Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
ISABELLE
After leaving The Daily Brew, I trudge along the crowded sidewalk to the subway station, my eyes puffy and steps heavy, like I’ve forgotten how to walk.
I accidentally bump into someone, who hisses, “Watch it,” and mutter an apology under my breath.
I thought I knew what heartbreak felt like.
When Oliver dumped me, a layer of emptiness wrapped around my body, and I thought I’d never get through it.
But what I felt then isn’t even a fraction of how I’m feeling right now—like someone ripped out my heart, split it open, and shoved it back inside my body.
Even breathing feels more like a chore than a reflex.
Does Jackson not believe that no matter what, I’ll be there for him and that he doesn’t need to be perfect? That he’s not a burden just because he’s going through something and hasn’t got everything figured out?
“I’m a mess, and I can’t be the man you deserve. Not right now.”
He said the words right now, so I want to think he only needs some time and space.
But what if … it’s not only about that?
Heaviness settles in my chest, like a rock.
Jackson promised he’d be there to catch me if I took a leap of faith. And he did. But as soon as a storm came, he pushed me away.
“You should go.”
The harsh tone in his voice when he said those last three words is one I can still hear vividly in my head.
Maybe he doesn’t trust me enough to lean on me while he’s going through something difficult, or maybe he doesn’t think I’m strong enough to handle it. I don’t know which hits harder, hurts more.
Or maybe I don’t deserve to be in a relationship. I mean, I’ve only had two relationships, and both ended in me being broken up with.
The green-painted iron railings of the subway station entrance come into view, and I walk down the stairs with my shoulders hunched, my thoughts playing like a tormenting loop in my head.
As I wait for the next train, my phone dings with a new text, and I pull it out to check it, a tiny glimmer of hope flickering in my chest in case it’s from Jackson—in case he’s changed his mind about what he said at The Daily Brew, about us.
Except it’s only some dodgy message, prompting me to pay an unpaid parking ticket.
Stupid scammers. I don’t even have a car.
The sound of screeching metal brakes lingers in the air as the train arrives, and I squeeze inside one of the crowded cars, gripping on to the cold metal pole and closing my eyes.
It’s a miracle that I manage to get off at the right stop and remember the correct route to walk home.
When I’m inside my apartment, I kick off my shoes and head straight to my bedroom, dumping my bag on the floor.
My eyelids heavy, I lie on my bed, curling into a ball.
It hurts. Everywhere.
“Hey!” Jen chirps as she appears at my door. “I was—” She stops talking, concern filling her blue eyes. “What happened?”
I sit up on my bed, glancing down at the floor. “Jackson broke up with me,” I hoarsely say.
Her eyes go wide. “He did what?!”
I sniffle. “He resigned from his job today. And then he was saying he doesn’t want to be a burden on me, that he doesn’t deserve me right now.” Tears start falling uncontrollably down my face until my whole body’s shaking, an agonizing, throbbing pain in my muscles from how much I’m crying.
Through my blurry vision, I see Jen hurry over, sitting next to me on the bed and pulling me into a hug. Her vanilla perfume surrounds me. “Oh, Belle. I’m so sorry.”
“I-I love him, Jen,” I gasp, surprising myself at the realization.
But it’s true.
I love how protective Jackson is. I love his sense of humor, his thoughtfulness and attention to detail, his determination, even his competitive spirit and big ego, and his face—his handsome face.
And above all, I love being with him.
He’s the person I want to experience sunsets and sunrises and lazy Sunday mornings with, to stay in and watch silly movies with, to go on late-night grocery store runs with, the person I want to make coffee for outside of my barista job.
But none of that matters anymore.
“I know. I know you do,” Jen murmurs, stroking my hair. “I know you’re hurting.”
“H-he … he let me go and c-called it quits.” I hiccup my words. “He doesn’t want to f-fight for us.”
“He probably just needs some space right now,” Jen says. “I mean, after finding out his life was basically a lie. You said he quit his job, and that’s not a decision he would’ve made lightly. He’s probably feeling lost right now.”
I sniffle, wiping my face with the back of my hand. “Maybe.”
“Give him some time. I’m sure he’ll come around and that he didn’t actually mean it when he said he wanted to break up.” Jen sounds convinced, like she’s not just saying that to try to make me feel better.
“I guess,” I mutter, but a seed of doubt is still planted in my mind.
“Hey, how about this?” she says, her gaze steady as it meets mine. “I’m going to make us lunch, and after that, we’ll have a rom-com movie marathon. I’ll grab the wine as well.”
I muster a sad smile. “Sounds good.”
I know even none of my favorite rom-com movies can take the pain away, but I’m grateful that I have Jen, that I’m not completely alone.
When I wake up the next morning, my head hurts, and I feel hungover, even though I didn’t get drunk yesterday.
An ache pulls my whole body, the soreness in my eyes a sign that I’m sleep-deprived.
I cast my mind back to what happened with Jackson yesterday, wishing it were all just a dream.
At least I don’t have a shift at The Daily Brew today.
Rolling over, I grab my phone from my nightstand to check the time. It’s close to eight a.m., so Jen must’ve left long ago for her shift at the hospital.
I open my text thread with Jackson. The last message we exchanged was him apologizing about losing track of time and being late to our catch-up.
I wish I’d never suggested meeting at The Daily Brew yesterday—if we hadn’t, we’d still be together.
Or maybe something else would’ve happened that still would’ve resulted in him wanting to break things off with me.
My phone rings, and I stiffen with surprise when I see who’s calling.
Ivy.
Ignoring the uneasy feeling spinning in my stomach, I accept the call. “Hi, Ivy.”
“Hi.” There’s a strange note in her voice I can’t detect. “Can we talk? Like, in person?”
This is an even bigger surprise.
I bite the inside of my cheek. I don’t know what she wants to talk about that can’t be said over the phone, but admittedly, curiosity is getting to the better of me, and I could use a distraction from my breakup with Jackson. Otherwise, I’d probably just rot in bed all day.
“Sure,” I eventually say.
We make plans to meet at a coffee shop in Brooklyn, and when I arrive an hour later, Ivy’s already sitting at one of the marble tables, her hands wrapped around her coffee cup.
I walk up to her, sitting on the other chair at the table. “Hey.”
Ivy looks nothing like her usual, polished self. There are dark circles under her eyes, and her lips are dry and chapped. Her usually glowing and dewy skin looks dull, and she’s not wearing any makeup or perfume, which is out of the ordinary for her.
That probably makes the two of us.
“Hey,” Ivy says. “Do you want anything? I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I didn’t get anything for you.”
I shake my head. “I’m good, thanks.” I’m not surprised she doesn’t know my usual coffee order, because I don’t know hers either.
We sit in awkward silence for the next few moments. “So, what did you want to talk about?” I finally ask.
Ivy flinches. “Dad encouraged me to talk to you. At first, I didn’t want to, but …” She takes a deep breath. “He’s right. I … owe you an apology.”
My head jerks back. Ivy is apologizing to me?
“I broke off the engagement with Ben last night,” she adds.
“You did?”
She nods, and that’s when I realize she’s not wearing her engagement ring anymore.
“You were right.” Pain threads through Ivy’s voice.
“He cheated on me. Again. When you texted me, saying that you saw him with another woman, that wasn’t the first time.
The first time I found out, he begged me for forgiveness, and I gave him a second chance.
When he proposed, I thought it meant he’d really changed for good, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. ”
My blood boils. I guessed that the time I caught Ben might’ve been the first and only time he cheated, but he’s even worse than I thought.
“What an asshole,” I say.
Ivy sniffs. “I’m sorry for how I’ve been treating you. I lied about my engagement party coincidentally being on the same date as your fashion show. You’re a good person, Isabelle, and you didn’t deserve that.”
I want to tell her that all those years, I lived with the knowledge that my sister hated me. That I’d see others who were so close with their siblings and questioned why it couldn’t be the same for Ivy and me. That she hurt me with her behavior.
Instead, with my head spinning, I ask the one question that has pressed me the most. “Why did you act like that toward me?”
She glances down at her boots. “I always wished I were you.”
My body goes still.
Growing up, she was the one who had perfect grades and was always put together, who Mom would boast about at gatherings with extended family and family friends. If anything, I was the one who was jealous of her when I was a teenager.
“No way.” There’s a dryness in my throat when I speak. “You’re the star child of the family.”
Ivy’s chin dips down. “It started when you got into your first relationship. I was jealous that you were dating and weren’t afraid to go against Mom’s wishes.
And then you went to fashion school and started your own business and were chasing your dreams while I felt I was …
merely surviving, but not really living.
You’re always so confident and not afraid to take risks, and I’ve always admired that about you. ”
I blink. I always thought of her as the confident one, not me. “But … you always dreamed of being a lawyer.”
“At first, yeah. Then, as I grew older, I wasn’t sure if it was my dream or the dream that Mom had instilled in me. But I never questioned it. I didn’t have the courage to choose something else, because I was afraid of disappointing Mom.”
I glance at my sister, realizing that not everything is as it seems. Ivy has said and done things that were hurtful, but I also never communicated to her about how I felt.
Of course, at the end of the day, she needs to realize herself the impact of her behavior.
Nonetheless, if things were a little different, we could’ve been there to support each other.
“I was always afraid of disappointing Mom, too,” I say. “Even after starting my business. But I’ve learned that there’s never only one pathway. We should be able to choose whatever makes us happy and lead a life without pressure from our parents.”
“Yeah.” Ivy glances into the distance, a wistful look on her face. “I guess.”
This conversation obviously doesn’t mean that our relationship is repaired, and her apology doesn’t erase her past behavior, but it’s a start.
She’s showing vulnerability and taking accountability, which I appreciate, and we’ve managed to have a mature conversation.
Trust takes time to build, and any kind of healthy relationship is a two-way street.
I hesitate. “If you’d like to, you’re still welcome to attend my fashion show next month.”
Ivy’s eyes shine for the first time today, and for a moment, I see a version of my sister before we drifted apart. “I’d like that.”