Track 15 When Love Goes Wrong #2
“Oh! My girlfriends just walked in.” Ren waved at the door and three beautiful girls waved back excitedly. “I’ll be right back.” Ren looked at me as if to promise she wasn’t going far. I nodded her off as she hopped down from her stool and walked to her friends.
All the while, E’s eyes stayed focused on me. He chewed on his cheek. And he looked sexy as hell doing it. I rolled my eyes before I turned around and gave him my back.
He grabbed the back of Ren’s empty stool and pulled it out. “I’d ask if this seat was taken—”
“It is.”
“But I already know you’ll say ‘yes’ even though we both just watched Ren walk away.”
“She’ll be right back.” I scowled at him as he sat beside me.
“And then I’ll get up.” He flashed a closed-mouth grin that kissed his eyes, then folded his hands on the bar before him. I rolled my eyes again and looked away, downing the rest of my mimosa in one gulp.
We were quiet for a while, and I looked around aimlessly with the attitude of a stubborn toddler.
“Are you seriously going to sit here and ignore me like you’re five?”
“I was aiming for three.”
“Three-year-olds are cute. Five-year-olds are annoying.”
“Huh.” I scoffed. “Did you read that in one of your parenting books?” My stomach rolled with nausea, but I stared him dead in the eyes anyway and forced it away.
He took a deep breath as he rolled his lips between his teeth. “Are you done yet?”
“Not even close,” I said with no hint of playfulness on my tongue.
He tongued his cheek and took another deep breath. “Fine,” he said as he turned on his stool. “Have it your way.”
My eyes followed him as he got up and walked away. I scoffed to myself, shocked and annoyed that he’d bail at the slightest pushback, as if he didn’t deserve it. What a brat, I thought. I began to turn back around but was compelled to do a double take when I saw him walk up to Ren and her friends.
He spoke animatedly, his hands moving with his words.
They laughed at whatever charming statement he made, and then they all nodded in unison.
Even Ren. I rolled my eyes in disbelief, annoyed at the ease with which he could make anyone agree with him.
When he turned to make his way back toward me, I eyed him down.
“What was that about—” I asked when he was close enough to hear. He didn’t answer. In the next second, he scooped me up, threw me over his shoulder, and carried me out of the restaurant like a petulant child.
After nearly a whole block of yelling for him to “put me down,” he finally placed me on my feet in a large grassy field with a grin.
“What the hell was that for!” I yelled as I shoved him with all my might.
He barely stumbled back. “You were acting like a baby,” he said, the curve of his lips deepening his smug grin.
“So what!” I yelled. “I get to act however I want because you’re having one.”
“Syd—”
“No! Why can’t you just leave me alone?” I huffed. “You moved on with your life, good for you. Now leave me alone!”
He didn’t respond. He didn’t move. He just licked his lips and let me have my drunken tantrum. My eyes began to prick, and my throat tightened.
“I hate you,” I said.
His eyes didn’t move from mine. “No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do!” I yelled; tears I couldn’t fight falling from my eyes. “I hate you!” I screamed as I pushed and punched his hard chest.
He took each blow like he deserved it. Like he’d been waiting for them to come and welcomed each one. When my strength weakened and my tears fell harder, he grabbed me by the wrists and wrapped his arms around me. He held me close against his chest while I cried.
I let it all out. All the heartbreak and pain. All the loss. All the shattered pieces of me—I let them all out, knowing there’d be no way to put them back together again.
At some point, I laid down in the grass.
He settled beside me. We were silent for a long time.
Hours, maybe. We laid there with nothing but our own pain and the weight of each other’s swarming around us.
The rest of the world didn’t exist, and I was happy it didn’t, because I needed to be alone in my pain. I needed to be alone with him.
After what could have been forever, he broke our silent oath. “I miss you, Syd,” he said. It hurt and healed me all at once.
I closed my eyes and released a deep breath. “I miss you, too.”
Of all the times I felt those words, this time felt different. It felt like acceptance—like we weren’t fighting it anymore. Like we finally stopped pretending and just accepted what was, and what would never be.
I turned to him. “Are you scared?”
He blinked a few times before he turned to meet my gaze. “Yeah, but… not for the reasons you think.”
My heart was heavy at the meaning behind his words, but I buried it deep inside. We grew quiet again, staring into each other’s eyes with all the love and loss the world could hold between us.
“Did I ever tell you there’s a chocolate named after me?” He said it with a smile that took the weight of the moment and tossed it away.
I smiled back with tight lips and looked away. “No.”
“Well, there is.”
“There is no chocolate named after you,” I giggled.
“You think I’m lying?” he asked, his brow arched.
“Uh-huh.” I nodded, amused.
“Come on,” he said as he sat up. “I’ll prove it to you.”
He stood and offered me his hand, his beautiful, grinning face shining down on me with the lit skyline behind him, shimmering from the golden hour of the low-setting sun.
“This ought to be good,” I said, and I took his hand.
Ten minutes later, we were walking down the candy aisle of the local market.
He scanned the aisle as I looked around aimlessly, trailing behind him.
I thought for a moment how we’d never been in a grocery store together, and wondered what it might be like to go food shopping for our own home, the one we would never have.
My hands shifted to my back pockets as I willed the thought away, not wanting to ruin the lightness he’d given us.
“There,” he said with a clap of his hands. “Boom.”
He grabbed a chocolate bar and held it in front of me. I brought my hand up to hold the bar with him as I focused on the name. My brows knitted together.
“That says Ghirardelli.”
“Exactly.” He shrugged with a smile.
“That’s not your name.” My eyes caught his, and he smiled wider.
“Yes, it is.”
I grinned at him with a questioning look. “Your last name is Firrardelli.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, that’s because they mixed up the letters, but it’s still the same.”
I laughed. “It is not!”
“It is too!”
I laughed harder. “It’s a whole different name, E,” I said, pointing at the chocolate. “Look at it!”
He looked at the chocolate bar, then back to me. “What! You’re crazy.” He chuckled. “Ghirardelli, Firrardelli—same thing.”
“You’re insane,” I said with a shake of my head.
“I can’t believe I almost believed you.” We both laughed as he opened the bar and took a bite.
He leaned it toward me, offering me some, and I took a bite, too.
The way his smile grew mischievous, the way our eyes stayed locked—it made the moment feel intimate and surreal.
Like it was us first, and then the rest of the world.
“Mmm, that’s delicious,” I said with absolute pleasure as the silky rich flavor melted in my mouth.
“Mm-hmm.” He nodded. “You know what we need now?”
“Hmm?”
“Fat, greasy burgers.” I smiled as he waved the chocolate bar at me. “Soak up all those bottomless mimosas you had earlier, drunkie.” I laughed again.
“Did you drive here?” he asked.
“No. We took the train.”
“Perfect,” he said with a satisfied grin. “I’ll drive you home.” My heart skipped a sharp beat in my chest.
He turned and walked toward the register, paid for the chocolate bar, and began walking me the few blocks to his car.
I sent a text to Ren asking her if she wanted a ride.
She was still with her girlfriends and said she’d meet me at home in the morning.
A wave of nervousness fell on me like a blanket—I had been alone with E millions of times, but this…
this was a whole new ballgame, and I wasn’t sure I knew how to play.
E had a Cadillac CTS now. It was newer and didn’t have the same soul as the Eldorado—the one with the worn leather seats and the cassette stuck in the deck.
This one was sleek and polished. Well-maintained, like he was now.
It made me realize how much the things that once felt like home could change without permission.
When the engine roared to life, the radio followed suit, and Marvin Gaye’s Ain’t No Mountain High Enough came through the speakers. I smiled a heartwarming smile. As quickly as I was reminded of all the things that had changed, I was shown that some things—things that mattered most—stayed the same.
Forty minutes later, we were sitting on the hood of his car at the midnight burger spot. The neon signs buzzed behind us as we downed greasy Cali cheeseburgers and shared an order of fries.
“This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” I said through a mouthful.
“I can see that,” he mocked with a smile. I kicked my foot out toward him, and he laughed, dodging the blow.
Music played softly through the outdoor speakers of the restaurant.
It was oddly comforting being back in our neighborhood—at this spot we used to avoid as teenagers so we wouldn’t get in trouble for our late-night shenanigans.
Just walking past it used to feel like a risk, like one of our parents might magically appear from behind the menu board or catch our reflection in the glass.
We used to duck our heads and cross the street, half-drunk on freedom and adrenaline, never imagining we’d one day sit here willingly, even nostalgically. And still together.
But not really.
Just as the somber realization hit me, the four calls of a trumpet sounded from the speakers above.
“Ooohh,” E’s face contorted as he recognized the song. He placed his burger down in its carton and dusted his hands.