Chapter 8
SIX MONTHS LATER
I look at my phone for the thousandth time since arriving at the airport.
Penelope’s flight should have landed close to an hour ago.
I’m buzzing with excitement at seeing my best friend for the first time in months.
The move to London has been shit. I’m not sleeping well.
I’m not sleeping much at all. Leaving my flat is a chore.
I’m hoping seeing Pen will help give me some perspective.
Lust I had his hat on backward with my legs wrapped around his waist while we kissed.
It was plastered across several newspapers and celebrity gossip sites, but I’ve always loved it.
Another was at a gala for L&L. He was in a tux that night, and I was dressed in wide-leg silver dress pants and a long-sleeved black lace top that didn’t quite cover my navel.
The third is of us on a beach in Miami, lying out in the sun, smiling at each other instead of the camera.
I relive those days too frequently, often with a drink in my hand.
I see pity all over my best friend’s face. “Don’t say a word,” I mumble. I know it’s pathetic, but I’m pathetic, so there’s nothing to see here. Let’s keep it moving. “You didn’t answer my question.” I level her with a glare, but she ignores it.
“You don’t want me to answer your question, Harlan.
You think you do, but we both know you don’t want to know.
” She turns to face me and holds my gaze, her blue eyes set in challenge.
“What is it you want to hear? That he’s fucking miserable and crying every day?
Or maybe that he’s moved on and is dating someone new?
That he’s fucking his way through every twink in Brooklyn? Which of those would bring you peace?”
“I don’t know,” I whine. “I just miss him so much, the word miss doesn’t seem serious enough.
It feels like none of it mattered to him, you know?
How can he just cut all communication and be ok?
” The moment the words leave my mouth, I know they’re false.
I know it mattered to him. That I mattered to him.
I tossed all of that in the bin when I sucked off that guy in the bathroom.
The best—or more accurately, the worst—part is, I can’t even recall what that guy looked like.
He was so insignificant to me, and yet, he played a role in dismantling my life.
Not that it’s his fault. It wasn’t his job to keep me faithful. It was my own.
“Harlan, you broke his heart. Of course he wasn’t ok.
You mattered to him. You still matter to him.
But you can’t let this guilt, or grief, or whatever the fuck it is, keep dragging you down.
How he’s doing shouldn’t dictate how you’re doing.
You need to do better for you.” She levels me with the look.
The one that says I’m an idiot. And maybe I am.
I head to the kitchen to pour us both some wine.
After handing her a glass, I settle on the sofa before I pull Penelope down next to me.
“I feel crazy, Pen. I know this whole situation is my fault, but I hate that he won’t talk to me.
I have gone to text him so many times, but I haven’t sent any.
” I’ve written him letters and emails that I’ve erased, left in drafts, deleted, or set on fire, depending on the day. “Have you seen him at all?”