15. Allie
ALLIE
I didn’t call Declan after Archer left. The thought felt like willingly seeking out frozen yogurt just after finishing gelato.
What’s the fucking point?
I didn’t miss him. He hadn’t crossed my mind in weeks. I liked him, at times, when we were together, but the ease in which Archer eclipsed all thought of Declan was proof enough that there was nothing truly there between us.
When I didn’t hear from him either, I figured we could move on with our lives and pretend those three months together never happened at all.
But, two weeks after Archer went back to Texas, my phone finally rang.
He asked me if he could come by this weekend so we could chat, and reluctantly, I told him yes. No was my immediate instinct, but I knew I needed to end it face-to-face. I don’t have any interest in moving forward with him, in distracting myself any longer.
This past month with Archer felt…different than the past. More intimate. More intense. More devastating. I don’t want to go back to surface level right now, I’d rather be alone for a while.
The rasp of knuckles on the other side of my apartment door snaps me from my thoughts.
I rise from the dining room table, padding across the kitchen and tossing it open.
Declan stands in the doorway, his white button-down, trousers, and bomber a stark contrast to the sweatpants and crewneck I’m wearing.
“Hey.” I step aside, opening the door wider to allow him in.
“Hey, babe,” he says, far too casually. “How was your summer?”
I snort, shutting the door behind him. “Fine. And yours?”
“Would’ve been better with you.” He walks inside like he owns the space, though he’s been here exactly one time, just after I moved in.
“I’m sure you fared just fine,” I mutter as he flops down onto my couch. I take a seat beside him at the edge.
“Do you want to know how I fared?” he asks.
“Not particularly,” I say, out of genuine indifference, though I know he’ll interpret it as jealousy.
“Well…” He sighs, raking a hand through his blond hair, spreading his knees as he leans forward and rests his elbows atop them. “I’d like to know what you were up to.”
“I don’t think you do,” I admit.
He laughs, dropping his head between his shoulders. “So you did, then? You fucked him.”
I don’t answer immediately, hoping my silence is confirmation enough, but after a long moment, Dec turns his head, peering up at me.
“Yeah.” I sigh. “I slept with him.”
He scoffs, tongue in cheek. “I shouldn’t be surprised, and yet…”
“I’m sorry.” I pull my legs to my chest, clasping my hands in front of them.
“And where is he now?” Declan asks.
“Back at school.”
The grin that spreads across his cheeks is sickeningly sweet. So fucking smug. “Right.” He smacks his knees, standing up. “Well…where do we go from here?”
I glance up at him, discomfort gnawing at my gut.
“What do you mean?”
Is it not clear? This is done.
“I slept with other people too, Allie.” He bends down, softening his eyes as he grips my chin. “And it made me realize I really just want to be with you.”
I shake off his touch, not missing the way his eyes narrow in response.
“I realized that… that I just want to be on my own for a while. I need to figure some things out about myself. I’m sorry.”
Declan’s nostrils flare as he shoots up straight. My stomach sinks when he begins pacing the floor in front of me, and for the first time, I feel afraid of him. Afraid of the fact that we’re alone right now.
I mentioned to Willow that I was going to be seeing him this weekend, but I didn’t tell her it was to end things. I don’t know why. Now, I wish I had. I wish she—anyone—knew about the situation I’m in at this moment, just in case.
Not that it would make a difference, considering Willow is in Santa Cruz right now, anyway.
“Declan, you need—”
He halts, turning to look at me—face red, eyes wild. “You are so fucking stupid, Allie.”
“Get out” is my only response.
His gaze darts to my hands, shaking where they rest on my knees.
He rolls his eyes. “Calm down. I’m going, trust me.
” He stalks over to my door, tossing it open.
“By the way, that”—he raises his hands, making air quotes—“‘finding yourself’ that you intend on doing? You’re going to realize you’ve got no clue who you fucking are.
” He grits his teeth with every word, pure disgust dripping off his tongue.
“But I’ll tell you, Allie. You’re insecure, selfish, and you’ll spend the rest of your life chasing after a guy who threw you away years ago. Good fucking luck.”
With that, he slams my door behind him, hard enough to rattle the foundation of the very building. His footsteps are still clamoring down the stairs when my tears begin to fall.
Not tears for him. Not because of his words or his hurt. They don’t land on me the way he intends them to, but a sting still radiates from my chest all the same. He was wrong about me. I’m not insecure, I’m not selfish, and I’m not chasing after anyone.
I stayed behind years ago when Archer left for college because he asked me to, and because I love myself enough to have listened. I send him away again and again because I love him selflessly. I date around because I’m a fucking catch, and I deserve to be reminded of that.
So, no. The pang of pain inside my bones doesn’t come from Declan’s loathing—it pricks much deeper than that. A soul-level awareness that while I know I’m not the things he claimed, perhaps I really don’t know who I am, either.
I have hobbies—passions, sure. A path forward, yes.
But why do I fucking hate being alone so much?
Why have I chosen to live in this vain existence, entertain these meaningless relationships with people that feel like placeholders, why do I avoid making friends?
Why have I chosen numbness, treating every experience like it’s fleeting and forgotten, jumping to the next like I’m desperate to reach some destination that I don’t even know the location of—directionless.
That wasn’t the promise we made—Archer and me.
He made me promise to stay wild. He never wanted me to feel caged.
We took off in different directions with the promise to live fully, and instead of doing so in the arms of my friends and my family and my passions, I’ve been doing so with the distraction of other men.
Archer and I are like two trees that grew together side by side with tangled roots. He’s spent the past three years dislodging himself from me, and instead of doing the same—figuring out a way to branch off and become something of my own—I twisted my roots with others.
Only now do I realize I’ve lost sight of which roots are supposed to belong to me.
Eight Weeks Later
“Thanks for coming out,” Stella, my high school dance coach, says as she slides down the wall beside me, taking a swig from her water bottle.
Sweat beads from her temples, her fair skin glistening. I’m exhausted too, which is telling of how out of practice I’ve become. While I’ve continued taking recreational classes in contemporary, pole, and a little acro, I haven’t danced competitively since high school. And it shows.
I’ve kept in contact with Stella over the past three years, and when I mentioned I’d be visiting my parents for the weekend, she asked if I wanted to come by and be the guest teacher for a master class this weekend.
I didn’t realize how fucking exhausting it was to teach a class like this, and now that we’ve finished, I hardly feel like I can stand upright. My head slumps into my hands as I catch my breath, until there is a nudge against my knee that has me lifting it again.
Stella’s green eyes are etched with concern as she holds her water bottle out to me. “Do you need some?”
“No, I have one.” I shake my head, grabbing my own bottle from my backpack. Taking a swig, I add, “I just wasn’t expecting it to wear me out so much.”
“You’re a bit out of practice, but…” She laughs lightly. “It was supposed to be an entry-level class.”
“Oh, fuck off.” I snort, tossing her a playful eye roll. “I didn’t eat this morning, okay? That’s all it is.”
“Why didn’t you eat?”
I shrug. “Just wasn’t feeling it.”
Overall, I have been feeling much better over the past couple of months.
After ending my relationship with Declan, I finished out the summer by crafting a new recipe for frosted lavender lemon loaf that Dahlia loved so much, she permanently added it to the menu at the Wicked Wildflower.
I plan on showcasing the recipe for my advanced techniques course mid-term in a couple of weeks, which is good because I’ve made it so many times at this point that the smell of lavender is now making me nauseous.
I resumed classes in September, but I’ve continued working at the bakery most afternoons and weekends.
I’ve also been making more of an effort to spend time with the girls I dance with at the studio near school.
I’ve been spending more time with Zander too.
Willow and I meet up as often as we can, and overall, I feel… fulfilled.
Declan convinced me I lost sight of myself, and I’ve now realized that’s not true. I’ve always known exactly who I am, I just needed that fucking waste of breath to stop clouding my vision.
I miss Archer, of course, but we talk at least once a week. He updates me on football and the changing seasons of Texas. I update him on my baking and the never-changing weather here.
“What’re you doing after this?” Stella asks as we head to the locker room, breaking me from my thoughts.
“I have a doctor’s appointment and then I’m meeting my parents for dinner somewhere.”
I pull my change of clothes and shower bag from a locker as Stella grabs her bag.
“Okay, well maybe we can see each other again before you head back south?”
“Absolutely.” I smile, pulling her in for a hug. Stella is twenty-six, and while she was my coach all through high school, the older I get the more I see her as a friend. I’m happy we stayed in contact. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
She leaves, heading home. I decided I’d shower here so I could freshen up before my appointment and treat myself to lunch and a bookstore visit before meeting my parents.
I ensured I was caught up on my classes this week before I came home yesterday afternoon so I could enjoy the weekend as stress-free as possible.
I’ll be entirely pampered by my parents, treated to every meal, and get all my laundry done for me—it’ll feel that much sweeter knowing I don’t have a lick of school work to be concerned about, and I can well and truly rot while catching up on all the reality TV I’ve missed being so busy the past few weeks.
I stretch out my sore muscles as I step into the shower. I’ve been working on the routine for today’s master class throughout the week and going a little harder than I’m used to, so I’m sure that’s the reason I’m so tired today. I overdid it.
After I shower and dress, I leave the dance studio and make the drive over to my primary care doctor across town.
After the nurse takes me back and I’ve changed into a gown and given them a urine sample, I reconfirm the restaurant I’m supposed to meet my parents at this afternoon.
Then I text Archer, wishing him luck at his game tonight just as the doctor knocks on the exam room door.
“Miss Evans?” she asks, nudging it open.
“Hi. Yes.”
Dr. Elliot steps inside. She’s tall, appearing even more so in her white coat.
She slides onto the stool beside the exam table, smiling up at me, dark eyes wide behind her white-rimmed glasses.
The cornrow braids hanging long and thick down her back sway as she scoots her stool closer to me.
“Allie, I understand your appointment today was to replace your birth control implant, yes?”
I nod. “I know I was a few months behind… It’s hard to make an appointment during the school year.”
“I understand.” She smiles wider, and it feels like a consolation. A bit of unease rises in my throat at the sight of it. “You were looking to replace it for pregnancy prevention, correct?”
I swallow. “Yes. Why?”
“Well…your implant expired back in January of this year, and while protection does typically extend past the expiration date, the longer you wait, the higher the chances of…”
My stomach lurches, flipping and rising, threatening to spill from my throat with all of the unease already stuck there as my mind reels back on the past ten months.
I remember the office calling me and reminding me to schedule my appointment to replace my birth control.
I remember telling myself I’d put it off until spring break—it would be no big deal, and I wasn’t sexually active anyway.
Spring break came around, and I went to visit Willow in the Bay Area instead.
I again told myself I wasn’t having sex, so I’d replace it in the summer.
I distinctly remember searching online and finding that birth control implants were often effective up to a year after their expiration.
I thought it’d be fine, I’d get around to it.
I came home for a week in July but never made an appointment. Why didn’t I make that fucking appointment?
“What—” I shake my head. “What are you saying?”
Dr. Elliot sighs, eyes wistful and smile solemn. “I won’t be able to replace your implant today.”