Chapter 14
Second-Hand
Andi
Saturday was supposed to be my day off. Instead, I was at the shop at six in the morning, reorganizing the pastry case that didn't need reorganizing, wiping down surfaces that were already clean, doing anything to keep my hands busy and my brain quiet.
It wasn't working.
Marcus showed up at seven, took one look at me, and sighed. "You know you don't have to be here, right?"
"I know."
"And yet."
"And yet." I moved a tray of muffins that was already perfectly positioned. "I needed something to do."
"Uh-huh." He started pulling shots for the morning rush that wouldn't start for another hour. "You want to talk about it?"
"Not really."
"Cool. So we're doing the thing where we pretend you're not stressed out by shit and work side by side in awkward silence when you're not even on the schedule."
I shot him a look. "I'm not pretending anything."
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "You want to see what I'm seeing right now?" He gestured at my outfit with a slow sweep of his hand.
I froze mid-movement. Glanced down at my feet and felt my face flush hot with embarrassment.
My black jeans and Grind branded shirt were perfectly presentable.
The fuzzy pink heart covered slippers, however, were decidedly not public attire, let alone for work.
I let out a groan and dropped my chin to my chest. God, I was a mess.
"Screw him," Marcus said simply.
I shook my head, still not looking at him as I rounded the counter to grab a seat at the closest table. "You don't even know what happened."
He waved me off. "Details are irrelevant. What matters is you're here at six on a Saturday looking like you got dressed in the dark while having an out-of-body experience." I froze, suddenly aware of how I must appear, then bolted for the bathroom mirror.
The fluorescent light flickered on, and I flinched at my reflection.
Half a face stared back at me—foundation everywhere, but mascara, eyeshadow, and blush only on the right side, like I'd gotten distracted mid-routine and never returned.
My hair stuck out in three different directions, tangled in the back where my pillow had worked its magic.
For a moment, I wondered if this was some bizarre dream.
I pinched my arm hard enough to leave a mark.
"Ouch! Dammit." Nope. This disaster was real life.
"Like I said," he called out, his voice reaching me in the bathroom from out front as I was washing my face.
"All I needed to know. The guy had six fucking months to get his shit together, and he didn't. You gave him a chance.
And he still—" When I emerged, he cut himself off mid-sentence, shoulders dropping. "Sorry. I know I'm not helping."
"It's fine." I moved to the register, checked the drawer even though I'd already checked it twice. "I'm fine."
"You're the opposite of fine."
"Yeah, well. I will be."
My phone buzzed in my apron pocket. My heart jumped before I could stop it.
I pulled it out. My mom.
Mom: Sunday dinner tomorrow? Haven't seen you in weeks.
I stared at the screen, deflating. Of course, it wasn't him. It was barely seven in the morning.
Andi: Can't. Rain check?
Mom: You always say that. Is everything okay?
Andi: Yeah. Just busy with the shop.
I put the phone away before she could push harder. My family meant well, but I couldn't deal with my mother's knowing looks and my brothers' protective bullshit right now.
"Your mom?" Marcus asked.
"Yeah."
"You gonna tell her?"
"Tell her what? That I wasted six months on a guy who kept me in a box? That I'm basically right back where I started?" I grabbed a rag and started wiping down the espresso machine again. "No, thanks."
"You didn't waste anything. You just dated an idiot."
"Feels the same from where I'm standing." My vision blurred at the edges as I blinked rapidly, swallowing against the tightness in my throat.
The morning rush started around eight. I threw myself into it—orders, coffee, small talk with regulars who didn't know my heart was breaking apart. By noon, the Saturday crowd had thinned to a handful of laptop warriors and a couple on a first date in the corner booth.
I checked my phone. Nothing.
Not that I expected anything. Not that I wanted anything.
Liar.
"Go home," Marcus said, appearing beside me with his arms crossed. "You've been here for hours on your day off. In slippers."
Dammit. I'd forgotten about the slippers. "I'm fine."
"You're not."
I knew I wasn’t fine. I was tired. So damned tired. "Fine." I untied my apron. "I'm going."
"Good. Go home. Take a bath. Watch something trashy. Do literally anything except obsess over this guy."
"I'm not obsessing."
"Boss. You've checked your phone no less than seventeen times in the last hour."
Had I? Probably.
I grabbed my jacket and headed for the door, my ridiculous slippers shuffling against the floor.
"Hey," Marcus called after me.
I turned.
"For what it's worth? He's an idiot for not choosing you."
My throat tightened. "Thanks. Enough about me. How's Riley?" I asked, mostly to change the subject.
His face softened into something genuine. "Great, actually. Better than I expected."
"I'm glad," I said, and realized I truly was.
Outside, the afternoon was beautiful. Warm sun, blue sky, the kind of day that felt like a personal insult when you were miserable.
I walked home slowly, taking the long way, killing time.
At one-thirty, I was sitting on my couch, staring at my phone.
The recital started at two.
I could picture it. The elementary school auditorium. Gavin finding a seat, looking nervous. Charisse backstage with the other kids. Rebecca showing up in something expensive, probably sitting next to him like they were still a family.
And me. Not there. Because I’d been nothing but an obligation invite. I hated how weak I felt. How much my heart hurt. How out of control my emotions seemed to be.
Two o'clock came and went. I turned on the TV. Tried to focus on whatever reality show was on. Failed miserably. By three, I'd given up pretending I was fine. I ordered Chinese food I didn't want, changed into pajamas, and decided the rest of the day could fuck right off.
My phone buzzed minutes later. I grabbed it so fast I nearly knocked over my water glass, then hated myself for the flutter in my chest when his name appeared on the screen. At least no one could see me sitting here, pathetic and hopeful despite everything.
Gavin: I'm sorry.
Gavin: Can we talk?
I stared at the messages. My fingers hovered over the keyboard. The three dots appeared. He was typing something else. Then they stopped. I took a breath and typed.
Andi: Maybe. Not today, though.
His response came fast.
Gavin: Okay. I'll take any day you're willing to give me.
Something cracked in my chest. I set the phone down on the coffee table and pulled my knees up to my chest.
He’d been at the recital—and still took the time to text me. That should mean something. Right? Or maybe it meant nothing. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was—
My phone buzzed again. I grabbed it.
Bridget: How are you doing?
Andi: Been better. You at the recital?
Bridget: Yeah. Coming back from intermission. Chat tomorrow? I’ll bring breakfast over.
My stomach dropped.
Andi: Something happen?
Bridget: Girl, please. If something had happened, do you think I’d tell you over text? Breathe. I'm coming over tomorrow morning. 9am.
Andi: Bridge, what happened?
Bridget: Tomorrow, chickadee. I promise.
I stared at the messages. I knew Bridget. Whatever it was, it wasn't good. I looked back at Gavin's texts. "I'll take any day you're willing to give me." What the hell happened at that recital?
I slept a dreamless sleep, surprisingly, all night long. But when I woke, my first thought was the memory of Gavin introducing me as his friend. I needed coffee.
By the time Bridget showed up with coffee—which would end up being my third cup—and bagels, I was exhausted from mental-overdrive and anxious to hear whatever bomb she was about to drop.
"Okay," I said, opening the door. "What happened?"
"Good morning to you too, boo." She pushed past me into the apartment, set everything on my coffee table. "Sit."
"Bridge—"
"Sit. Down."
I sat. She handed me a coffee, unwrapped a bagel, and took a long breath like she were trying to calm herself before speaking.
"You know how I went to Harper's recital yesterday."
My stomach dropped. "And?"
"And your ex-boyfriend is either the dumbest man alive or an actual sociopath. I haven't decided which yet."
"He’s not exactly an ex, you know. Regardless. What did he do?"
Bridget told me everything she’d overheard. Rebecca and David splitting up. The lunch invitation. Rebecca's performance in the parking lot about "planning our family summer together." By the time she finished, I felt numb.
"So you think he's getting back together with his ex-wife," I said flatly.
"I don't know if that's what's happening, but it's definitely what Rebecca thinks is happening. And he did nothing to correct her."
I picked up my coffee with shaking hands. "He texted me yesterday. During the recital, I think. Said he'd take any day I was willing to give him."
"He what?"
"I know."
"So he's making plans with Rebecca while texting you?" She shook her head slowly. "That's... I don't even know what that is."
"I don't know what's happening."
"Neither do I. But I know what it looked like.
" Bridget set her bagel down. "Rebecca was all over him in that parking lot.
Making sure people heard about the lunch.
And he just—" She sighed, sat back and paused, searching for the right words.
"He just let it happen. Didn't correct her. Didn't pull away."
The words settled over me, heavy and cold.
"Maybe he was humoring her," I said, even though I didn't believe it.
"Maybe," Bridget's voice was gentle now. "Or maybe he doesn't know what he wants. And either way, babe, you deserve better than being someone's maybe."