Chapter 30
Ali
When I came out of the bathroom, I saw Charlotte tucked into the space I had come to think was carved out by me and for only me.
But there she was tucked inside the cocoon of Jake’s strong arms. Under the reassuring weight of his chin rested on the top of her head.
Her cheek against his beating heart. Their bodies flushed tightly.
She leaned into him like she still had a claim.
And worse, Jake nestled her into his embrace like she’d never left. No uncomfortable shift. No laughing it off. No looking for . . . me.
That space was so perfectly my shape. My size.
My height. I foolishly thought it was mine.
Seeing her there reminded me that that space was actually carved into the marble of Jake’s body by her first. And despite his strength and sturdiness, he looked .
. . softened. Like a man who’d once been in love and maybe hadn’t entirely stopped.
It felt like a slap to the heart. A stinging, precise hit I should have seen coming but didn’t.
Charlotte was the love of Jake’s life, and she may have left her imprint vacant, but Jake had kept some version of it warm .
. . for her. I was simply the latest placeholder for the original.
I felt like the dummy placeholder text used in design to mimic content areas. I was the lorem ipsum of Charlotte.
I stepped back into the bathroom, needing another moment to collect myself.
I told myself it didn’t matter. But it looked—and felt—like I’d stepped into a scene from a few months ago when I did notice something between Molly and Ryan.
In the kitchen Molly and I shared. I was finishing getting ready for some club opening that Ryan and I were attending.
Molly had wanted to come. She thought it would be good for her views.
When I walked out of my bedroom, they were standing very close, her hands resting on his chest. He looked annoyed.
She looked right at home. I shrugged it off.
They didn’t jump apart, worried they’d been caught.
I’d just assumed she was upset about not getting on the list. And let it go.
I knew now, they just didn’t care about my feelings. Maybe they wanted me to confront them. Would they have gaslit me? Or would they have decided then to tell me the truth? I’ll never know because I gaslit myself.
How did I let this happen again?
I let my guard down.
I let myself get cozy in a make-believe life. It was a bubble of delusion. I didn’t belong in Lakeside. With Jake.
Maybe Jake knew Charlotte was back in town. Oh God, what if he’d wanted to bump into her with me? To prove how much he’d changed. Make her jealous.
Shit! That had to be it.
I was categorically wrong for Jake—and unstable and impractical for him. But I definitely made a hell of a statement hanging on his arm. One his ex couldn’t possibly ignore.
She was his first love.
It was obvious that she wanted him back. Anyone who’s watched Hallmark movies could see it.
She was so enthralled by how much Jake had changed. She was as subtle as deep-fried cheese curds in a salad. Jake was now more the man she wanted. More the man she’d hoped he would become. He had grown past “chicken dinner” and was the whole damn feast. Of course she wanted him back.
I was such a fool.
And to think I’d been daydreaming of ways to put words to how I was feeling. Safe. Adored. Respected. In ways I wasn’t sure I ever had from a romantic partner.
I hadn’t seen the whole picture yet again.
Well, until now.
I reemerged from the bathroom, hurt feelings buried under my tough exterior but with clear eyes. I was determined to ensure all the pointy, sharp edges of heartbreak would bounce off the hard exterior of my armor just like I had in the past.
I knew how to do this. I was well rehearsed.
Jake dropped his hug around Charlotte and sat back down to our food as soon as I arrived back at the table. I noticed he looked a little guilty. Wary.
Charlotte turned her head toward me and wiped her tears. “Let me know if you need anything at all.” She placed her hand on Jake’s forearm before walking away.
“Ali, don’t, um, read too much into that, okay?” He rubbed the back of his neck. Where her arms just were. “I was consoling an old friend. That’s it,” he said.
“I get it,” I responded flippantly. Double meaning in the statement. I let it rest there for a beat.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Famished,” I replied, turning my attention to the food. Not meeting his eyes.
Meat auctions were serious business. People were bidding on meat in twenty-dollar increments like I’d witnessed art collectors at Sotheby’s bid on impressionist works by the Italian artist Amedeo Modigliani.
Albeit there it was in increments of $10 million.
Here the crowd was beer soaked, bratwurst full, and unexpectedly rowdy.
Friendly banter was hollered across the room from a Joe to a Bob or a Mike to a Dave, followed by hoots and, I think, fake outrage when someone was outbid.
The raucousness was oddly comforting, though.
I could tell these were bonded people—a community.
A home. Maybe only half the people were here to win meat.
The other half, they were here for camaraderie made up of fun, beer, and small-town gossip. So much like in Lakeside.
I knew our tablemates were thoroughly entertained by what had played out between Jake and me, Jake and Charlotte—Charlotte and me.
I was almost grateful that I had some witnesses because Jake seemed to not understand or clue into what took place, which was almost more infuriating than what actually took place.
Because he was careless. And I was fragile.
Ugh. I hated admitting that. But it was true. I was still wounded, and any trust I thought I felt before Charlotte reentered the scene—of all this happiness and goodness I was experiencing—it was a false god.
“Next up! We have a ten-pound pork chop party pack—so much meat your grill’s gonna file a union complaint.
We’ll start the bidding at five dollars.
And we have five. Yes, we have five. Now ten.
Do I see ten? Ten from the lady in purple.
Now twenty. Do I hear twenty? Twenty? Twenty?
Now twenty-five . . .” The auctioneer’s steady, percussive voice was exhilarating.
The rolling staccato of numbers bounced off the walls like a truckload of basketballs had been dumped in the middle of the floor.
We were all just trying to catch them as they sprang into the air.
After a short set of meat was auctioned, the auctioneer took another break and the polka band started up.
I gulped down another clear Solo cup of frothy beer.
I wanted to allow myself an opportunity to blend in with the noise.
My outside shell could float through the night with ease and lightness, all the while allowing my insides—reeling with confusion and fear—to stay tucked away in a corner of my soul where I didn’t need to acknowledge or tend to it just yet.
I could feel Jake watching me with a confused look on his face. But I couldn’t clear the air with him when I barely understood my feelings myself. Instead, I ignored the subtext and continued. Nothing to see here.
This juggling act was awfully familiar, even if I hadn’t needed to put on this particular show for several weeks. Like riding a bike . . . I knew how to shield, mask, and regulate. I was very practiced at suppressing big, ugly, burdensome feelings. It came in handy at times like these.
After we ate, he stood and said with an outstretched hand, “I think it’s time.”
“Time for what?” I asked.
“Time to polka,” he said playfully.
Ah . . . More ways to show Charlotte how much he’d changed. I took his hand and got into the happy, easygoing character.
We stepped onto the dance floor. The accordion player wore suspenders.
He looked like he was born for this moment.
This polka band had multiple members, including a tuba player, trumpet player, drummer, and even a clarinet player in addition to the accordionist, who also served on vocals. It was very over-the-top. I loved it!
The place was all beat and hum as most people started moving in step with the wheeze of the accordion.
It was a collective spirit of beer-buzz and excitement for the weekend.
Jake took me in his arms, and we started hopping in step.
I knew the steps better this time. We were still clumsy.
We weren’t winning any polka-dancing competitions anytime soon, but it didn’t matter.
Polka was not sexy or glamorous, and thank God for that.
It was fun and festive. And the buzz of chugging the pints earlier made the light and bubbly feeling in my belly seem almost natural.
Well, at least not forced, even if it had been helped along by the rapid intake of alcohol.
Regardless of its source, it was the perfect mask for what was waiting for me in the dredges of my heart later.
Jake looked so happy. So carefree. I had come to understand that Jake Elliot was a reserved and cautious person, but he showed me a different side of himself.
It warmed me to know that maybe our fling would leave him with good memories and perhaps it helped him become more of the man Charlotte wanted.
He seemed more open to joy and impulse since we’d become friends and then . . . more than friends.
That part . . . knowing how far he’d let this go—fucking me—did make me a little sick to my stomach.
The song ended.