Chapter 43
Ethan
As soon as Blake walks away, the restaurant starts closing in on me. The walls shrink, pressing in from all sides, suffocating. I can still taste her on my lips, the space she just vacated across from me a void, gaping and raw. My mind scrambles to make sense of it, but all I’m left with is pain.
Everything I’ve clung to, all the plans I’ve made, amounted to nothing. I thought I could hold everything together if I kept a tight enough grip, but I was wrong.
A thought gnaws at me: maybe I’m doomed to repeat the same mistakes as my parents, to see everything fall apart no matter how hard I try. They taught me that love ends in failure, in bitter resentment and broken promises, and maybe that’s all there is.
The waiter approaches, carrying three plates, the smell of the dishes hitting me with an almost violent intensity. He sets the food down, the clatter of the ceramic against the table jarring.
What was I thinking? A lunch was never going to fix this.
He looks at me, observant eyes searching my face. “Is everything okay, sir?” His voice is careful, like he’s not sure if he should even be asking.
Staring at the food in front of me, unable to think about eating. I can’t stay here. Can’t sit in this place, pretending like my world didn’t just come crashing down. The sight of the grilled chicken salad Blake ordered, the steaming pasta dishes, friends and acquaintances at the surrounding tables having their lunch, blissfully unaware of my pain, makes me sick to my stomach. I need to get out, breathe, escape this place where everything with Blake unraveled before my eyes.
“Yeah,” I manage to say, my voice hollow, disconnected. “Everything’s fine.”
But nothing is fine. Not even close. I reach into my pocket, pulling out enough money for the meals, drinks, and a generous tip. I fumble with the notes, scattering them, and take a moment to scoop them into a pile in the middle of the table. The waiter is watching with a concerned expression, but I don’t care.
“Sorry, we won’t be eating. Thank you.”
He hesitates for a moment, then steps back to give me space. “Would you like the food to go?”
“No, sorry. Look, I’ve got to get out of here.”
Standing, I force myself to move, to navigate through the restaurant, past Bob Randolf and his wife, who pretend not to watch me walking out wearing all my heartache right out there in the open, in every crevice of my face.
Pushing through the door, the streets are busy, people going about their lives without a care in the world, and it’s surreal. There’s May using a spray bottle to clean the front window of her second-hand bookshop, a rag in the other hand as she works at the smears and fingerprints.
Farther down the road, Tom and Alex enjoy a coffee at one of the outdoor tables in front of Sweet Current Bakery during a lull in customers. Tom spots me and waves, and I raise a hand in return, the gesture automatic.
I don’t know how long I stand there, just outside the restaurant, my mind racing, replaying that lunch I hoped would fix everything. All this time, I’ve been trying to force her to let me in so I could protect her, because I thought that was the only way to keep from losing her. But all I’ve done is drive her away.
When I glance at the bakery again, Alex and Tom are back inside, the sun shifting lower toward the horizon. I look up at the sky, blue and vast, feeling impossibly small beneath it, before turning, walking down the street. I don’t know where I’m going, only that I need to keep moving.
Soon I find myself on the boardwalk, the familiar sight of the harbor stretching out before me. The afternoon sun glitters on the surface of the water, turning it into a million shards of broken light. Sitting down on a sun-weathered bench, I pull out my vape and take a deep drag. Exhaling, the vapor curls into the air, dissipating almost immediately.
I’ve never hurt this badly in my life. Blake is gone and there’s only this wound that will never heal.
For a while I stare blankly at the water, the world around me muted and distant, the vape dangling from my fingers. All I can think about is Blake and everything we shared. The memories repeat in my mind like a broken montage.
I think about all the times I watched Blake quietly step in to help someone in need, the volunteer work she did for the homeless and at the women’s shelter, how she’d always offer a kind smile, a helping hand.
Waking up beside her, how peaceful she looked in the soft morning light, the brilliant red of her hair fanned across the pillow, her breathing slow and even. There was sublime comfort in just knowing she was there, the warmth of her body curled against mine, like everything was right in the world.
Cooking for her, taking care of her in ways that felt meaningful. The way her face would light up when I made her favorite pasta, or how she’d sip wine and tell me stories about her day while I moved around the kitchen.
And her spontaneity, the way she forced me to loosen up in ways I didn’t even know I needed. She’d come up with these random ideas—like that time we took that unplanned road trip, or how she convinced me to go skinny-dipping under the stars.
She made me feel alive in a way I hadn’t felt in years— maybe ever .
I stay on the boardwalk until the sun sinks lower in the sky, casting long shadows across Harbor’s Edge, before making my way back to the truck and driving home, the wheels of the truck humming beneath me. I pull into the driveway, kill the engine, staring at the darkened house until Bandit appears at the window, his ears perked up, eyes bright.
When I finally step through the door, he’s there, waiting. He pads over quietly and presses his warm body against my leg, his head against my thigh, sensing I need him now more than ever. I scratch his ears, taking in the solid, comforting weight of him.
Heading to the kitchen, Bandit follows close behind, his nails clicking softly against the hardwood floor. I feed him and then reach for a bottle of whisky and a glass, allowing myself a generous pour. The amber liquid catches the light as it swirls. It burns as it goes down.
I make another drink and take a seat on the back porch, watching the sun finally set, darkness descending. Bandit shifts closer, his head resting on my leg, eyes filled with silent support.
Misery might love company, but tonight I’m drowning in it alone.