22. Misely
twenty-two
Misely
W e did not make it very far before we were faced with an entirely new obstacle that had Talon muttering very inventive curses under his breath. We had settled into yet another bitter silence, the frustration radiating heavily between our two bodies when the flurries began.
It had been snowing on and off over the four days we’d been trapped in Wyoming, but aside from the first night we’d been there, it had not been anything heavy. This, however, was no light dusting. The flakes came down in thick clusters, growing heavier with every passing minute.
What had been a clear, quiet stretch of highway had turned into driving blindly. The sheets came down so densely that neither Talon nor I could see the road in front of us. The wipers flipped furiously from side to side, unable to clear the powder fast enough to catch a glimpse of the road. The worn tires of the van fishtailed precariously on the pavement, growing more slippery by the second.
In my chest, my heart thumped uncomfortably, a sickening sense of dread pooling in my stomach.
“We have to stop,” I said, barely audible over the sound of the wiper blades as they scraped along the glass. When it seemed like he either hadn’t heard me or was ignoring me entirely, I spoke up again, forcing myself to be louder. “MacArthur. We have to stop. You can’t see the fucking road.”
He grit his teeth, fingers flexing on the steering wheel. “I’m already set back four days. I can’t waste any more time.”
I twisted in my seat, hardening my slightly panicked tone. “And just how set back will you be when we crash and die?” His jaw ticked. “If we’re dead, who will help Leo then?” It was a shot in the dark that my little remark would make any difference, but when the color in Talon’s cheeks depleted and his fingers loosened marginally on the wheel, I knew it had struck true.
Without a word, he inched the van slowly to the emergency shoulder of the road, placing it in park, relief blasting through me. He flicked off the incessant wipers and without the added noise from them, I could hear how heavily he was breathing. Despite myself, concern tightened my insides. “Talon—” He shook his head wordlessly and I fell silent.
The tense seconds morphed into agonizing minutes, my fingers pulling at a loose thread on my sweater. Needing to do something, I dug through the goody bag that Susie had packed for me, my heart squeezing when I saw that she had sent the two blue rubber ducks and had gently packed two slices of cheesecake into plastic wrap. She’d scrawled “His & Hers” in sharpie on the top, with small little hearts. Cautiously, I passed the one marked “His” over to Talon, whose eyes had not left the arctic worthy snowstorm outside.
When he didn’t react, I lay it on his lap before I began to unwrap my own. His chin dipped, looking down at where I’d placed the dessert, then back to me just as I was lifting my slice pizza-style into my mouth. His eyes widened a fraction before his eyebrows narrowed in.
“Are you really going to eat it like that?”
But it was already in my mouth and I’d taken a big enough bite that I wasn’t able to speak around it. So I just nodded, knowing that I probably looked like I was playing a bad game of Chubby Bunny. His eyes grew wider as I attempted to chew, but before I could, Talon erupted into full-blown laughter, his hands grabbing his middle and his head falling against the headrest behind him. I was stunned at the sound of it and the way it bounced around the van, the cheesecake only half chewed as I swallowed it.
“Did you know that heavy snowstorms like this are not the norm in Wyoming?” I was laid down in the back of the van, the futon seat stretched out like a bed. Talon allowed me to scroll aimlessly on my phone after swearing on the life of my firstborn that I would not double cross him.
Arguably, we both knew that my swearing anything to this man was null. It would be completely rational—and expected—for me to send a quick heads-up to Birdie but… but what? I didn't have an answer to that.
All I knew was that we’d been stuck in this storm for well over an hour and had grown restless. The weather showed no signs of letting up any time soon and a silent truce seemed to have been called when we pulled over. He sat on the other side of the bed from me, his paperback in hand. For all my bitchy remarks about it, I was not surprised to see the man had a book light on hand in his pack. Without looking up from what he was reading, what looked to be a mystery novel, he grunted his acknowledgment.
“According to Google it only happens like five times a year. It seems like there’s a snow storm every other day in Wisconsin, winter or not.”
“According to Google , huh?” he asked, halfheartedly. His eyes did not leave his book, still following the lines on the page. I felt my lips quirk up, but I stifled my bemused smile, refocusing on my screen, and flipping over to Instagram instead. Anything but him… add a pair of reading glasses and Talon MacArthur might be the hottest man on the planet.
Instead of staring at him like a creep, I combed through dozens of photos posted by people I’d met over the years. Girls I’d gone clubbing with in college, men and women I’d hooked up with and stayed friends with, my sister Megan who was only a year younger than me showing off…an ultrasound picture.
My stomach lurched. Pregnant . Megan was pregnant, and she hadn’t even told me. I double checked—nope. No calls, no texts, not even a DM. But I bet Mom and Dad knew. Maybe even our brothers and sisters. It wasn’t as if I’d expected that any of them would share with me when something big happened in their life…it was the gnawing sensation of knowing that they wouldn’t.
The only siblings out of all of us that were truly close were the twins, likely because of their twin status, and the fact that being the youngest, they were automatically treated differently. It was a painful reality but still I forced myself to type out a barely sincere, “ Congratulations! Love you!” before scrolling away.
The black and gray image danced in the back of my mind even as I scrolled through several people’s winter vacation photos, hardly registering jealousy when they were sprawled out on warm, sunny beaches instead of being stuck in a van on the side of the highway in the middle of a snowstorm with a grouchy tattooed blackmailer.
Until I came across the image that made my heart stop and my breathing falter. Maybe it had to do with the fact that I had just seen my sister’s pregnancy announcement, but this one knocked the wind out of me.
James with his always perfectly kept sandy brown hair and matching brown eyes.
James with that perfectly even smile and straight tie.
James, who I had known since we were just kids.
James, who I had given my heart to on a platter and he’d handed it back claiming ‘it wasn’t the right time’.
James, who I had envisioned walking down the aisle to.
James, who I dreamed about picking our perfect home with.
James, who would father my children.
James, who I had thought would love me forever.
James, whose arms were wrapped around the waist of a stunning platinum blonde.
James, whose eyes shown down on her like she’d put the stars in the sky.
James, whose post read, “ She said YES! ”
Only a year ago, it was James who’d said that he didn’t have time for the relationship I needed. For the commitment. Who said that he had to focus on getting through law school. James, who said he loved me, but he couldn’t give me what I wanted. I’d spent countless hours curled into the cushions of mine and Birdie’s beat-up couch crying my heart out, fighting myself to keep from going to him and begging him to try again.
I bit down on my wobbling lip to keep from letting a tiny cry escape, forcing my quivering fingers to type out, “ So happy for you! ”
I wasn’t. I was bitter and hurt. And secretly I hoped he would get the notification, see my name, and feel a little bit of the hurt I did. Not because I wanted him back. I’d worked too hard to get over him. But because he’d looked me in my eyes and lied. It wasn’t that he couldn’t give me the commitment—clearly, he had no issue committing to someone—it was that he couldn’t give it to me . Nobody ever could. Or nobody ever would.
Time, love, attention. I always wanted too much more than could be given. Or maybe I simply wasn’t worthy of them. Locking my phone, I dropped it down onto my chest with a resigned sigh. Maybe it was time I accepted that I was better off alone.