Twenty-Eight
The next few days pass in a blur of mundane tasks and obsessive thoughts. Ben has texted twice. Theo hasn’t reached out at all, not that I expect him to. By the time the weekend arrives, I finally break down and tell Angela everything. The football game and my poor one-on-one skills, the candlelit dinner I ruined, Theo asking for us to be a real couple, up to the bitter end outside my apartment when he asked if we were over.
Angela doesn’t say it’ll all be okay or that I’ll get through this, because she’s not a liar. Instead, she opts to comfort me in the only way she knows how.
“Cheap vodka for your problems?” She slides the brown paper bag in her hands off to reveal a bottle of Smirnoff. I make a face. “Should I have gotten the good kind?”
“Let’s not fool ourselves. There is no good kind.” I let out a long sigh as she plops down next to me on the couch. “I’m not really in a drink-my-feelings kind of mood. It’s been a long week.”
“Oh, thank god.” She lets out a sigh of relief. “I’m too exhausted for shots. I’ll probably pass out on the floor after two. God, we’re getting old.” She sets the bottle down on the coffee table.
“We’re maturing,” I correct. “Some would even venture to call not drinking away your problems growth.”
“Maturing.” Her mouth twists like she swallowed a mouthful of the untouched liquor. “I call it the beginning of the end. Today we’re too tired to drink. Next weekend we’re breaking out the knitting needles and sipping tea we made from a kettle. You know you’re the third person I’ve tried to pass this bottle off to? Even my twenty-two-year-old cousin wouldn’t take it.”
“That’s a good idea, actually,” I tease. “I’ve been meaning to take up a new hobby. And I think I have some peppermint tea bags in a cupboard somewhere.”
“Sounds healthy. Is this your starter pack to getting over Theo? Letting liquor bottles gather dust and taking up knitting?” When I don’t answer, she continues. “We both knew he was a bad idea from the start, right? You can move on now. From Theo and Ben.”
“Hmm.” Although I’m the one who broke it off with Theo, I inexplicably hate that she seems to think it was a good idea. “That would be the logical first step, but alas, I have not been very logical these past few months.”
“What in particular wasn’t logical?” Her brows crease at my silence. “Okay. What aren’t you telling me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Theo,” she says. “How do you really feel about him?”
“Oh, would you look at the time? It’s—” I’m bluffing to get her off my back, maybe even out of my apartment, until I notice the time on my phone reads a minute past eight. “Wow, it’s still early. Maybe we are getting old.”
“Not old. Maturing.” She smirks as she crosses her arms, raising a brow in a way that tells me she’s not going anywhere. “Answer the question. How do you feel about him?”
I let out a tired sigh, but it doesn’t hide the despair in my voice. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Oh, Marcela. No.” Her eyes widen as she realizes something. “You’ve got it bad for him, don’t you?”
“I didn’t think I could feel this way for anyone else, you know? For years, it’s been all about Ben. And the first time it’s not about him, it has to be his brother.”
“This is a good thing, Marcela.” She grips my shoulders. “The whole point of this was to get over Ben!”
“But Theo—”
“Is still in love with Alice?”
And I surely don’t try to convince Alice she’s making the biggest mistake of her life by marrying you.
I don’t think she’s making a mistake because she should be with me. How I feel for her has nothing to do with that.
Feel. Present tense.
I shrug. The truth is, after everything we’ve been through, I still have no idea. He only told me that he was done with her for good, but nothing about whether his feelings have actually changed. If maybe, through some miracle, I made him change his mind about her, too. The same way he’s made me change my mind about Ben.
“I don’t know,” I finally say. “It was easier to be with him when the scales were even. They don’t feel even anymore.”
“Because you’re over Ben, and he may not be over Alice?”
“The closer Theo and I got, the more I started to get over Ben,” I say. “It wasn’t because his true colors started to show. Not really. That only happened when I stopped giving him the attention he was used to. He tried to kiss me once, I think, but all I could think about was Theo. How Theo was the only person I wanted to kiss.”
The way Angela’s looking at me, you’d think I sprouted a second head.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She recovers from her stunned expression, shaking her head. I’m still wondering what she’s not telling me when her face turns contemplative. “You don’t think Theo experienced the exact same thing when he was with you?”
“I don’t know,” I repeat. “He hasn’t said he has.”
“Have you told him?” she counters. “That you’re over Ben?”
“No.”
“The way I see it, you two are like mirrors.” She holds out her palms, has them face each other an inch apart. “You were drawn to each other because you understood each other in a way no one else could. Two wildcards in love with one half of an engaged couple. Hooking up should’ve been a terrible idea.” She slaps her hands for dramatic effect. “I thought it was a terrible idea. But maybe it wasn’t. You guys helped each other grow, held each other accountable, made each other better people. He’s the only one who knew how to do that for you, just like you’re the only one who knew how to do that for him.”
I turn over everything she said, a flush of warmth filling my chest.
“I was worried about what Ben’s engagement would do to you,” she says, expression sheepish, embarrassed maybe to admit this to me. “It’s not that I thought you’d go as far as Theo did before you stopped him, but I thought you’d try something similarly stupid. I thought you might capitalize on Ben’s jealousy, use it to your advantage, but you never did.”
“You really think we made each other better people?” I ask, doubtful. But maybe hopeful too, that she could see us that way.
“It would’ve been so easy for you guys to enable each other’s bad intentions. Instead, you expected him to be better. Not for you, but for himself. And I think that made you want to be better for yourself, too.” She holds out her palms again. “Mirrors.”
“Oh my god.” It finally clicks. “I think you’re actually right.”
“Of course I’m right. It’s a shame you don’t listen to me more often,” she says with a shrug. I scowl at her, but I can’t hold it for long. “I don’t think his remaining feelings for Alice, whatever they may be, is the issue here.”
“Tell me, o wise one,” I say sardonically. “What’s my issue, then?”
“Why have you never been in a serious relationship before?” Her eyes pierce through me. “It’s not because of Ben. It’s not because the dating scene sucks. What’s the real reason?”
“The dating scene really fucking sucks, though.” She rolls her eyes at my non-answer. I know where she’s going with this, but as much as I want to refuse to give her what she wants, I can’t. “Fine. Because no one’s ever loved me before.”
“Ha!” I cross my arms in defense at her sudden outburst. “You should’ve seen him before and after your library date. The man was crushed! You think you have it bad for him? He’s got it So. Fucking. Bad for you, Marce.” She drops his nickname for me so suddenly, I snap my head back to her. She lets out a loud, maniacal cackle, and only laughs harder at the surprise on my face. “What? You can’t honestly tell me you didn’t know that.”
“You were there?” I gasp. “After?”
“Yeah. Had to help the big guy clean up after you left him hanging.” She shrugs. “He was a mess.” She halts in her tracks. “Wait, should I be telling you this? Oh, shit. Does knowing that make this better or worse?”
“I’m not sure.” I stare at her, gathering the courage to ask her something I’d normally be too chickenshit to. “I fucked this up royally, haven’t I?”
“Answer me this first,” she says. “What’s the real reason you’re too scared to try?”
“I don’t want to lose him,” I admit. “I don’t want us to break up in a month or a year down the line when we realize we’ve made a mistake. I don’t want the heartbreak my mom experienced when her marriage fell apart. I don’t want the abandonment, the broken trust, or anything else that comes with letting someone in. I don’t want to let him into the mess that is my life, have him take one look at it, and decide he’s better off without it. Without me.”
“What makes his mess any better than yours?” she counters. “We all have baggage. He’s already seen yours and still decided you were it for him. Why can’t you trust him with yours the same way he can trust you with his?”
Is there any part of you that wants to try?
“Maybe we need this after all.” I swipe the bottle of vodka and head into the kitchen. “I should have something in here we can use as a mixer.”
Angela follows, looking over my shoulder into the refrigerator. “So much for healthy coping mechanisms. Oh, that bottle of Coke should work fine.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s flat.” I grab it anyway, along with two glasses to fill with ice before setting them down on the counter to mix the drinks. “Might as well use this up since I’m the third person you tried passing this off to. It’d be wasteful not to.”
“Wasteful.” She nods, smirking. “Right.”
“Shut up and drink your flat Coke and vodka.”
“Whatever you say.”
We clink glasses and sip. In the silence, I can’t help but think over everything I just admitted to Angela. I don’t want to lose him. Before talking to her, I assumed breaking up was an inevitability. But maybe…
“I love him.” Angela looks up at me, surprised. Even I’m a little surprised by how easily the words came. “I don’t want to be the kind of person who’s too afraid to try. Pushing him away isn’t doing either of us any good. It’s just hurting us both now rather than later, when maybe we can actually make it work and neither of us has to hurt at all.”
“Love, huh?” Her smirk is wobbly, masking the fear I’m fighting not to feel. “That’s a big word.”
“I mean it.” As if I’m rewarding myself for saying it out loud, I down the rest of my drink before pouring a second round. “Is it really that crazy? That we could maybe love each other after everything?”
“No.” Angela softens, then downs her drink like she’s the one with the big revelation. “Just promise you won’t forget about me when it all works out with you and Theo.”
“Are you kidding me?” I pull her into a hug and her arms wrap around my shoulders like a vise. “Never.”
“You should tell him,” she says, excitedly. “Everything you told me. He deserves to know how you really feel.”
I suck in a breath, anxiety spiking in my veins at the thought. But it’s accompanied by something else, something dizzying and giddy that makes the organ in my chest pump harder. Excitement.
“You’re right.” I nod, grab the phone from my back pocket. “I’m gonna tell him.”
“Yes!” Angela throws an arm around my shoulders. “Tell him how you feel! But maybe wait until the morning, or a more appropriate time of day.”
“You’re right,” I say, but this giddy energy isn’t going anywhere. If anything, it turns to anxiety. “But what if I lose my nerve in the morning?”
“It’s not possible to schedule texts, is it?” She frowns as I shake my head. “Damn.”
“It’s not even ten yet.” I show her my lock screen, where the time is displayed. “How bad would texting him right now be? I have to tell him, and I have to do it before I lose my nerve.”
“Give me that.” She snatches the phone from my hand before I can react. “How much vodka are you putting in these? Might be time to lock the phones away.”
“I wasn’t putting that much.” But one glance at the half empty liquor bottle discredits me. I don’t feel that drunk. A bit tipsy perhaps. Two minutes and a slow blink away from an unintentional nap on the floor, sure. But not drunk.
In the end, Angela’s the one who crashes on the floor while I take the couch. The fact that neither of us makes it to the bed should tell us something about the effect the alcohol has on us. When I open my eyes, I can’t tell if any time has passed. The lights are still on. Angela is fast asleep on the floor, her back rising and falling gently with her breaths. Her phone is sitting on the coffee table while mine is tucked in the right back pocket of her jeans. She never made it to the lock case.
I’m just going to check the time, I tell myself as I lean off the couch, pinching the sides of my phone with my thumb and pointer finger, ensuring I’m not touching her before carefully sliding it free. She doesn’t stir.
Except, I don’t even register the time before I find myself opening the message app. I yawn into my hand as I type out a quick message, hoping I’m not too late. That he hasn’t already decided he wants nothing to do with me anymore. I can’t let this mistake grow any bigger than I’ve already allowed it to. He needs to know how I feel, and I need to know if he can forgive me. This can’t wait. I won’t be able to sleep properly with this weight on my chest.
As soon as I hit send, with nothing weighing me down anymore, my eyes blink closed and I fall back asleep.
My tolerance must not be what it used to be, because when I wake up in the morning my head is pounding. Angela must have turned off the lights in the middle of the night. The living room is dark except for the light coming through the window. She’s still fast asleep on the floor, arms wrapped around her shoulders like she’s cold. I step over her to get to my room and return with a blanket.
“Mmf.” Angela turns over, blinking awake, as I drop the blanket over her. “What time is it?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t checked yet.”
I grab my phone from the couch when last night returns to me: me sneaking my phone from her back pocket, pulling up the message app—
“Oh no.”
“What happened?” Angela asks, still half asleep until she looks into my face, at whatever frozen expression must be painted on it. “Marcela, what happened?”
“I texted Theo last night.” The memory rushes forword until it’s all I can think about. God, I don’t even know what time it was when I sent him that text. What must he be thinking? I have no way of knowing from my empty lock screen, clear of notifications.
Her wrinkled brow straightens as she spots the phone in my hand. “You little sneak thief.”
“You never made it to the lock case. If there’s anyone to blame here, it’s you.”
“I didn’t send your ex-rebound a drunk text in the middle of the night, now did I?” She crosses her arms and pins me with a look.
“I wasn’t that drunk.” Even so, I deserve every bit of the stern disappointment in her face. “Just… sleepy.”
“What time did you send it?”
My thumb hovers over the message app, nerves overwrought. Why the hell did I think sending that message last night was a good idea? I should’ve waited for a more reasonable hour at least. I should’ve asked him to talk in person about how I feel, not whatever hastily thought-out text I ended up sending last night.
Angela rises to her knees for a better look at my screen. I’m almost afraid to let her see whatever catastrophe I may have sent Theo, but for the first time in a while, I don’t want to be alone to deal with whatever fallout will come of this. After finally tapping the message icon, it opens immediately to our text chain. The message was sent at approximately 2:48 a.m.
I changed my mind. I can’t walk away from you for good. Please tell me you still feel the same.
I want to give us a second chance.
Oh god.
Of course I meant every word, but that doesn’t mean he had to hear it through text. There’s still no resolution between us, or the people we’ve both attempted to come between. But maybe—if he’s willing to forgive me, that is—it’ll be worth the risk to try. The thought comforts me more than it makes me anxious, which has to be a momentous step forward.
I want Theo. Maybe I even want him to know how I feel.
Just as I’m beginning to think maybe this is a good thing, I chance a glance at Angela. Except when I do, the blood has drained from her face and I find horror in her widened eyes. She looks back at me, shaking her head furiously. My brows furrow in a silent question until I turn back to the screen. That’s when I notice what she must have seen first. Because it’s not Theo’s name at the top of my screen.
It’s Ben’s.
“Fuck.” I let out a breath, chest heaving. “Holy fuck! What am I gonna—” I let out a loud gasp as the status below the message changes to read. Then I let out an ear-piercing screech. Angela flinches before making a grab for the phone and tossing it across the room. It lands with a crash somewhere in the hallway.
“Okay, okay, let’s calm down and think.” Angela reaches for my shoulders in a hard grip. “This is bad, yes, but we can fix it.”
“How?” I burst, panic flooding my veins. “How can we possibly fix—”
A loud vibration from the hallway makes both of us jump.
He’s calling.
Angela meets my eyes imploringly, as if to say, Don’t do this. But there’s no going back. The only way out is through. I spent years avoiding this truth I so desperately wanted to be untrue, and all it bought me was a smokescreen.
I want to be better than this.
Before I talk to Theo, I need to clear things up with Ben for good. The text might not have been meant for him, but at one point it could’ve been. It’s time to face up to the feelings I’ve been fighting to outrun head-on, once and for all. It’s the only way I’ll be able to make good on my promise to move on from him.
I rise from the couch, numbness settling over me as I carry myself to where my phone landed, pick it up from the floor, and hit answer.