20. Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty
ALDEN:
You made a good point about pretending, and I don’t want to lead you on, so I’ll stop pretending I can be more for you.
I’ve been tossing and turning all night, thinking about everything that’s happened with Alden. I wish I could blame my insomnia on jet lag or Harriet or something else, but I know what’s bothering me down to my core.
You can’t want more from me.
You always seem so happy when you eat. Sharing something as natural as this with you makes me feel like I contributed to your happiness, even a little.
You made a good point about pretending, and I don’t want to lead you on, so I’ll stop pretending I can be more for you.
Everything with Alden has been so complicated. I don’t understand him, the flip-flop between the man I can’t stand to be around and the man who sparks something deep inside me. Hating Alden is all I’ve known, but every time he shows me his vulnerability or tries to undermine a kind gesture, it makes me question how deep my hatred for him really runs. Or if there is hate at all. He makes me question myself and everything between us. If I’d met him under different circumstances where he wasn’t a guest at the resort, would I still have slept with him?
Stuck in a constant state of tiredness, I roll onto my side and grapple for my phone in the dark. It’s 4:37 a.m . And I don’t think I’ll be getting back to sleep tonight. Usually, a run and tuning out to a true crime podcast helps clear my mind, so I pull on my running shoes, determined to get my mind off Alden and his demons.
The wind pelts across my cheeks as I maintain a quick, steady pace. The air is cool and crisp and perfect. It’s a welcome relief from my 101-degree apartment. I don’t stop running, not even when my lungs burn, fighting back against the torture I’m putting them through. My pulse races against my throat, but I keep pushing. Only when my sneakers hit the edge of the beach, the pavement changing to sand, do I stop.
Choppy breaths drag from my lungs as I rest my hands on top of my head, trying to slow my breathing. The emptiness of the beach comforts me the closer I get to the shoreline. I like it this way, when there’s no one around. It’s tranquil, and it makes me feel small. The expanse of the beach stretches on for miles, and I’m only a speck standing on it.
I’ve grown to love that feeling each time I come here, but lately, I have anything but love for it. Instead, it makes me feel lonely. My whole life has been me running from that feeling, that lingering pang that crops up whenever I think about it too hard. Like when I was twelve and getting ready for my first girl-boy dance alone, thinking how it would be the perfect moment for Harriet to help me with my hair or my makeup. And that pang hit me square in the chest and winded me.
Because I didn’t get those moments. I didn’t get a mother who cared enough to show up for a big moment in my life. I got the mother who disappeared to Greece for two weeks and left her daughter to fend for herself. Over the years, I’ve learned to quiet that feeling when it got too loud, mastered how to shut off the part of me that longs for something that I missed out on. But recently, that feeling is getting harder to avoid.
I have my friends; I have people who care about me. It should be enough. But it isn’t. Not anymore. It feels selfish to admit it, but I’ve gotten a taste of the remedy to my loneliness, and for the first time, I want it. Crave it. But I don’t know if I’m brave enough to take the chance and grab on to it.
It physically hurts knowing that it’s so close, and I can’t have it. Because all the times I’ve really wanted something for myself, the more it hurt when it didn’t work out. The possibility of another disappointment is crippling. It’s like being thrown a life ring in the middle of the open ocean, but you can’t see the person holding the other end. There might be someone there to pull you in and save you, or there might be no one, just an empty rope, and you’re left floating aimlessly.
It takes faith to depend on anyone that much, to give them your heart and expect them to keep it safe, and I don’t think I have that kind of faith anymore.
Pausing my podcast, I take my earphones out and fall to the sand. The waves lap at the shore methodically, and I get lost watching them. I sigh deeply, letting the salty air penetrate.
It’s going to be okay. I’ll be fine. But will I?
Since our one-night stand, nothing has been the way I wanted it to be. Alden has shown me glimpses of the man he could be, the man I want him to be, and then it all vanishes. Like it was never there to begin with. He could be someone I break my rules for, but could it really be enough?
Every good sense I have tells me to cut this thing with us out at the root, to save myself from the impending fallout I know is coming. But my neurosis takes over, wanting to see what else I can uncover about Alden and what else he’s holding back from me. Because I’ve seen it. Between the dry humour and the cement walls he puts up, I’ve seen a deeper side that I just can’t continue to ignore.
The sun is slow to rise, just like my mind. It feels like hours that I’ve been sitting in the same spot, just thinking of all the things I shouldn’t.
As I stretch out my limbs and dust off the back of my shorts, something brushes up against my leg. It’s a baseball cap with the Yankees logo stitched across it. Just as I bend down to pick it up and inspect it, I’m met with vivid baby blue eyes, ones that catch me completely off guard.
My gaze trails up the body in front of me, and I make a note of the man’s broad chest and fluffy light-brown hair.
“I think you have something of mine.” The man’s gravelly voice washes over me like a gentle hug.
He smiles above me, his shadow just big enough to block out the light from my eyes. I blink, taking him in. When I don’t answer, he clears his throat.
I straighten, tracing the uneven stitching mindlessly. “Huh?” And look down at the cap I’m fondling. “Oh, here.”
His eyes dip from my throat to my face as he continues to smile brightly. I reach out and hand him the hat.
“Thanks.”
I’m hypnotized by how he runs a hand through those soft waves, his hair bouncing back into place before he puts the cap on his head.
No, thank you.
He’s staring at me again.
“You’re welcome,” I squeak.
“Braxton,” he says, sticking out his hand for me to shake.
I’m normally not in the business of shaking hands with strange men, but there’s just something about him.
“Monroe,” I manage without choking on my tongue.
Braxton holds onto my hand a little longer before he lets go, causing a furious blush to creep up my neck.
“So, are you really from New York, or are you like one of those people who wear hats and band tees but don’t even listen to the music?”
He flashes me a playful smile as his eyes search mine. And he bobs his head, nodding.
“I am from New York.” He pauses, looking me up and down. “But I did just take these off the mannequin in the first Banana Republic I stumbled into. Didn’t even know it said Yankees on the hat. I should probably be more careful with my clothing choices, lest a stranger point out my poser ways.”
I chuckle. “Ah, see, you beat me to the punch. Here I was going to say you don’t get paid to promote J. Crew outside the store, but Banana Republic , now, that is so much easier to mock.”
Braxton’s eyes crinkle, his delicate features glowing when he grins. “You don’t even know me, and yet you’re making quite the bold first impression by mocking where I shop.”
I feign offence at his accusation, clutching my chest and gasping for effect. “I would never mock a stranger. No, I’m simply pointing out the fact that you dress like a blind nun styled you.”
“Ouch,” Braxton chortles, crossing his arms over his chest. “How about you? Are you a born Floridian, or do you just enjoy sweating through your clothes and spending your downtime slandering every innocent bystander who crosses your path?”
My cheeks burn, and I duck my head down. I could blame the heat, and maybe Braxton would believe me. But deep down, I think we both know that isn’t the real reason I’m blushing right now.
It’s unexpectedly enjoyable to talk to a guy who is interested in what you have to say. I’m possibly more jaded than most people, but it seems genuine. And easy. And it’s not intertwined with fake niceness or an ulterior motive where all he wants to do is skip to the end, where we sleep together. Which is a rare thing these days.
“Not every bystander, but many of them, yes.” I tuck a wild strand of hair behind my ear. “Been here for seven… yeah, seven years now. But honestly, the heat isn’t so bad once you get used to it.”
“Not sure I’ll be here long enough to get used to it. I’m only staying until I finish up some business before heading back to New York.”
I hum, but I can’t stop smiling. “Busy guy. And let me guess…” I pause and watch as Braxton hangs onto my every word.
His loose tee does nothing to help him, and when a gust of wind gives me a peek at his toned, sweaty alabaster stomach, I can’t help but openly gawk at how built he is. Sleeper-build, check. There’s no pressure as I stand here, ogling the handsome stranger. No voice in the back of my mind telling me I’m going to get hurt if I continue down this path. It’s innocent, as much as obviously checking someone out can be.
Braxton is still waiting for the rest of my sentence, I realize. He seems to take notice of me perusing him, and his lips pull at the edges.
“…when you’re not attending to business, you’re actually a spokesperson for dying retail stores. How much are they paying you?”
He takes off his cap and shoves it into his back pocket. “You got me. But I’m trying to keep it on the down-low, so if you don’t mind keeping that information to yourself, I would really appreciate it.” He winks.
A cold snap of the wind makes me cross my arms, but I can’t help the laugh that slips past my lips and escapes. It doesn’t take long for Braxton to join me. We laugh for a while before he looks away, pulling himself together.
He checks his watch then, brows dipping, and looks back at me apologetically. “I hate to leave without asking for your number, but I just remembered I have a meeting that I’m late for. Maybe I’ll see you around, Florida. It was great meeting you.”
My smile fades, but I remain composed.
“Sure. You too, New York.”
He walks back up the beach, and I watch him go. He only looks back once to give me an irresistible smirk before disappearing up the boardwalk. While walking back the way I came, I can’t help but wonder why Braxton didn’t ask for my number. Was he really in a rush like he said, or did he sense the vibe I’ve been putting out lately? The one that mentally shuts down any man who even looks my way. Did he sense that?
Just as I close the door to my apartment, a loud knock startles me. I think that maybe it’s Harriet, forgetting my spare key for the third time this week. My heart races when I think it might be Alden. We didn’t leave things on the best of terms. But when I open the door, I’m relieved to see that it isn’t either of the two people I thought. It’s Laryssa, an effortless smile on her face. As I open the door wider, I notice she’s standing there, a bag slung on her shoulder, donning a set of pink and purple pyjamas with tiny unicorns on them.
Her eyebrows shoot up as she gives me a dissatisfied once-over.
“Don’t tell me you forgot.” She scowls.
“Um, no. Come on in.” But I did forget.
Laryssa doesn’t waste a moment as she pushes past me and makes her way to the living room. Her eyes scan every room she passes, like she’s searching for something or someone.
“She’s not here,” I say, knowing exactly who she’s on the lookout for.
“That wasn’t what I was doing.”
“Sure.”
Following Laryssa to the living room, I watch as she rummages through her bag, pulling various things out. A tub of our favourite rainbow sprinkle raw cookie dough; the latest issue of Fade! , the only gossip rag we read; and a budget-friendly bottle of vodka that could last us years.
Shit. I remember what day it is, and guilt tumbles freely in my stomach. It’s our monthly dish session. And I totally forgot.
“I can hear your brain from here.” Laryssa is perched on the couch, looking at me. “I knew you’d forget.”
With a sigh, I say, “I’m sorry.” I don’t have the energy to come up with an excuse.
“It’s okay. You get a pass this time.”
“It is? Why?” I sit down on the couch beside her.
“Because I’m in a forgiving mood,” she jokes. “And I also know you’re dealing with a lot right now, with Harriet being back.” Laryssa sucks on her teeth like just saying Harriet’s name puts a bad taste in her mouth.
She doesn’t know the half of it.
“Thank you,” I mutter quietly, hugging myself tighter.
Not one to dwell, Laryssa tosses her bag to the ground and slaps her thighs. “You better go get changed right now because I refuse to be the only one of us wearing these hideous pyjamas.”
My throat clogs with emotion, but I nod anyway. And I run to my room, possibly breaking the World Record for changing clothes. When I come out, Laryssa is already digging into the cookie dough.
“Hello? What happened to waiting?”
She shrugs, the spoon hanging from her mouth. She takes it out momentarily. “I got hungry waiting for you.”
I scoff. “I was gone five seconds max.”
“Your punishment for forgetting the most important day of the month.” I know she’s joking. But it cuts the same. Laryssa senses my mood shift. “I told you it was fine, so put it out of your mind, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Besides, we have celebrity couples to make fun of.” Laryssa hands me a spoon.
I grab the spoon from her, chuckling, and reach for the magazine. I idly flip through it.
Laryssa’s eyes go wide, spoon midair, as she cries, “Oh my god! No way!” while slapping a random page. She snatches the magazine out of my hand.
“What?” I ask.
She stands up on the couch, bouncing on her toes. She buries her nose in the trashy magazine. “No fucking way.”
I don’t know what she’s freaking out about, but I get up, trying to catch a peek. But Laryssa continues to hold it hostage.
“What? What?” I’m getting impatient now.
“Look at this,” she says.
I glare at her. “That’s what I’ve been trying to do.”
She hands me the magazine, and I sink back down to the couch, my eyes raking in the pictures. It’s two full pages of Martina Mikhailov, our unofficial favourite messy nepo baby, punching a paparazzo in the face.
“Holy shit.”
The pictures sequentially show the chain of events. It goes from her covering half her face with her Chanel coat and the camera lights blinding her. To her fist connecting with the nearest paparazzo and him staggering back from the punch. Her blonde hair is a mess, glitter and possibly throw-up caked into the bun atop her head, and she’s wearing the deadliest heels I’ve ever seen someone wear.
But what I notice most is her expression. She doesn’t look angry at the man, just scared, like she wasn’t expecting her reaction, either.
“Does it say if he’s pressing charges?” Laryssa asks.
The “article” doesn’t mention anything except the incident in question. “Nothing.” At a loss for what to say, I toss it onto the table.
Laryssa tuts. “That wasn’t what I thought I would see today.” After a beat, she turns to me. “How are things with Harriet? Really?” I groan, throwing my head back. “You had to know I would ask.”
“I honestly thought you wouldn’t bring it up.”
She shakes her head. “You know me better than that.”
I sigh, opting for the truth. Laryssa knows me too well, apparently. “They’re fine, I think. I just feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
Laryssa gathers up her hair and ties it into a neat bun. She blows the few stray hairs from her eyes. “I still can’t believe you invited her to live with you. Are you crazy?”
My chest tightens. “Maybe a little.”
“So, why did you do it?”
With an exasperated sigh, I rub the bridge of my nose. “I don’t know, Lar. It was like I was possessed by my ten-year-old self, feeling like I needed to make her stay, to give her some roots so she wouldn’t go.”
Laryssa looks at me like I’m a wounded puppy. “You can’t force people to stay when all they want to do is go.”
I shut my eyes to stop myself from getting weepy. “I know. But I didn’t expect her to stay this long. Maybe it’ll be different this time.”
A heavy silence blankets the two of us. “Maybe.”
Laryssa looks at me like she understands where I’m coming from, but how can she really? I know she doesn’t have the best relationship with her mother, either, but this is different. She can never understand the nights I spent crying myself to sleep, wishing my mother wanted to spend time with me. Or how I could never depend on her to pack me a lunch, my stomach growling so loud in the middle of class that everyone knew it. She can never understand feeling so unwanted and unloved that most days, I thought about running away until one day, I finally did.
She gets up from the couch and changes the subject. “Do you want some popcorn?” The duality of our friendship stuns me sometimes.
She picks up a microwaveable bag from the table and dangles it in my direction.
“That’ll be my breakfast today, I guess.”
“You need a day to indulge. Let that day be today.”
I lead Laryssa to the kitchen, opening up the microwave for her. “Fire it up then. I’m starving.”
Just as Laryssa starts the microwave, the door unlocks. Harriet walks in and, upon seeing us, freezes. She flashes us a small smile.
“Hey.” She adjusts her mini skirt, eyes only on me.
“Hey. Fun night?” I pick at my nails.
I really, really don’t want to know.
She nods. “Yeah. Met up with some friends and went to a bar.” Her makeup is smudged in all the right places, and her lipstick smears her top lip. “Met someone.”
I shudder internally. I do not want that image in my head. “Great.” I force a smile.
Harriet points a thumb behind her. “He’s actually waiting for me downstairs. I’m just grabbing a change of clothes and then heading back out.”
She looks at me like she’s expecting my blessing. “Cool.”
“Cool,” she replies. Her heels click as she walks away, and a few minutes later, she emerges from the spare bedroom carrying a bag. Just short of the door, she stops. “Nice pj’s, by the way.” Before she heads out of the apartment.
Laryssa gawks at me. “Did she really just let some strange guy into your building?”
I chuckle awkwardly. “Better than inviting him up.”
“Cut the shit, Monroe,” Laryssa scolds, shaking the bag of popcorn aggressively before opening it. Steam wafts from the top. “You need to set some boundaries with her.”
I gesture to the door. I’m at my limit. “Do you want to try? Be my guest because talking to her—trying to get anything from her—is like tiptoeing through a minefield.”
She grabs my shoulders. “I know it’s hard, but you’ll feel better when you’ve laid down the law.”
“Or worse,” I grumble.
“But at least you’ll have grown some balls and addressed it.”
Laryssa is right in every sense of the word. But that doesn’t mean I can just magically gain the confidence and confront Harriet. It’s a lot harder to actually do something than just saying you will.
“I’ll think about it,” I finally say.
She hands me the bag of popcorn with a huff but doesn’t press on the issue further. Being treated like you’re nothing more than a mistake since you were born isn’t something most people can relate to. I know I’m holding on to Harriet too tightly, but I just want her to see me as more than a mistake she made at seventeen. Mostly, I just want to hear her say those three words to me. The ones that I’ve never heard. As lame and vulnerable as that is.