Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Brittany
“So you had a good time, right?” Harlee slides into the seat across from me. “We haven’t talked that much since we got back to New York.” There’s a concerned expression on her face, and instantly, I feel guilty.
“Of course, I had a good time,” I reassure her, picking up my water and taking a sip of it. “It’s just been the insane case load we’ve had recently … We’ve both been running around like chickens with our heads cut off.”
And I still haven’t gotten anything back from Weston.
“You’re right, you’re right.” Harlee lets out a light laugh. “I guess I was just worried that maybe Florida wasn’t as great as you’d thought it’d be, or that you’re really good at faking having a good time.”
“Definitely didn’t fake it.” I giggle, shaking my head as I pick up the menu. This is a newer café, and while Harlee and I usually hang out on work days, she asked me to meet her on a Saturday, and I couldn’t tell her no.
We spend the next few minutes perusing the menu and discussing whether or not we should be adventurous and try a Mediterranean dish or play it safe with just a chicken club sandwich. We both end up deciding to play it safe, and as we hand over the menus, Harlee grins at me.
“You know, I’ve been texting him.” She giggles, pulling out her phone.
“The Georgia guy?” I ask, thinking back to the guy who was stuck to Harlee through most of our Florida trip. “Does this mean he’s not just a vacation fling?” I wiggle my brows at her as her cheeks grow red.
“I mean … I think he’s going to visit me in a few weeks.”
“Whoa!” I can’t hide my surprise. “Seriously? That’s amazing, Harlee. I’m so happy for you!” And I am happy for her.
But I’m also jealous, and then instantly guilty for feeling jealous.
“I’m trying not to get too excited about it,” Harlee admits, her smile fading to more of a straight line. Not quite a frown, but not a smile anymore, either. “I want to be realistic about the whole situation. There’s no way something serious will come out of a relationship that’s so long distance.”
“But he’s flying to see you,” I reason, shaking my head. “I think that counts for something. It shows how serious he is about it. There’s no way a guy would pay for a plane ticket just for something casual.”
“Maybe he has the money to do that though.” Harlee plays the devil’s advocate, her bubbly personality fading quickly.
“I can’t speak for that part of him,” I say carefully, not wanting to put false hope in a place it doesn’t belong. “But I don’t think you should automatically assume the worst, either. I think there’s a good chance he’s into you as more than just something casual. Actions speak louder than words.”
“And doubts,” Harlee adds, leaning her chin against the palm of her hand. “I just worry I’m too used to being let down, you know? What if that ruins it? No one likes to be doubted just because of someone else before them. That’s unfair.”
I nod, not having ever really thought of it that way. “I guess maybe we should all work on that—not assuming the worst in people because of our past partners. It’s hard, though.”
“That’s why it’s called baggage.” Harlee laughs, but it doesn’t come close to reaching her eyes. In fact, she almost looks sad.
Before the conversation can deepen, the waitress appears with our food, setting the plates in front of us. We both tell her “thanks,” then avoid the sobering conversation by digging into our food. It seems to be our routine—we talk until the food arrives, then focus on eating for a while.
My phone starts to vibrate in my bag, and I fish it out while chewing on the last of my fries.
I’m surprised to see Parker’s name on the screen.
I spin it around to show Harlee. “I’m going to step out and take this.
My brother never calls me.” I hit the answer button as I stand to my feet and Harlee nods.
“Hey, sis.” Parker’s voice is flat as I make my way to the exit of the restaurant.
“What’s up?” I keep my voice calm, but also leery as I step out into the sunlight. If there’s one thing I do miss about Florida, it’s the warmth. Coming back to a chilly March was not my favorite. I shiver under my cardigan and wrap my free arm around myself.
“I was just calling to check in…” His voice trails off in the most awkward way, and I can’t help but smile. “We don’t talk all that much, and we used to be really close growing up.” The lack of confidence in his voice is amusing.
“We were basically glued together as kids,” I say softly. “Kind of had to be.”
“Yeah.” He exhales. “Back when everything was loud, and messy. And … not great.”
I swallow. We don’t usually say it out loud like that.
“Did Amy put you up to this?”
“No, she didn’t, but she does make me think a lot harder about family. And the other night, when we were at Weston’s…” My heart skips a beat at the mention of his best friend. “We were playing Monopoly, and you know how much I love that game.”
“I know how much you love to win that game.” I snort, shaking my head. “I don’t think you can actually love something that makes you so angry.”
He lets out a laugh. “Yeah, you have a point there. But seriously, I just wanted to call and tell you that it reminded me of you, and all the times we played it growing up—killing time in that tiny kitchen, trying to drown out everything else.”
My chest tightens at that. The shouting. The slammed doors. The way Parker always found something, anything, to distract me.
“I miss the way we used to be close,” he continues. “And I’m sorry for the distance I put between us as adults. I think … once things finally calmed down, I didn’t really know how to be a brother without being your shield.”
His words land heavier than he probably intended.
And as much as he won’t admit it, I know this has something to do with Amy. She brings out this side of him, and I’m so happy about it.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, my voice softer now. “I know we both had our struggles with how we grew up, and it was a lot harder on you than it was on me—mostly because you made sure it was.”
He exhales slowly.
“You stepped in when you shouldn’t have had to,” I add. “You kept things normal when nothing else was.”
“I love you, Brit.”
“I love you, too, bro.” As the words leave my mouth, my eyes latch onto a familiar face, and all the warmth I was feeling from the conversation with Parker drains from my body.
Who is he with?
I swallow hard as Cal walks toward where I’m standing, his arm threaded around a tall, slender brunette’s shoulders. He’s casually leaning against her as they walk, laughing as he peers down at her, holding her gaze.
And then he kisses her.
My heart drops right to my stomach, and I force my eyes away.
I don’t know why it bothers me so much to see Cal with someone else. It’s not that I didn’t think it would happen, and it’s not like I want to get back with him.
It’s just … hard.
“Brittany?” Parker’s voice rings in my ear. “You there?”
“Brittany?” A deep, utterly familiar voice unknowingly echoes my brother.
“Who is that?” Parker sounds like he’s suddenly bristling. “Because I’m pretty sure I’d recognize that heavy Boston accent anywhere.”
“I’ll call you back,” I mutter into the phone just as Cal, and the woman he’s with, approaches me. I hang up and get a good look at the two of them. Up close, she’s striking, polished, effortless. Expensive in the way I never quite managed to be.
The kind of woman he always said he didn’t care about being with.
The kind I slowly tried to turn myself into anyway.
“How have you been?” His voice is painfully cheerful, and as much as I’d love to give him an earful about the heartbreak he handed me, I stay amicable.
“Great,” I say, automatically pasting a smile on my face.
Because that’s what I learned to do—be agreeable, easy. Whatever kept the peace. Whatever kept him from pulling away.
“How have you been?” My eyes bounce to his new—I assume—girlfriend, who just smiles at me like I wasn’t once engaged to the man on her arm.
“Good,” he tells me, and then, just like that, he guides his new lady away, not even bothering to introduce her. He doesn’t even look back.
As if I’m frozen on the sidewalk, I watch until they disappear into the crowd.
And the part that hurts isn’t that he’s with someone else.
It’s the way my chest still tightens when I see him. How, instinctively, I compare myself to whoever he chose next. And the fact that there’s still a small, stupid part of me that wonders if I was enough.
I drag in a breath, my throat thick.
I was engaged to Cal. I built a future around him, bent myself into shapes that fit his life, his expectations, his world.
And somewhere along the way, I stopped being the girl who painted, who dreamed, who made choices because they felt right instead of because they were convenient.
That’s what scares me.
Not him.
But what I was willing to give up.
I rake my fingers through my hair, shove the phone into the pocket of my jeans, then spin around and head back inside.
And that’s when Harlee steps out.
“Hey,” she says, a concerned look on her face. “They needed the table.” She holds out a to-go box with, what I assume is, the rest of my sandwich.
My shoulders sag as I take the box from her. “I’m so sorry. I got stuck on the phone, and then…”
“I saw him.” Harlee gives me a sympathetic look. “Forget that guy.”
“For sure,” I say with a light laugh.
And for once, I mean it.
Forget him, not just so I can be better. I mean forget him because I don’t want to be that version of me anymore.
“You wanna come to my place and watch a movie or something?” I glance up at the overcast skies. “It looks like it’s going to rain anyway.”
She nods eagerly. “That sounds like the perfect afternoon to me.”
We make the short walk back to my apartment, but I stop at my mailbox, just in case. I’ve been waiting for something from Weston for days now, and every day I’ve checked, I’ve been left completely disappointed.
Maybe the postcard was too much.
“Anything from your pen pal?” Harlee asks, standing a few feet behind me. She’s giving me adequate space to process what I probably won’t find, and I have to respect her for that. She knows that I’ve been anxiously awaiting a reply, too.
“Let’s see…” I turn the key in the box, and then pull the door open, bracing for more disappointment. I grab the stack of what I know will just be bills, and start to flip through them one by one.
Please…
My breath catches as I get to a regular envelope, my heart skipping a beat as I see the handwriting that’s found its way under my skin.
“You got something!” Harlee explodes into a fit of happy laughter, and I look over at her, feeling heat creep across my face. I love that she’s excited. “Here, I’ll hold your other mail, so you can open it right now!”
I nervously laugh then pass her all but Weston’s letter. I tear it open carefully, revealing notebook paper that’s been colored green with a colored pencil or crayon. I unfold it, and catch a picture before it falls out of the card and onto the floor.
It’s of Polly, the stuffed cat, wearing a Saint Patrick’s Day headband with, what I assume is, a dog shirt that says Kiss Me, I’m Irish.
I erupt in laughter, the sound surprising even me. And it hits me how different this feels. Light. Easy. Like I don’t have to be anything but exactly who I am.
I turn to the letter.
Brittany,
Happy Saint Patrick’s Day, I think? This should be getting to you about that time.
It’s hard to plan the delivery dates appropriately.
I just want you to know that your postcard was an amazing surprise.
I hope you enjoyed Florida. I’ve been there a few times with my family as a teenager, and it was nice.
Though, I have to admit, I’m a little disappointed I didn’t see a gator on a lounger. That would’ve been epic.
I hope your day is as lovely as you.
Wes
P.S. Your brother is really obnoxious about Monopoly. Just saying.