Chapter 1 #2
That is such bullshit. My hands shake and my skin is too hot and tight. I can’t tell if it’s from anger or heartbreak. Either way, my stomach feels like it’s turned inside out. “Your feelings? Matt, when have I ever not supported you? When have I ever asked for anything except basic consideration?”
“You’re being dramatic. It’s a birthday. You’re twenty-nine, not six. Grow up.”
The room goes silent except for the background music from his paused game.
So he knew. He remembered. He simply didn’t care.
Maybe I am stupid for wanting to have a celebration.
I’m not asking for a party with a bouncy house.
Mom always made sure my birthday was a day to remember and with her being sick, the celebration is more meaningful than ever.
He knows that too. We talked about this last year. He promised he’d remember. That was before he started slipping into this version of himself that I’ve come to hate. He’s mean, quick to anger, and I’ve been making myself smaller to avoid conflict.
For what? For a man who can’t even muster up a single happy birthday, baby?
I’ve been fighting the truth for too long.
Today, I can’t hide from it. Matt isn’t a good partner.
I don’t love him anymore and this is going nowhere.
The sex is fine, not mind blowing, but he was supportive when everything happened with Mom getting sick.
For that, I held out hope, wishing he’d go back to that guy. That never happened.
Somehow I always end up being the one who gives and gives and gives until I reach a breaking point. When my chest is split open and I have one choice: keep begging to be treated with decency or leave.
It’s hard to reach this point with others around me settling down, but the thought of leaving Matt hurts less than staying. “You know what? You’re right. I’m old enough to know when someone doesn’t give a shit about me. It’s over, Matt.”
“Shut up. You’re not serious. Just sit down and pop a Midol.”
My hands ball at my sides. “That right there is why you will die alone. We could have had something real, Matt. But you’re too self-absorbed to recognize a good thing when you have it.”
“Or maybe you’re too confident. You’re not some trophy wife, Lily.”
I wish those words surprised me, but I’ve gotten used to his insults. No more though. I glare at him. “We’re done.”
His face pinches, jaw clenching. He scoffs. Stares at me. Waits for me to take it back. His features harden when I don’t. “Fine, you want to be done? Get out.”
My head rears back. He can’t be serious. “Excuse me?”
He shrugs, eyes cold. “This is my house. Leave.”
True, but half the stuff in this house is mine. “That’s my TV,” I counter. “I’ll stay in the spare bedroom and leave tomorrow.”
“Like hell you will!” His chest puffs up, and he storms toward me.
I’ve never been afraid of Matt, but the aggression rolling off of him has me taking a step back.
“You want out, Lily? Get the FUCK OUT NOW!” he shouts in my face.
The sheer volume makes me flinch and my heart skips.
In that moment, I see what my future would have been.
All the hurt, the tears, it all disappears in the wake of his actions.
It’s as if someone snipped away the pieces of my heart that still cared for him.
Finding my strength, I straighten, refusing to let him turn me into a trembling mouse.
“Fine. Don’t call me when you get drunk and lonely,” I tell him, voice deadly calm. “Don’t call me when you need help with rent, and when you finally get caught drinking and driving, don’t call me to bail you out.”
“Screw you,” he seethes. “Get your shit and leave.”
Shaking my head, I storm to the bedroom and shove clothes and essentials into the suitcase I keep in the closet, hands shaking with frustration.
This is complete bullshit. There’s no way I’m staying here with him acting like this, though.
I toss in a few pairs of shoes and zip the case up before dragging it out of the bedroom.
Matt is glaring at me so hard I can’t even remember a time when he looked at me with adoration. “Are you done?”
Scoffing, I stop and narrow my eyes. “Right now, you think I’m the problem, but someday, maybe when you’re eighty, you’ll be old and gray and alone. That’ll be your fault.” Though he’d never admit as much.
His scowl deepens.
Before he can insult me again, I turn and stride toward the front door, leaving him in the wake of my anger.
Screw him and his stupid games. I grab my purse and reach for my heels, pausing and staring at his work boots.
Narrowing my eyes, I grab them alongside my own shoes even though my hands are full.
I don’t even bother putting mine on, hauling my suitcase behind me before letting the door slam shut.
I march to the trashcan and toss his boots inside.
They land with a thunk. Nodding, satisfaction seeping through my veins, I close the lid. Fuck Matt and his fucking shoes.
It isn’t until I climb into the car that I realize I don’t have anywhere to stay.
I stand in the doorway of my former house, chest aching, as the silence presses against my eardrums. Even though I fell out of love with Matt, the end of our relationship hurts, because now I have no partner.
Maybe that’s what I need though. No Matt.
No explanations. No fighting to keep my dignity.
It’s only me and this half-demoed cabin.
My phone buzzes.
MATT
We need to talk about your stuff.
I stare at the screen until the words blur together.
My stuff. Right. The TV I bought when he said his was perfectly fine even though it was older than dirt.
My clothes. The dining table I found at an estate sale and spent three weekends refinishing.
The couch we picked out together—well, I picked out while he played on his phone—and the spare bedroom furniture.
How the hell am I supposed to get any of that back when I can’t even look at him without wanting to scream?
My fingers hover over the keyboard. I type and delete about fifteen different responses before settling on something that won’t make me sound completely unhinged.
Later. I need time.
The truth is, I need a place to stay first. I can’t exactly haul a dining table to a hotel room and that’s the last place I want to go.
If I check into a hotel, the clerk will call someone who will call someone who will call more people, and before I wake up, every local Big Ridge resident will know my business.
The curse of living in a small town. The last thing I want is more drama or pitying looks.
I scroll through my contacts, desperate to talk to someone who can commiserate with me, but Aspen’s in Ireland for her grandmother’s funeral and Callie’s off on a tropical vacation with her guys, probably sipping drinks with little umbrellas.
I don’t want to ruin her vacation and Aspen has enough to worry about without adding in my terrible love life. The screen mocks me as I stare at it.
It’s not like I don’t have other friends, I do, though I’m not close to them in that way.
I’d have to explain too much, possibly deal with them taking Matt’s side or not understanding my hurt.
The only other person that I’d want to talk to is Mom, but I can’t without worrying I’d set her off. Early Alzheimer’s is a bitch.
Forcing myself to shove worries for Mom aside, I tuck my phone away and look around the cabin.
Mom always wanted to but could never afford to update the place.
What she really wanted was to open a bed and breakfast. The house was old and worn when she bought it on a whim, moving us halfway across the country to this mountain town, far away from my dad and his infidelity.
She was drawn to it by the fact it was charming and cute.
She used to cry herself to sleep. Once we moved in, she started smiling and laughing again.
This cabin gave her back her happiness. Sure, the living room has seen better days.
The hardwood floors are covered in a layer of filth that we’ll need to sand in order to restore it to its former glory.
The stone fireplace needs a good cleaning, but the old leather sectional looks okay.
. . ish. Half of the house is torn apart with exposed studs. This space, though?
It’s livable, or at the very least, sleepable.
I walk over to the couch and sink into it. Through the front window, the porch light casts a warm glow over the worn Adirondack chairs. The warm amber hue kindles a memory.
“Why the hell would you keep a place like this?” Matt’s lip is curled in disgust.
“It’s not so bad,” I say, studying the dilapidated structure. It’s rough around the edges, definitely seen better days. Mom had a vision, and I’m determined to make it happen.
“You should just tear it down.”
I shake my head but don’t bother explaining.
Matt never understood that this was more than a remodel.
This is more than a house. It was home. The silence presses in around me.
Matt didn’t even try to fight for our relationship.
It was so easy to discard it. My chest aches, more from the memory of how my dad had done the same.
That’s definitely a wound I pointedly ignore.
With a heavy sigh, breathing out all the negative thoughts about how I stayed with Matt for far too long, I grab the soft gray throw blanket from the back of the couch and wrap it around my shoulders.
I don’t work tomorrow which means I can spend all day figuring out the logistics. Tonight, I want to disappear into this quiet space where the only person who can disappoint me is me.
The couch cradles me as I curl up on my side, phone on silent beside me. My breathing evens out. The knot in my chest loosens enough to let exhaustion creep in. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll fix my life.