20
Aura
By the third time Charm quoted the airplane scene with a disturbing amount of commitment, Bliss had one hand buried in a family-size bag of sour cream and onion chips, one blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a traumatized burrito, and the smug expression of a woman who had decided healing required cinema, carbs, and making me watch Kristen Wiig unravel in public.
“I still think this movie is an attack on female dignity,” Charm said, curled at the opposite end of the couch with her legs tucked beneath her and a bowl of chocolate-covered pretzels balanced against her hip.
Bliss pointed a chip at her. “You laughed so hard during the bridal shower scene you wheezed.”
“That was social commentary.”
“You said, and I quote, ‘I would also fight a giant cookie if it came for my emotional stability.’”
Charm considered that while chewing. “That sounds like me.”
I sat wedged between them under the largest blanket in our apartment, wearing leggings, fuzzy socks, and the softest sweatshirt I owned, the hood pulled halfway over my braids.
It was the kind of outfit that said I had given up on being perceived sexually by anyone with a pulse, which felt fitting considering my sex life had recently become an emotional crime scene with furniture damage.
Bliss leaned forward to grab the gummy worms from the coffee table. “This is why my wedding planning has to be organized from the beginning. I cannot have either of you going rogue.”
Charm’s head snapped toward her. “Excuse you, I am the only reason this wedding will have taste.”
“You suggested black taper candles and a violinist playing ominous covers during cocktail hour.”
“That was atmosphere.”
“You called the seating chart a strategic warfare document.”
“It is.”
I reached across Bliss for the popcorn bowl. “To be fair, wedding seating is just emotional terrorism with place cards.”
Bliss groaned and sank deeper into the blanket. “See? This is exactly what I’m talking about. You two are going to ruin me.”
Charm sat up straighter, deeply offended. “We are going to elevate you.”
“You tried to convince me a champagne tower was mandatory.”
“It is mandatory.”
“It is expensive.”
“It is an investment in drama.”
I nodded around a mouthful of popcorn. “Also, if Cade sees you near a champagne tower in a white dress, he is going to look like he’s been punched in the soul. That alone feels worth the money.”
Bliss pressed both hands to her cheeks, already pink. “Do not weaponize his feelings against my budget.”
“His feelings are very weaponizable,” Charm said.
“They’re also very expensive,” I added. “The man probably cries in compound interest.”
Bliss kicked me under the blanket. “He does not cry.”
I stared at her.
Charm stared at her.
Bliss’s mouth twitched. “Fine, he cried when I tried on that one reception dress, but he did it silently and with dignity.”
“B, that man looked at you in lace and mentally bought you a province,” I said.
Charm tossed a pretzel into her mouth. “He absolutely has a secret wedding spreadsheet.”
Bliss froze.
I turned my head slowly. “Bliss Bennett.”
“No.”
“You said no too fast.”
“I said no at the proper speed.”
Charm’s eyes widened with unholy delight. “He has a spreadsheet.”
Bliss shoved three gummy worms into her mouth like that would stop her from confessing.
I sat up, the blanket sliding off one shoulder. “What’s in the spreadsheet?”
“Nothing.”
“Bliss.”
She chewed with impressive commitment and swallowed. “Venue comparisons, vendor deposits, estimated floral cost, guest count scenarios, security options, a weather contingency plan, and one tab labeled ‘Pip Deserves Everything.’”
Charm made a sound like she had been stabbed by romance. “I hate him.”
“No, you don’t,” Bliss said, smiling into the blanket.
“I hate that I don’t hate him.”
I nudged her knee with mine. “You’re just bitter because Ryan would make a wedding spreadsheet called ‘Can We Afford Tacos and Emotional Avoidance?’”
Charm looked at me with regal disgust. “Ryan Decker would never make a wedding spreadsheet.”
Bliss leaned around me. “No, he would make one and pretend it was a team logistics document.”
“He would write poetry, though,” I said.
“He would absolutely write some sick ass poetry,” Bliss agreed.
Charm’s cheeks went pink. “Both of you are unwell.”
“You’re the one defending a man’s imaginary poem,” I said.
“I am defending my peace.”
“Your peace has tattoos and a grown-up schedule.”
Charm threw a pretzel at me. It bounced off my sweatshirt and landed in the blanket somewhere near Bliss’s knee.
Bliss immediately searched for it. “Five-second rule.”
“Absolutely not,” Charm said.
“This couch has seen worse.”
I sank back between them, laughing before I could stop myself.
It felt strange in my chest, like a muscle I hadn’t used in too long.
The last few days had been quieter than I expected.
Not peaceful. Never that. More like the silence after a fire, when everything smelled burned and nobody knew what could be touched without leaving soot on their hands.
I had thought I would feel lighter after Easton’s apartment.
That sounded stupid now. I had thought telling him enough of the truth would release something.
I had thought hearing him say he loved me, even with all that anger wrapped around it, would give me a shape to hold.
I had thought ending things cleanly, or as cleanly as Easton and I could end anything, would make the pressure ease.
It hadn’t.
Before, he had been everywhere. Even when he hated me, he was present.
In the back corner of The Sin Bin with his jaw clenched and his beer untouched.
Across a crowded party with another girl too close to him.
At the Furnace, cold-eyed and untouchable, making me bleed with the simple act of not looking.
On campus sometimes, rare and brutal, because my law classes and his Ancient History track lived on opposite sides of KFU like the university itself was trying to keep us from becoming a natural disaster.
Now he was nowhere.
He was temporarily banned from The Sin Bin, a cooling-off period, as Hannah had said with the solemn grief of a woman who had lost an excellent tipper to male stupidity.
I didn’t pass him on campus. I didn’t see his truck near the rink.
I didn’t get a single text, a single accidental glance, a single hateful little confirmation that he still existed close enough to hurt me.
I had wanted quiet, and quiet was eating me alive.
Bliss nudged me gently with her shoulder. “You disappeared.”
“I’m literally under the blanket with you.”
“Your face left the room.”
Charm paused the movie without asking. “Do we need to discuss feelings, or can we bully Bliss about chair covers for ten more minutes?”
Bliss gasped. “I am not having chair covers.”
“Good,” Charm said. “That was a test.”
I grabbed the gummy worms from Bliss’s lap. “I’m fine.”
Bliss and Charm both stared at me.
I sighed. “I am in a healing, snack-and-ice-cream process.”
“That sounds more believable,” Charm said.
Bliss rested her head on my shoulder. “I know you miss him.”
My throat tightened. “I miss knowing somewhere he was hurting too.”
Neither of them rushed in. That was new. Or maybe it wasn’t new, and I had been too angry to notice they knew how to sit beside pain without trying to redecorate it.
Charm reached over me and squeezed Bliss’s hand, then mine. “For tonight, you put your hurt here.”
“In the popcorn?”
“In the couch,” she said.
Bliss nodded solemnly. “The couch can take it. This couch has absorbed tears, wine, nail glue, one full container of queso, and the emotional fallout of me pretending I didn’t want Cade Mercer to rearrange my life.”
“That queso incident was your fault,” I said.
“It was structurally unsound.”
“It was dip.”
“It betrayed me.”
I laughed again, softer this time, and Bliss’s cheek pressed against my shoulder like she was trying to keep the sound close.
Then someone pounded on the front door, and all three of us went still.
Not a polite knock. Not a neighbor tapping because our movie was too loud. A heavy, sharp pounding that cut straight through the apartment and made the snack bowls tremble on the coffee table.
Charm sat up first. “Absolutely not.”
Bliss reached for the remote like she could defend us with streaming technology. “Who knocks like they’re serving a warrant at eleven at night?”
My heart started doing something stupid before my brain allowed the thought.
Another knock hit the door, louder this time.
Bliss grabbed her phone from under the blanket and opened the Ring app so fast I almost respected the reflex more than the panic. Charm leaned over her shoulder, the blanket falling around her waist.
The video loaded.
Easton stood outside our door in the rain.
My lungs forgot their job.
He wore a black KFU Fury hoodie, the hood down, blond hair soaked dark and plastered messily to his forehead.
Rain ran down his face and dripped from his jaw.
His shoulders looked too broad in the narrow hallway, his posture too exhausted to be threatening but too intense to be anything else.
One hand was braced against the doorframe.
The other hung at his side, wrapped knuckles half hidden by his sleeve.
He looked like every cliché I claimed to hate.
Rain-soaked. Exhausted. Miserable. Beautiful in a way that made me want to file a formal complaint with the universe.
Charm’s mouth fell open. “Oh.”
Bliss whispered, “Holy shit.”
I snatched the phone out of Bliss’s hand. “Why is he here?”
Charm recovered first, which was unfortunate for all of us. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say he is not here to return Tupperware.”
Bliss leaned around me, eyes bright with immediate, terrible excitement. “Is he here to rage fuck again?”
“Bliss,” I hissed.
“What? I’m asking for situational awareness.”
Charm shifted onto her knees on the couch, fully invested. “He does look hot in an emotionally unstable way.”