Chapter 49
Ellie
When we get home from the bar, I go straight to my room, not stopping Abby when she follows behind me and closes my door. I fling myself face down onto the bed and let out a muffled scream.
“There, there,” Abby soothes, taking my boots off and setting them neatly in the corner. “Let it out.”
And I do. I throw a bona fide hissy fit. I slam my fists into the bed, kicking my feet in unison, screaming into the down throw pillow the entire time. Once I’ve exhausted myself, I go limp, and Abby slides into the bed beside me.
“Feel better?”
“No,” I pout, voice still muffled by the pillow. I toss dramatically onto my side, looking up at her with my lower lip jutted out. “I certainly do not feel better.”
“Well, at least you tried,” she says, stroking my hair. “You wanna tell me what happened?”
“No,” I sigh heavily. “But I will anyway.”
She chuckles, fingers still running through my hair as she waits patiently for me to begin.
“You know how when you’re watching a romcom, and you just know two people are meant for each other, but there’s a character who makes the wrong choice over and over, and you think to yourself, ‘No one could possibly be that stupid in real life’?”
“Yes, we lament this frequently.”
“Well, apparently I am that character, and yes, I am that stupid in real life.” I heave myself up and sit against the headboard, grabbing Abby’s hand in mine. “My sweet ginger angel, please tell me what’s wrong with me.”
“You self-sabotage, my sweet,” she says, pinching my cheek. “And you’ve spent years telling yourself that he’s better off without you. Which is ridiculous.”
I frown at her. “Is this really the time to call me ridiculous?”
“You did, quite literally, ask me to tell you.”
“Fair enough, continue.”
“Anyway, as I was sayinggg,” she says, drawing out the last word with a flourish. “It’s ridiculous, because not once has anyone been a better person for not having you in their life.”
I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out.
I rack my brain trying to pinpoint exactly when the idea that Griffin was better off without me took root.
I try to think back through every fight we’ve ever had, and I can’t seem to find a time when I didn’t believe that.
Instead of arguing, I give a play-by-play of what happened from the time I left our table to the time I returned.
“Hmm,” she hums, pursing her lips. “Do you wanna say it, or should I?”
“Counteroffer–what if neither of us says it?”
“I’m afraid that’s not an option,” she protests.
“Fine, go ahead.”
“You should probably apologize.”
With a groan, I bury my face back into the pillow while Abby rubs reassuring circles on my back.
This is a tale as old as time–I self-sabotage, Griffin tries to cope with the consequences of my actions, and I get mad at him for it, flying off the handle even though he’s done nothing wrong.
I wish I could somehow reach through a mirror and shake my reflection by the shoulders until I knock some sense into her.
“He’s not going to want to hear it, Abs.” Muffled and miserable, my voice is barely audible through the pillow. “Plus, he blocked my number, I wouldn’t know where to find him.”
“If only you were friends with someone who could talk to him. If only he lived, oh, I don’t know, across the street from your best friend’s house. Oh, wait…”
“This is not the time for sarcasm.”
“It’s always the time for sarcasm,” she argues. “It’s also the time to face the music, my love.”
“I don’t like music.”
“Shut the hell up.”
Pushing up onto my elbows, I glance over at her. She’s smug, and expectant, and determined, and worst of all–she’s right.
“Fine, I’ll text Jack and see if he can get Griffin to meet with me. But don’t hold your breath.”
She nods, clearly satisfied that I’m at least going to attempt it, and I plop face-down back into my designated Wallowing Pillow.
“Have you guys ever actually had a closure conversation? Or apologized? Or has it just been the same old song and dance of–and you know it pains me to say it–you fucking things up, ignoring each other, then getting back together like nothing happened?”
“I tried once. During college. Somehow it went from, ‘Okay, here’s the closure we need’ to ‘Wow, makeup sex is next level.’”
When she doesn’t answer, I look up at her again. She’s staring off into space, fingers pensively drumming on her chin.
“Abby?”
“Sorry,” she says, looking at me with a wicked grin. “I was trying to think of a fight to pick with Aaron so we can have some of that makeup sex you mentioned.”
“Gross, dude,” I groan, using the spare pillow to smack her in the face. “Back to the actual conversation at hand, no I don’t think we’ve ever gotten real closure. Maybe that’s why we can’t let each other go.”
“Is it though?” She glares at me skeptically, one eyebrow cocked, arms crossed across her chest.
“What do you mean?”
“Is that why you can’t let each other go? Is it the closure, or is it maybeeeee…" She draws out the last word slowly in a lilting voice. “That you’re meant to be together and you keep getting in your own way.”
“Abby, I think if we were meant to be together, it would have worked out by now.”
“I would agree with you if I didn’t know you so well.
I know you’re resigned to defeat, and that you think it’s going to end the way it always does.
But think about how far you’ve come in the last five years, Ellie Bellie.
” She lays a soft hand on my forearm and squeezes gently.
“You recognized that you needed help, and you got it. You’re actually willing to apologize instead of doubling down.
Y’all have been textbook right person, wrong time, but if it was ever going to be right person, RIGHT time, I think you’re in the headspace for it now.
“You’re forgetting that he has a girlfriend. Madison? Ring any bells?”
“Ellie, I saw how he looked at you while you danced. If they aren’t broken up by the end of the weekend, I’ll get your face tattooed on my ass.”
“I’d give a kidney to see that,” I chuckle. “But really, Abs, I don’t want to be that manipulative bitch that apologizes just so she can gain something. I want to apologize for the simple reason that I really am sorry.”
“Well, first of all, manipulative is never a word I would use to describe you,” she says with a sad smile, patting my arm. “But do you see what I mean? That’s growth, my love. You’re all grown up now, and I’m so proud of you.”
“I meant what I said, though,” pushing the rest of the way up until I sit cross-legged on the bed.
“I don’t think there’s any future for us.
He told me so when I turned him down five years ago.
But I want to do this, to apologize, because he deserves it-and because I want to prove to myself that I’ve grown into someone that I can be proud of. ”
And deep down, I hope he’ll be proud of me too.