Chapter 21
Ellie
This has been, objectively, the worst week of my life. Apart from a few texts from Abby, and one very glitchy cruise WiFi FaceTime from my parents, I’ve been alone with my thoughts.
The worst possible place to be.
Realistically, I knew I wouldn’t hear from Bennett. I know it’s over. But every day that passes without a call or text still stings.
It probably doesn’t help that I’ve re-read the birthday texts from Griffin about a hundred times.
It felt nice to be thought of, to be remembered. We haven’t really talked in over a year, minus the texts from a few days ago. And given what happened the last time we spoke…I definitely don’t deserve this kind of thoughtfulness.
There have been so many times I’ve wanted to reach out, to extend an olive branch of some sort. But at this point I’ve been so committed to holding a grudge, I don’t know how to undo it.
There’s something deeply broken in me in that regard–I refuse to give second chances, even when I know I’m wrong. It doesn’t matter how small the sleight, or how unintentional it was. I think I’m mostly convinced that if I let someone back in, they’ll hurt me even worse the second time around.
Not to mention I have no idea how Bennett would react if I started hanging out with the guys again.
I guess I don’t have to worry about that anymore.
Besides, one birthday text doesn’t mean he even wants an olive branch. Maybe he just saw that I looked upset in the parking lot and felt sorry for me. All this time I’ve been so dead set on holding my grudge that I didn’t consider he might have one of his own.
My mouth turns to ash at that train of thought–what if this is some full-circle moment for him, and seeing me spend my birthday alone is some sort of vindication? What if he took some sort of sick pleasure in reminding me of the kind of friendship I missed out on?
I don’t think that’s in his nature. He’s one of the most genuine, earnest people I know.
He never does things out of obligation—it always seems to come from some deep-seated need to make sure everyone around him is happy.
And he certainly isn’t spiteful or malicious–his teasing has always been goodnatured, even when it was driving me nuts.
But then again, I don’t really know what his nature is anymore.
I scroll through our texts again, landing on the last thing I sent.
I guess I’m just a birthday adult now. Thanks for remembering. Goodnight Griffin.
A not-insignificant part of me has hoped that he would reach out again.
But if I’m the one who ended the conversation, shouldn’t I be the one to start it up again?
Texting Griffin would be a bad idea. I’m still not ready to have a conversation about what happened, no matter how much time has passed. All it does is open a door for more disappointment, and more heartbreak.
Or it could work out.
I stare at my phone, every warning signal in my brain screaming “bad idea!” at me. I’m not going to do it. My parents will be home on Sunday. Abby will be back Monday. I’ll be fine. I’m not going to text him.
I’m totally going to text him.
Ellie: Hi.
I toss my phone to the other side of the bed and scream into a pillow. I can’t un-ring that bell now–all there is to do is fixate on my anxiety until he texts back.
If he texts back.
I shoot straight up when my phone dings, sending my pillows flying off the bed.
Griffin: Hey darlin’. What’s up?
I go numb with shock, like my brain forgot that the whole point of texting someone is so that they will text back. But now that he’s replied, I have no idea what to do with myself.
Reply, you idiot.
Ellie: Nothing really.
Ellie: It’s been kind of a lonely break.
Subtle.
Griffin: What do you mean?
Well, too late to backtrack that.
Ellie: My parents are on a cruise, and Abby is visiting her family in Arkansas
Ellie: So it’s just me.
I couldn’t sound more pathetic if I tried. Seriously, this pity party is more over the top than any birthday extravaganza I could have planned.
Griffin: What about your boyfriend? Beckham or whatever?
That makes me snort. How did I never notice what a snooty, country club name he has?
This isn’t really something I want to get into, so I try to reply as vaguely as possible.
Ellie: We broke up.
Ellie: No big deal, it just ran its course.
I have got to stop double texting.
Griffin: What the hell did he do?
Why would he automatically assume it was Bennett’s fault? (He’s not wrong though.)
Ellie: Who said it was his fault?
Griffin: No guy in his right mind would let you go. He must have fucked up. I’m kind of an expert in this area, darlin’.
This stops me in my tracks. Surely he doesn’t still think that highly of me. Most of our history is made up of me being mean, yelling, and holding grudges.
Griffin: Am I wrong?
Might as well tell the truth.
Ellie: No, you’re not. He was just…bad at communicating.
Not technically a lie, but not the whole truth either.
Griffin: Is he the reason you spent your birthday alone?
I might as well have stuck a fork in a socket with the way I physically jolt. How on earth does he know I spent my birthday alone?
Ellie: How do you know I spent my birthday alone?
Griffin: I saw your post on Instagram and figured.
Griffin: Again, am I wrong?
No, he’s not wrong.
Griffin: Wait, is that why you looked so sad in the parking lot?
Griffin: Did that fucker ruin your birthday?
I’m torn between feeling touched that he noticed and seemingly cares, and feeling humiliated that he, of all people, saw me at my worst moment.
Ellie: It’s a long story.
Texting him was a bad idea. I thought telling someone how lonely this week has been would make me feel better, but I feel infinitely lonelier now.
And infinitely more embarrassed.
Griffin: Do you wanna talk about it?
Good question. Do I?
Before I can decide if I actually want to spill the whole mortifying story, he sends another text.
Griffin: You could come over. Anytime. Always.
Griffin: I know it’s been awhile, but I don’t like that you’re lonely.
Griffin: We don’t even have to talk. I can just be a warm body in the room.
Griffin: If you want, no pressure. But I’m here for you if you want me to be.
Again, do I? Want him to be there for me?
Before I can think better of it, I send a text I never thought I’d be sending again.
Ellie: Sure, that sounds nice.
Ellie: Be there in twenty.
This is either going to be the best thing to happen to me this week, or the crap cherry on top of a shit sundae.
Leaving no room to talk myself out of it, I hastily slip on shoes and grab my keys.
Even though I’ve never driven myself to Griffin’s, my brain goes on autopilot. I think I’d know the way to his house blindfolded and spun around, like a party goer ready to obliterate a pinata.
I hope this works out better for me than it does for the pinata.