Chapter 38
To say I didn’t want to have this conversation with Malone would be the understatement of the century, but it had to be done.
In his case, it had been fun. It had been real.
It had really, really been fun, but I couldn’t afford to get attached to him only to have him leave. My heart couldn’t take it.
When he came through the door, he said, “I thought about your headache. Champagne might not be the best thing, so I got ice cream.”
I froze.
Tears stung because here was ice cream to ruin yet another party, and it was all the worse because Malone was being thoughtful.
“You don’t like ice cream?” He frowned.
“No, it has nothing to do with the ice cream.” Even if ice cream keeps showing up on my crappiest days. I took a deep breath and said what had to be said: “Malone, this isn’t working for me.”
He leaned against the counter—why did the man have to be so good at leaning?—and asked, “What do you mean?”
“Listen, I’m not the kind of girl you take home to Mother, so—”
“Whoa, who said anything about that?”
Further proof that he considered me a fling.
“No one, but I think I’ve gotten more attached to you than I have to Brené Brown. Only, she’s stuck with me now, and you aren’t. I’m as shocked as anyone to discover that I, apparently, like strings.”
He nodded. “That’s fair.”
“You have ruined me for all other men when it comes to sex, but there’s more to a relationship than sex, right?”
Now even our beautiful moment on my dining room table was tainted by the image of Ken sitting outside with his camera.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right, but we have phones. They make planes.”
“So you said, but do you want to sign up for another long-distance relationship?”
“No,” he said, a little too quickly.
“Well, I think our situationship has run its course then. The benefits have been amazing, but one can’t live on pizza alone.”
“Right,” he said.
“Why don’t we just stop whatever this is before it hurts any more than it already does?”
Fight for me, please!
His eyes met mine, and I drank in their unique beauty because I knew I wouldn’t be looking into them again. He waited a good while before finally saying, “If that’s what you want.”
My whole chest throbbed as if my heart wanted to claw past its rib cage and go with Malone instead. “Yes, that’s what I want.”
It’s not in the least what I want.
He got to the door and stopped. “Are you sure?”
I nodded, but I had my fingers crossed behind my back to negate the lie. “Don’t forget the ice cream.”
He got the bag and paused beside me on his way out the door.
He inhaled deeply, and I waited for him to speak, but he shook his head as if getting rid of the thought.
Instead, he leaned down to kiss my cheek.
“Goodbye, Stella Stark. Remember your worth. Anyone who doesn’t see you as a goddess doesn’t deserve to be with you. ”
At the door, he turned a second time. “I think . . . I think I’ll go to Denver early because . . .”
He didn’t finish that thought, and he didn’t have to. I nodded my agreement.
Long after he left, I still stood by the door, absently rubbing my breastbone.
I felt hollowed out.
In the midst of a bone-crushing weight of sadness, I tried to chuckle, but the sound came out more as a hiccup sob.
Over time the worst day in a person’s life could change. I knew that now.
The next day I found a bag tied to my doorknob. Inside was my purple thong, along with a note:
It’s such a nice set. It would be a shame to break it up.