Chapter 23 #2
She pulls back, offering a glistening smile as she peers down at me. “You look beautiful. So sun-kissed and tan. You can’t even pay for a tan like this.” She runs her fingers down my arm. “I’m so jealous.”
“Please.” I snort. She’s wearing a pale pink babydoll top and a white denim skirt that perfectly hugs her hips. “You’re perfect.”
“Oh.” She playfully smacks my arm. “You’re too sweet.” Glancing around the cafe, she asks, “Have you ordered already?”
“No, I was waiting for you.”
I walk toward the front counter, beckoning her to follow. I order my regular from Stella, one of the baristas, while Chelsea requests something much more complicated that has me questioning my decision to drink whole milk.
After our coffee is ready, we take a seat back at my table as we wait. “This is the most adorable little beach town. I had no idea you were from a place so quaint.”
“Oh, yeah.” I laugh awkwardly, shuffling in my seat. “I love it here, especially in the summer.”
“And your parents own this whole thing?” She swirls her finger in the air, referencing the boardwalk, I assume.
“Well, my dad owns the boardwalk itself, but my aunt owns the cafe. My other aunt owns the bookshop next door, and my uncle owns the tattoo parlor at the end. My parents own the surf shop and the florist.” I nod to my left, in the direction of Honeysuckle.
“That is so cool.” She smiles, and it seems nothing but genuine. “I’m so happy I was able to stop by on my way down to visit my grandmother.” She grabs my hands across the table, squeezing gently. “Parker will be happy to hear you’re alive and thriving.”
All of my internal organs lurch into my throat, and I erupt into a coughing fit.
Why the fuck would she say that?
Her eyes widen, face flushing. “Oh, God, Willow. I’m so sorry.” She hands me a napkin. “I was just making a joke. Perhaps that was in poor taste. I won’t tell Parker anything you’re not comfortable with me sharing.”
Heat creeps up my neck as I take the napkin and wipe my mouth.
I should’ve expected Parker would come up in conversation.
I’m such a fucking idiot for thinking I could get away with ignoring his existence.
I’m going to have to tell her something.
Maybe if we get it out of the way now, we can put the topic to bed and leave it alone.
If I avoid it, it’ll just make her more curious.
I open my mouth, searching for a placated response that will shut down any further discussion of my ex, while offering her some kind of update to report back to him.
“Tell me about your summer instead.” Her lips quirk apologetically as she crosses one leg over the other, settling into her seat.
Fuck.
I swallow, shooting her a forced grin instead.
“Are you seeing anyone new?” She raises a brow playfully.
I hide a smile, biting down the urge to speak of Weston. He still feels like a secret that’s all mine. “Um . . . no. I’ve been so busy.”
“Oh, stop that.” She flicks her wrist at me. “I see you getting bashful now. Tell me all about him.”
“It’s nothing, really,” I lie, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’ve been spending time with one of my dad’s surfers, but we’re just friends.”
“Friends.” She winks. “Right. Sure.”
I quickly change the subject, diving into details about my cousins and Allie instead.
Working together at the boardwalk and Allie’s relationship drama from her birthday a couple of weeks ago.
I talk about Penelope’s lectures, and some of the paintings I’ve been working on.
She tells me about an internship she completed in Berkeley, and how she’s spending the rest of the summer in San Diego at her grandmother’s home before starting school at USC in the fall.
Hayden is still working in the Bay Area, apparently, so he’ll fly down to see her on the weekends before they move in together in Los Angeles at the end of the summer.
I don’t ask about Parker. I don’t want to know his plans, but I hope he stays as far away from Southern California as possible. It’s not big enough for the two of us.
My mind drifts to Wes, and I wonder if he feels the same about his father. I can’t imagine living with the knowledge that someone who caused so much harm is not only walking free—but could be lurking around any corner.
A chill nips at my spine, sending a tremor through my body, but I cover it quickly by taking a sip of my s’mores latte.
“So, clearly you don’t want me to bring it up .
. .” Chelsea sighs, and my stomach sinks.
“But I’m hoping, now that we’re together, face-to-face, and enough time has passed .
. . you could tell me what happened with Parker?
He’s lost without you, Willow.” She lifts her eyes to me, and so much sadness swirls in her gaze.
I get the gut feeling it’s not empathy for me.
“I hate the idea that you don’t trust me enough to open up, but I understand if that’s the case.
Like I said, anything you share is safe with me.
I guess . . . I just want to know if there is any hope for you two at all? ”
“There isn’t.” The words rush from me all too quickly.
Chelsea rears back, blinking. “You seem so sure about that.”
“I am.” I nod. “And, honestly, I’d prefer not to talk about Parker. It’s . . . painful.” My voice breaks on the sentence—disdain masked as heartbreak. I shrug, smiling wistfully as I take another sip, hoping this’ll be where we let the conversation regarding my past die.
She tosses me an unconvinced once-over, gaze narrowing as she picks at her cuticles.
“I guess I’m just confused, Willow. Parker was completely blindsided.
” Straightening her spine, she tosses her hair behind her shoulder before leaning over the table.
“He said you two were perfectly fine. That you went to bed together, he woke up the next morning, went to class, and when he returned you were . . .” She flicks her fingers.
“Poof. Gone.” Her brows furrow before she continues, “A few days later, he received a letter from the management office of your apartment building saying you’d paid out your end of the lease.
You never even came back for your things. ”
Her tone is growing increasingly frustrated, and the despair inside my chest rises with each word she spews.
My skin itches with the urge to become defensive.
Yet, emotion pricks behind my eyes at the confirmation that Parker truly has no idea why I left him.
Not because I feel guilty, or because I harbor any sense of responsibility for his feelings—I want to fucking cry because he irreparably damaged me, and it’s so inconsequential to him that he doesn’t even realize it.
“Chelsea,” I huff, rubbing my temples, willing the tears to pause before they fall. “I have my reasons, I promise. Please . . .” I swallow the lump in my throat, blinking rapidly as I drop my gaze to my lap.
She’s going to expect some kind of explanation, and from her perspective, I can understand why.
I can’t tell her he assaulted me. He’s her friend, and I don’t want to speak to the details, I don’t want to explain how my live-in boyfriend of two years, whom I had an infinite amount of consensual sex, could’ve also been responsible for my assault.
Not out of protection for Parker, but for myself.
I can’t bear the thought of spilling my deepest pain, only to witness the picture of doubt in her gaze after I finish.
A gut feeling so potent I sway in my chair rushes through me—she won’t believe me, even if I tell her everything.
She’s always belonged to Parker—everyone in my life at Berkeley belonged to Parker first.
I don’t think Chelsea could support my decisions, even if she believed the reasons behind them.
She presents herself as the kind of person whose life is without flaw or failure, and she’s never shown me any reason to believe she’d be capable of understanding my actions if they weren’t ones she’d take herself.
Bile rises in my throat when I recall the words he’d said about my body. I won’t share those with her, either. I’m not sure I’ll ever share them with anyone—the shame is too soul-deep. It’s too humiliating, because I still wonder if they were true.
“Willow, I just want to know why. You have no idea how heartbroken he’s been.” She grabs my hands again. “I know you have your reasons, I just want to understand. I need to know why you’re not going back so I can help him move on. He still thinks you’re coming home.”
My eyes squeeze shut in some kind of attempt to shield myself from the spears of guilt she’s hurling in my direction.
Whatever narrative Parker is feeding her can’t be right.
I know he must have some inkling of why I left, even if he’s too fucking stupid to fully comprehend it.
He was there that night, he knows exactly what he did—what he said—and my reaction to it.
That night—Parker’s face, his words—float through my mind again, grinding my teeth to hold back the scream I want to hurl in Chelsea’s face. I bite my tongue to swallow the wail.
Tension builds in my temples—the buzz of conversation around the cafe, the clinking of mugs and the chime of the register overwhelming my senses until a throbbing haze erupts behind my eyelids.
“Willow, can you please just—”
“I had an abortion,” I say on a hurried breath, the words flying from my mouth so rapidly I can’t catch them before they’re gone, floating in the air between us.
Chelsea rears back, pulling her hands from mine, as if my skin is poisoned—as if I’m diseased. I raise a trembling palm to my mouth, opening my eyes to find her withdrawn from the table, clutching her chest, watching me with a curled lip and a disbelieving gaze.
Her jaw drops, gaping for several long seconds before finally whispering, “You were pregnant?”
I don’t know why I said that.
She was too persistent, there was too much noise, and I think my subconscious decided it would be the easiest reason to throw at her—even though her reaction is a clear indication that I would’ve been better off saying nothing at all.
I’ve been open about my decision with my family, but Chelsea’s response is a stark reminder why I don’t share it with anyone outside of those who love me most. It’s why I haven’t told Weston, and now, I can’t imagine how I ever could.
I won’t allow her, or anyone else, to shame me for this.
I straighten, schooling my features. “I don’t think I’m comfortable talking about this with you.
I shouldn’t have blurted that out, and I apologize, but the fact of the matter is, I made the decision to leave Berkeley and move home.
I had my reasons, and there is no future left for Parker and me.
I would appreciate it if you told him to let it go and move on. ”
She scoffs. “You never told Parker? You just . . . abandoned him? You didn’t think he deserved to know, to be part of that decision?”
“No, Chelsea.” I sigh. “He doesn’t deserve to know anything about me ever again.”
Her lips form a line as she blinks in shock before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Honestly, Willow. I’m disgusted right now. You are . . . You’re kind of an awful person.”
The first tear that spills over my cheek is hot, my hand trembling as I lift it to my face and wipe the moisture away. The light inside me that just began to reignite in the weeks since I returned home snuffed out by the chill of her reaction.
I’m not sure I can blame her. Without the full context, I do sound terrible.
Though, I realize now that the truth wouldn’t matter to Chelsea.
She was never my friend, she was always his first, and no matter the truth behind my decision to keep my abortion from Parker, she’d choose him anyway.
Perhaps she’d accuse me of lying, or she’d believe my choice outweighs his assault—regardless, I don’t want to know.
I refuse to sit here and give her the opportunity to explain her contempt.
“I think I should go.” I quickly wipe my eyes, pushing back my chair to stand. “Like I said, I’d appreciate it if you kept this between us. Parker needs to move on. I don’t want to hear from him again.”
Chelsea only stares after me, mouth gaping and eyes wide—appalled and dumbfounded, as I leave the cafe on shaky legs.
I stumble through the back, vision blurred by my heavy tears.
My chest tightens as a sob rips from my throat.
I clutch my ribs, gulping for oxygen, choking on my anguish.
The world tilts, and I’m not entirely sure how I even make it to Heathen’s without collapsing.
The bell chimes when I swing the back door open, and the first inhale I’ve been capable of taking rushes through my nose when I find Weston standing behind the register next to Rob, Heathen’s shift manager.
His head whips in my direction, his beautiful face losing all its color when he soaks me in—a crying, trembling mess.
“Willow, baby,” he gasps, closing the distance between us as he takes my face between his hands. “What happened? Who did this?”
“I need you,” I murmur, voice fractured as the words spill from my mouth in shattered pieces, and I break down in his arms.