28. Beck
TWENTY-EIGHT
BECK
The next few days pass in a blur. Where before I took joy in simple routines—putting the coffee on, playing with Cleo, making progress on plans for the shop—now everything feels like a monumental effort. The pleasures of a summer spent with Donovan are past, and now it’s just work and humidity and trying to reconcile my loneliness with the fact that he’s still here.
We’re moving around each other because, of course, we still have to share the space. I take care of Cleo in the morning, his does his turn in the evening, the way we arranged it all those weeks ago. I don’t try to act like my heart isn’t broken, and he doesn’t do me the disservice of pretending like nothing has changed. He’s polite with me but gives me space. It hurts in its own way, the idea that we might not be able to stay friends the way I have with my other exes. But I guess I didn’t feel about them the way I feel about Donovan.
Yeah, friends might be too much to ask of my poor heart.
Cleo seems to notice that the energy has changed. She spends more time lying at my feet when I’m on my computer, or watching me from her bed while I’m working in the kitchen. I try to give her extra cuddles and pets. Not her fault that her temporary minders don’t have their shit together.
Now that I’ve perfected the molasses cookie recipe, I’m working on the white chocolate macadamia one. I’m not sure I’ll even have the heart to put molasses cookies on the menu, even though I’m super proud of the recipe. But the memory of Donovan’s kisses will be brought to mind every time I mix up a batch, and that won’t help if I’m ever going to move on.
Moving on seems like a distant fantasy, however, when my heart still insists on lighting up whenever Donovan walks into the room.
I’m chopping a big bar of white chocolate when he does just that, dressed in jeans and his white button-down that makes his olive skin glow with health. He has his backpack over one shoulder, Pete’s keys in hand, and sunglasses pushed up over his head.
“Going somewhere?” I ask.
“Yeah, actually, I have to go to the city.”
I drop the knife on the cutting board with a sharp clatter. Jack and Pete get home in two days, and he’s cutting and running?
“I have an audition this afternoon. Or a meeting. My agent wasn’t very clear. But I have to go, so I was going to ask if you could take care of Cleo tonight?”
“Of course,” I answer. Isn’t that the whole point of us both doing this job, so if something came up for one of us, the other could take over? Then why does it feel like he’s abandoning both me and Cleo?
“I appreciate it. Depending on how the meeting goes, I might stay over in the city tonight. But I’ll be back tomorrow. I’m going to park at the station.”
I relax minutely. “Don’t forget about Jack and Pete’s party.” I pick up the knife, study the shards of white to judge if I’ve gotten the size right.
“No, I won’t.” He stands there for another moment.
“Good luck at your audition-meeting-whatever,” I say without looking up.
“Thanks.”
Another silence descends, but I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to get back the easiness between us when he’s rejecting everything I can possibly offer him.
“Well, bye,” he says finally.
I only look up again when I hear the door to the garage bang shut. I glance at Cleo, who’s watching me carefully.
“Don’t worry, sweetie,” I say, willing myself to believe my own platitudes. “I’ll be okay.”