Chapter 31 Becca
Becca
The house is always quiet now.
Even Rex and Rosie seem to notice his absence.
I don’t know what to do with myself most of the time.
I’ve never lived on my own. I was with my dad until Jimmy and I got our first house.
I’ve never experienced consistent evenings where I don’t have a single human to talk to.
I don’t know if I really miss him already, or if I just miss having a conversation.
I guess I could talk to him if I wanted to.
He’s reached out, but I still have nothing to say.
I can’t think of him without thinking of her, and I’ve already gotten past that feeling before. I don’t know if I can do it again.
Looking like an idiot is the worst part about all of this. I’ve done nothing but love him and help him build OUR life, and he runs into her arms the first chance he gets. Literally, he probably would’ve done it forever had I not found out.
I avoid going out because I can’t take the pity. What am I supposed to say to people? They all stare at me like I’m some inexperienced girl who should’ve known better. I don’t want people to feel sorry for me, and the fact that they do just makes me angrier.
They ask if I’m okay, and I say I’m fine, but I’m not. I’m pissed. But they don’t want to hear that anyway. They only ask in hopes that I’ll say everything is great, that it was for the best, so they don’t have to feel bad for me anymore. That question is for them, not me.
I’ve worked too damn hard to be looked at like some tragedy.
Sorting through the mail from the day, a white envelope with handwritten Mr. and Mrs. Taylor makes my eyes roll.
I open it to find the tickets to the reunion and promptly toss them right on the counter.
That’s exactly where I want to go right now.
A gymnasium full of all the people who can say, ‘I could’ve told you so. ’
I thought before that she was too nice to be hated, but I was wrong. I do hate her. I hate her for leaving back then, because maybe it would’ve just saved me all this wasted time. I hate her for calling back then, because I knew that day, she still cared about him.
Maybe I should hate myself for hiding that phone call, that also could’ve saved me all this grief. But had I not done that, we wouldn’t have accomplished what we did. So, I’m not mad at myself, just her.
I hate her for coming back, too, because if she hadn’t, Jimmy and I would still be fine. I hate her for just being her, because clearly, he can’t stay away from her. But I hate her the most for saying she loves him, because he’s not hers to love.
I sit on the couch and turn the TV on. I don’t put on anything in particular; I just need the background noise. I sit down and my eyes close as I lean my head back, the first couple times I hung out with Jimmy playing in my mind.
It was early August, and we were all at the beach, celebrating the end of the summer and what was about to be the start of college classes. He was with a group of friends, and so was I.
Our two groups ended up coming together to play a game of volleyball.
Our girls killed the boys, so they insisted we shake the teams up and go again.
He ended up on my side of the net, and not long into the game, I got hit in the face with the ball.
He was standing in the spot in front of me, and I was staring at the sweat dripping down his back instead of watching the ball. I knew they all saw.
When the game finished, he asked me if my face was okay. “It’s been better,” I said. But really, my face was fine; my ego was what took the hit.
We laughed and talked for a few minutes until he asked me to go to a party with him that weekend. One final hoorah before the semester started. “Like a date?” I asked. He laughed. “Yeah, sure, like a date.”
I was so shocked, and on the night of the party, I still wasn’t sure it was real.
But it was, and the car pulled up right when he said it would.
It was already almost full, with just one seat left for me in the back.
I squished in beside him, and he had no choice but to put his arm up around my shoulders.
When we got there, I could see the looks on people’s faces, and I felt like a million bucks.
You could tell they were surprised to see him with someone, and that someone was me.
The night was pretty typical for the little house parties we’d go to in high school; too much cheap beer in colorful plastic cups and music so loud you could barely hear what anyone tried to say.
But I was on his arm, and that was all I cared about.
I spent high school far more concerned with a respectable GPA than parties and boys, but then? Not only could I finally have some fun, but to do it and be the girl on Jimmy Taylor’s arm?
My lack of drinking experience meant it didn’t take much before I was drunk, but everyone else was quick to catch up to me.
At some point, Jimmy and a couple of others started wrestling out in the front yard.
He declared himself the winner, then pointed at me, “come here.” I shamelessly followed his order and met him on the grass.
With no effort at all, he threw me over his shoulder and ran across the yard.
We were both laughing, but I was also hitting his back, trying to get him to put me down before I puked. He stopped abruptly at the curb and put me on my feet. I looked up at him under the streetlight, and that was the first time I really noticed his eyes.
“We should do this again sometime,” he said through a smile.
“We should,” I agreed.
Then he kissed me for the first time.
We were standing in the street, blissfully unaware of whether a car was coming or not. But we were young, drunk, and I’m pretty sure I was already in love, so I know I didn’t care.
I knew that night that we were going to be the couple that everyone talked about, but this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.