Chapter 15 #2
The words left her before she fully knew what she wanted—no, needed—to say. Her hands shook slightly as she shifted her weight, fighting the rush of feelings that look had yanked to the surface. Her grip fumbled, and the laundry basket dropped to the floor, sending clothes everywhere again.
The clatter of the basket broke the moment between them.
God, what the fuck was her life right now?
She raked her fingers through her hair and turned away from Beth, still not saying anything, her pulse whooshing in her ears as she tried to make sense of what just happened.
That was a look, right? Or had she just imagined it?
She didn’t need any of this right now—not from Nell, not from Beth, not from anyone.
“I’m sorry,” Beth said quickly, stepping away. “I shouldn’t have come over here to vent.” She nervously reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked at Sarah with those big, worried blue eyes. “I should leave.”
Sarah held up her hand, effectively silencing Beth’s ramble.
She needed quiet, a moment to process and decide what this all meant.
That had definitely been a look. Now she was sure of it.
Why was Beth looking at her like that? Or was she just reading into it because, in her heart of hearts, Sarah wanted Beth to be looking at her like that again?
“I think that’s probably best,” Sarah said, her voice lacking its usual firmness as she ventured into the uncomfortable territory of boundary-setting with Beth. She had never been particularly good at it, but she knew it needed to be done. She just had to find that strength first.
Sarah bent yet again to collect the laundry from the floor, buying herself a moment to try and loosen the thread that was pulling again in her chest. She became absurdly aware of just how much laundry had been a part of their lives, in ways she never noticed before now.
Lazy Sunday mornings of folding over coffee, frantic last-minute loads before a gymnastics meet, sifting and sorting between stolen kisses.
She forced herself not to follow that thought any further.
She couldn’t—wouldn’t—do that to herself, not anymore.
Beth’s worry turned to confusion. “Sar—”
“No. Please don’t Sar me. Not now.” Sarah stood, the power returning to her voice as she held the basket of laundry between them once again, the barrier firmly in place.
“I think you’re right. You should leave.
And I don’t think you should come over here whenever Jamie pisses you off anymore.
You don’t get to bring your problems here and expect me to sort them out for you like always. ”
Sarah paused a moment, considering whether or not she should acknowledge the look Beth had given her, and decided that if she was setting boundaries, she should probably set that one, too.
“And you definitely don’t get to look at me like .
. .” She caught herself, giving herself enough room to pivot, but choosing not to.
“. . . like I’m still yours.” She fought the urge to cringe at the way her voice had the audacity to crack, undermining her in a moment like this.
But now that she had started, she had to keep going.
“Sarah, come on. That’s not—that wasn’t—”
“I’m not your girlfriend. I’m not your wife. I’m not your emotional sounding board. And I’m definitely not your second fucking choice when you and Jamie are fighting.”
Beth’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again, and for a moment, Sarah almost backed down.
But there was that look—the one from moments ago that brought to the front of her mind what used to be a quiet, dull ache.
It was the look that made her think of the years and years she had spent trying to make it hurt just a little less every time she saw Beth’s name on her phone or caught her eye from across the room.
Suddenly, the chokehold Beth had on her life was so abundantly clear that Sarah couldn’t help but question how she had ever missed it.
“I don’t think you realize you’re doing it, which somehow only makes this worse,” Sarah said quietly, shifting the laundry basket to rest on her hip.
“You only want me when you know you can’t have me because it means you never actually have to choose me.
” She looked away so Beth wouldn’t see her tears as she finally put words to the dance they had been doing for the better part of a decade.
“Sar, I didn’t come here to—” Beth tried again, still unable to finish her thought, but she didn’t need to. Sarah understood.
“I know. But you did,” she said quietly. “So, I agree. I think you should leave.”
Beth stood in front of her another moment, her hands hanging loosely at her side, still with that stunned look on her face.
“I’m sor—”
“Just go,” Sarah said flatly, not moving. Beth left the room without another word, leaving Sarah standing there alone until she heard the soft click of the door.
Sarah inhaled shakily, still processing what had just unfolded. It wasn’t even the look that bothered her the most. Sarah could look past that. It was how it had finally made her realize she needed to cut the thread between her and Beth once and for all.
Not even a minute later, there was a quiet knock at the door, dragging her from her swirling thoughts and the spot in her family room where she still stood in a faint cloud of lavender-scented shampoo.
She spun around, her fury rising as she moved to the door, ready to give Beth a piece of her mind. What more could she possibly want from her? To tell her again that it was nothing? Or to apologize again for something that never should have happened?
She yanked open the front door, fiery words on the tip of her tongue, ready to give Beth a piece of her mind—
But it wasn’t Beth. It was Nell.
Sarah’s body stilled. Nell was on her front porch, her dark hair braided, draped over her shoulder in that way Sarah loved, her black trench coat damp with little droplets of rain clinging to it.
“Nell . . . what—” she started, but between this unexpected appearance and what had happened with Beth, she found herself unable to form a cohesive follow-up thought.
It had been five weeks. Five weeks of silence. Five weeks of obsessively checking her phone and trying to figure out where she had messed up. And now Nell was here?
Fuck that.
Sarah swallowed hard. She glanced past Nell up the driveway, heart pounding in her chest. “Did you pass Beth?”
Nell didn’t answer her, just tilted her head slightly, studying her with that annoyingly intense look that felt like it could see right through her. But there was a moment—only a moment—where she swore she saw something flash behind Nell’s eyes at the mention of Beth.
Sarah stepped fully outside onto the porch, closing the door behind her. She would not be inviting Nell into her home today, not after she had spent so much time feeling so disrespected the past few weeks. She had put her foot down with Beth, and she would put her foot down with Nell, too.
Sarah crossed her arms. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Do you have dinner plans?”
“Excuse me?” Sarah laughed, short and cold.
“If not,” Nell said, not reacting in the slightest to her tone, “would you like to have dinner with me?”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Sarah mumbled, running her fingers through her hair. This day was officially too much. But this was Nell, and she was, for once, asking—not demanding or commanding or instructing, simply asking.
“Fine,” Sarah said, the word sticky on her tongue.
She turned, leaving Nell standing on the porch as she slipped back inside, still not offering her an invitation in, and grabbed her keys and her purse from the table by the door, where she always kept them.
Dinner. Was she serious? All this silence just to show up unannounced at the worst possible moment and take her out to dinner. Sarah could scream.
But instead, she climbed into Nell’s car and endured more silence between them as Nell drove in the direction of town.
She looked out the window as the blur of evergreens zoomed by.
Nell turned right, then left, and then left again.
As they drew closer, Sarah realized where Nell was taking her.
A new place called Wayward Waters. The irony was not lost on her at all.
The restaurant itself was small, cozy, and tucked away along the waterfront.
Inside, the host greeted them like they had been expecting them, and somehow, that only seemed to annoy Sarah more.
So Nell had all this time to make a secret dinner reservation but couldn’t find a spare minute to text or call her?
The host led them to the back of the restaurant, to a secluded table for two with a view of the marina. Sarah slid into her seat and hung her purse on the hook under the table, still not saying a word.
Nell sat across from her, hands folded neatly in her lap, smiling at the waiter as he placed their drinks in front of them: a glass of water and a glass of red wine for each.
When Nell finally turned her full attention to her, Sarah was surprised to see a level of detachment behind her gaze that had never been there before.
Nell began to speak, and Sarah noted the carefulness behind each of her words.
“I think we both know that our arrangement, as it originally was, is no longer tenable.” Her words were like taking a metal softball bat to the ribs.
Sarah stared at her, unsure what to say because, once again, what the actual fuck was her life right now? First Beth, now Nell?
But then it clicked. The prearranged table, the preset menu. God, even the timing was set.
“Oh my God.” Sarah blinked. “You’re breaking up with me?”
She tried not to laugh. The question was absurd to begin with because they weren’t even dating. That had been the entire point of their arrangement. No strings, no tethers, no feelings.
“It’s nothing personal, Sarah. Rule number eleven: nothing is permanent; plan accordingly. I was clear from the beginning that I don’t do relationships, and somewhere along the way, I know that line got blurred for you.”
Sarah gawked at her as their appetizer appeared—spring rolls, beautifully plated with swirls of dipping sauce on the side.
The waiter set it down in front of them, nervously looking from her to Nell before quickly stepping away.
They each reached for a spring roll at the same time, fingers brushing.
Nell jumped, quickly retracting her hand at the contact.
Sarah grabbed the spring roll out of spite, dipping it in the sauce before taking a bite.
She needed to do something with her mouth that wasn’t letting Nell get an earful of exactly how angry she was right now.
“I’m sorry, but what are you talking about?” Sarah said flatly, reaching for her water. Her throat was itchy, and weirdly tight.
Nell’s expression was strained. “Please don’t cry. That’s just going to make this so much harder—”
“I’m not crying,” Sarah snapped, scratching at her throat again. She couldn’t clear this tickle. “I’m—hold on—”
She coughed, taking another sip of water before coughing again.
“What’s in this sauce?” she asked, grabbing the sleeve of a waiter as they passed by their table. She was panicking now, hands clawing at her throat, and that’s when she saw them—little red bumps had sprung up on her hands and arms in angry red patches.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
The waiter sprinted to the kitchen, and Sarah grabbed for her purse, fingers fumbling the zipper, diving inside to search for the little red EpiPen she always carried, even though she hadn’t needed it in years. By now, she could barely breathe.
This was not good. This was so not good.
Her vision began to blur. She knew what was coming next if she couldn’t get to her EpiPen in time. “I—can’t—breathe—” she gasped, looking at Nell, eyes wide, asking for help.
Nell was up and next to her in an instant, yelling something to the waiter before kneeling beside her, hands hovering but not quite touching her. “Sarah!”
Sarah felt the cool surface of the EpiPen tucked away in an interior pocket of her purse just before the floor rushed up to meet her.
The last thing she saw was the look of pure panic on Nell’s face—her cool control gone, replaced by raw fear.
Then everything went black.