes back into our tiny living room with wineglasses and forks in her hand, while Zoe is busy unpacking the boxes of food from the brown paper bag onto the coffee table. The familiar smell of Chinese food wafts through the air as Zoe opens each box, and my mouth instantly waters at the sight. Boxes of orange chicken, beef and broccoli, chow mein, egg rolls, crab rangoon, and fried rice cover my table.
“Hungry, Zoe?” I chuckle as I stare at the piles of food—enough to feed a small army.
“I wasn’t sure what you wanted, and I wasn’t sure if you were eating enough.”
Grabbing a fork from Lana’s outstretched hand, I stab my fork into the box and pull out an egg roll. “Lucky for you, I’m starving.”
The three of us fall into silence as we squeeze onto the couch, taking turns passing the cartons of food as we stuff our faces. Best friends, the real ones, don’t care if you eat after each other. They avoid dirtying up dishes and share cartons of food, especially when one needs it the most.
As the opening credits of 10 Things I Hate About You begin, Zoe interrupts our feast. “So are we ready to talk about the elephant in the room?”
“Which one?” I ask around a mouthful of chow mein. “The fact I was left out of the article, I get to see my ex-slash-tropical fling-slash-boss tomorrow, or the fact that Heath Ledger was fine as hell in this movie?”
Lana clinks her fork against her wineglass, almost as if she’s signaling a winning sound. “Heath Ledger, RIP.”
Zoe rolls her eyes as she digs into the orange chicken. “I was referring to your Golden Boy.”
“First of all, he’s not my Golden Boy. He’s not my anything.”
“That’s my girl,” Lana agrees. “I say you keep him at arm's length tomorrow, but wear something that makes you look hot—hotter than usual—just to flaunt it in his face. ”
“Wait,” Zoe interrupts. “Are you not on Team Tristan?”
“First of all, there are no teams.”
The girls snap their heads in my direction as their eyebrows furrow, but it’s Zoe who jumps in first. “Yes, there are teams, and while we are all Team Kenny, we’re also Team Whoever makes you happy.”
“And that’s why I think she needs to move on from hewhoshallnotbenamed .”
“Tristan. We can say his name.” I rip off a piece of crab rangoon and pop the warm cream cheese mixture into my mouth.
“How are you going to handle tomorrow when you see him? Honesty.”
“I have no idea, Zo. I won’t be the girl to avoid him and cower in the corner, but I also don’t know how I’m supposed to be professional when my heart aches for him. I miss him, even though I shouldn’t.”
“Why do you think you shouldn’t?” Lana asks. I stare at her quizzically. She’s been team whoever makes me happy, and this question is throwing me for a loop.
“Because he hurt me.”
“Ken, I think in some weird way, Tristan wasn’t trying to hurt you. Yes, he didn’t tell you that you would be leaving, and I know that blindsided you, but we saw how the two of you were. Each time you FaceTimed us, there were stars in your eyes, a glow that wasn’t there before.”
“It was the sun,” I murmur.
Zoe nudges me in the ribs with her elbow. Her expression tells me she’s not buying that for a second.
“No, I’ve been on vacation with you many times, and I know that wasn’t the case. That was the Tristan Nelson effect. ”
“And I saw that same look on his face when he’d call in for work meetings,” Zoe adds.
“Ken, you’re my best friend, and I will always fight for you and whatever makes you happy. And while Tristan isn’t my favorite right now because he hurt you, I also saw him bring out fun Kennedy. The girl who wasn’t afraid to let her hair down and leave work in the office.”
“That’s true. You definitely seemed more at ease around him.”
“So what do you think I should do?” Tears well in my eyes, my throat clogging with emotions. “Simply forgive and forget. I’m not wired that way. I wish I were. It’d make life a lot easier, but I carry shit. I pack it up in bins and store it forever.”
“I don’t think that’s what Lana is saying.” Zoe turns to Lana, who nods in agreement. “But I think she’s saying you should give him a chance to explain himself. Maybe there’s a perfectly good reason why he let the news blindside you. Maybe he was scared of you turning against him.”
“Which happened anyway.”
Zoe shrugs. “Do you still love him?”
Turning my attention back to the movie, I think about her question. I don’t believe love can simply be turned on and off with a flip of a switch. Love is complex and multidimensional. While it takes layers to build and to fall in love, one swing of a wrecking ball can shatter the love that you know. And while I feel like I was hit with a wrecking ball, there are still pieces of those layers stuck together.
“I think she found her answer,” Lana says as she sips from her wineglass .
“We don’t need you to tell us; the important thing is that you know. Now you need to decide how you are going to handle tomorrow. Are you going to put up a professional front? Or give him a chance to explain himself?”
“What if…what if I choose to be professional?”
“Then that’s your decision. Take the time to continue healing, but establish boundaries from the beginning. Make him see that you’re not ready to discuss what happened in St. Lucia, but you are ready to continue your working relationship.”
“Is that what you guys think I should do?”
“Honey, we’re here to pick you up, and tell you how wonderful you are, but we can’t make that decision for you.” Zoe stretches her arms over my shoulders before pulling me in tight.
“I think you need to do whatever is best for you right now,” Lana adds, offering me a reassuring smile. “But if your heart is giving you any indication that there’s something still brewing between you and Tristan, I think you need to listen to it.”
Half-eaten boxes of food gather on the coffee table with empty glasses of wine as we finish watching the movie. As much as I love the romance between Kat and Patrick, my mind is busy spinning around all the scenarios for tomorrow.
Deep down, I know they’re both right. Too bad my heart and my mind won’t get on the same page.
Turns out, tomorrow is going to be more difficult than I imagined.
Do I give him one last chance?
Or do I establish a professional relationship with a man I love deeply?