Isla and the Happily Ever After
Page 58“Yeah.”
She sits beside me on my bed. “I’m sorry.”
I cry. She stays with me until I can’t cry any longer.
Christmas Day. Mainly I hang out beside the tree and attempt to read one of my presents. It’s a book about a man-eating tiger, but I can’t muster up any of my usual enthusiasm. My parents don’t ask me to help them in the kitchen, and Gen picks up the extra slack. Even Hattie silently takes over my portion of the dirty dishes.
That’s when I know things are really bad.
I peek at my phone before bed and discover only two missed calls. No messages. Either he’s getting the picture, or he’s respecting my Christmas Tree Agnosticism.
Even thinking that phrase hurts.
“May I come in?” But Gen is inside before I can answer. I drop the phone back between my socks and slam the drawer shut. “I used a desk drawer,” she says. “When my girlfriend broke up with me.”
“Sarah broke up with you?” Now I feel awful about that, too.
“Yeah. Right after Thanksgiving, actually.”
“Did she call you a lot afterward?”
“No.” Gen gives me a sad smile. “I hid my phone for the opposite reason.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
She shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. It sucks either way, right?”
I sit on my bed, and she sits beside me and places her head on my shoulder. We’re the same height. Strangers have often mistaken us for twins. “Do you still miss her?” I ask.
“A little. It’s better every day, though.”
“Why’d you break up?”
“I’m replaceable.”
Gen lifts her head, hackles raised. “He said that?”
“No, but it’s true. He fell for me because I was there. I could’ve been anyone.”
“Don’t say that. Why do you say things like that?”
“Because that’s what happened.”
She stares at me in disbelief. “You’ve always been so hard on yourself.”
I stare at my hands. I am hard on myself. But isn’t it better to be honest about these things before someone else can use them against you? Before someone else can break your heart? Isn’t it better to break it yourself? I thought honesty made people strong.
“Hey.” Gen nudges me. “Show me what’s in the tube.” My head shoots up, and she shrugs. “I saw him drop it off yesterday.”
I can’t stop myself. “How’d he look?”
“Like you’d torn out his heart and stomped on it with your tallest stilettos.”
I’m a bad person. I’ve hurt him. I never wanted to hurt him, and somehow it happened anyway.
“Do you really think breaking up with him was the right thing to do?” Gen asks.
“I don’t know.” But I shake my head. “That’s not true. It was right. It was.”
“But you still love him.”
I swallow. “Yeah.”
“A lot.”
She pauses. “Would it make it better or worse if you showed me what’s in the tube?”
“Ohmygod. You’re relentless.”
“The word was ‘domineering’. Get it right.”
“Ugh. Fine.”
Gen opens my sock drawer. “I had a feeling I’d find you here,” she tells the tube. She pops off the top and gently taps out the paper. She unrolls it. “Whoa, Nelly.”
Shit. I’d forgotten he drew us naked.
“So. You guys were serious.”
“Please, Gen. Don’t.”
“Is that a Joshua tree? On an island?”
“Yeah.”
“Well…fuck. That’s a really romantic gift.”
“I know.”
“He’s good. The art,” she clarifies. “I mean, he was good when he was a freshman, but this doesn’t look like it was drawn by someone in high school. Not even a talented someone in high school. This is, like, the real deal.”
“Will you please stop complimenting my ex-boyfriend?”
Ex-boyfriend. The word tastes sick on my tongue. I hadn’t even let myself think it until now. Every single part of me wants to take the word back.
“I’m just saying he’s talented.”
Gen rolls up the drawing and slides it back into the tube. “You win.”
But she’s wrong. I’ve lost everything.
One miserable week and no phone calls later. No messages. New Year’s Eve. There’s shouting and singing and general drunken revellery down on the street. Our neighbours have been blasting dubstep for the last three hours. I’ve been watching television in my bedroom alone. Just like Josh and I talked about on our first date.
Ten minutes until midnight.
Josh and I were planning to meet at Kismet. We were going to ring in the new year with a kiss. I’ve never had a New Year’s kiss.
Nothing about this decision has gotten any easier. That awful word torments me. Ex-boyfriend. I can’t accept it as the truth. I don’t think…I don’t…I don’t know why I’m doing this any more. I think I freaked out that night in the car. I know I freaked out. And I have a very deep, very ugly gut feeling that I’ve made a mistake.
Josh told me that I’ll never know what kind of person I am if I don’t take any risks. Apologizing would be a risk, grovelling would be a risk, begging for his forgiveness on my knees would be a risk.
What have I done? I love him.
Of course he’s worth the risk.
Suddenly, I’m ripping off my pyjamas and throwing on a dress and coat and boots. I’m racing past my sleepy parents in the living room, and I’m shouting that I’ll be right back. I’m ignoring their cries of concern. I’m running downstairs, onto the pavement, across the street. The air is frosty and sharp, and the wind is strong.
Josh, I’m coming. I know you’re there. Please don’t leave.
I tear around the corner, and there it is. My beacon of hope. I race towards its glowing front window, dodging taxis and bumping into a guy being shouldered home by a friend. There’s a loud cry of anger, but I keep running until I burst through Kismet’s shining glass door. The café is still open. But it’s empty.
Two employees are sitting at a table. They look up at my entrance, surprised.
“Excuse me, but is there a guy here?” I’m panting, but I have to raise my voice over the loud rock music blasting from the speakers. “Was there a guy here? About my age?”