by Sarah Peis
“I have to go.”
“I know.”
And I wish you didn’t. I had this awful feeling that once he walked out, I would never see him again.
He looked over his shoulder at me before closing the door.
My heart squeezed painfully in my chest. But instead of wallowing, I searched for my clothes and got dressed, taking care with each item. I knew I was stalling, but I foolishly hoped Landon would come back.
But he didn’t, and eventually there was nothing left to do but leave.
“Look who finally turned up,” Taylor greeted me when I made it back to the hotel room. I wanted to turn around and go back to Landon’s motel a million times. But then reality hit, and I reminded myself that he and I lived different lives. Our homes weren’t even in the same state. We could never work.
“Yeah, sorry I bailed on our girls’ weekend.”
I wasn’t really sorry, of course. My weekend had been like living a dream. One I would remember for the rest of my life.
“You don’t look very sorry,” Kelly said from where she was reclining on one of the beds.
Since I didn’t care what she thought of me, I ignored her. That would get to her more than anything I could say.
“Where were you anyway?” Taylor asked, her eyes never leaving her phone.
“I met someone.”
She stopped typing and finally looked up. “So did we. But we didn’t just disappear all day and night.”
“What time do you want to leave for the airport?” I asked, not wanting to get into it with her. I was feeling unsettled after leaving Landon. The thought of never seeing him again did funny things to my insides.
“In an hour,” Kelly said, getting up from the bed. “I’m going downstairs to get a few souvenirs.” She looked at Taylor, pointedly ignoring me. “You want anything?”
“I’m good, babe,” Taylor said, and Kelly left. The temperature in the room went up at least ten degrees.
“I’m taking a shower,” I announced, escaping into the safety of the closed bathroom. At least the trip home would be quick. I didn’t feel up for company today.
The first thing I did was take a scalding hot shower. Images of the last time I took a shower flashed through my brain, and I shivered at the memory.
Once I was dressed and looked halfway presentable again, I took a seat on the toilet. My brain was still trying to escape my skull, but at least I was feeling less nauseous. I already missed Landon and couldn’t resist the urge to message him.
Me: Thank you for an unforgettable weekend. Already miss you.
Before I could second-guess myself, I hit Send.
I waited for a few minutes, hoping he’d message back. I knew how busy he was at the show, but hopefully he’d get to take a break and see it. Or maybe he wouldn’t see it until tonight.
And then I remembered his phone was broken. I wondered if he’d had a chance to get a new one yet, then decided it might be better if he didn’t see the message. Sending it was impulsive. I shouldn’t have done it.
I distracted myself and packed my stuff. There wasn’t much time left before we would head for the airport.
I didn’t get a reply to any of my other messages, not that night or the next day.
Guess it had just been a weekend fling for him after all.
“What crawled up your ass and died?” Brielle asked, crinkling her nose. “You’ve been a bitch to me all week.”
“Don’t use that word. It’s not nice. And if you would just clean your room like I’ve asked you to a million times today, I wouldn’t have to nag.”
I didn’t usually care if her room was clean. She was almost eighteen, and I wasn’t her mother. But I’d been irritated and bitchy all week. I was even starting to piss myself off with my behavior.
“You’ve been touchy ever since you got back from Vegas on Sunday. Did something happen?”
I waved her off and took a sip of my wine. I didn’t want to talk about it. And I definitely didn’t want my sister to know what I’d gotten up to. And that what I thought had been the best weekend of my life seemed to have been just that. A weekend.
I’d sent Landon more messages, all going unanswered. I felt foolish for thinking he wanted more. I had been such an idiot. But it was hard to just shut off your feelings. I’d felt so much for him in Vegas, and I’d thought of him every day since coming back.
“Do you want more wine?” Brielle asked, bottle already in hand.
“I still have half a glass.”
“Let’s make it a full glass.”
She generously poured the alcohol.
“How about a lettuce leaf? Or an almond?” she asked, looking at me with wide eyes.
That brat. It was true, I was always on a diet. Didn’t mean she had to be a little shit about it.
“No, thanks. I’m full. I think lettuce would tip me over the edge,” I said.
She nodded, folding her hands in front of her body. “Since you’re drinking your calories today, I can see how that would be too much.”
“What are you doing home, anyway? I thought you were going shopping.”
She plopped down next to me and put her feet on the coffee table. I stared at her pointedly, and she rolled her eyes before dropping them on the floor.
“I’m broke. The twenty dollars I have left for the week are better spent on coffee.”
“When did you get so smart?” I teased, nudging her shoulder with mine. “Sorry we don’t have more money at the moment, but Maimeó’s funeral kind of cleaned us out.”
She shrugged, leaning her head on mine. “I know. Things will get better. And once you’re back to your normal uptight self, we can all get on with our lives.”
“I’m not uptight.”
She scoffed. “Of course not.”
“I just have goals in life. You should try it sometime.”
“I have goals.”
I quirked a brow. “Like how many parties you can go to in a weekend?”
“That’s one of them. The other one is how many brownies I can eat without throwing up.”
I made a face. “You’re gross.”
She grinned. “I know.”
“But I love you. Even if I yell at you all the time.”
“Love you too. And the yelling is kind of therapeutic. I’d miss it if you suddenly stopped doing it. And besides, you don’t yell all the time. Like right now. Your voice is as soothing as a church hymn.”
“Things will get better.” I sighed.
At least I hoped they would. Work had been more of a struggle than usual. And Taylor was relentless in her quest to find out what happened in Vegas. Dodging her had become a full-time job.
Brielle sat up, eyes bright. “They will. Because we’re awesome.”
“We are.” I reluctantly nodded.
She clapped her hands together to make sure I paid attention. “Now repeat after me: I’m a kick-ass bitch, and I will sort my life out. And I’ll buy my beautiful sister the necklace she’s dying to have.”
I waved her hands away from my face. “Shut up.”
She shrugged. “Worth a try. Now, do you want to go for a walk? Or a run?” she asked, not looking at all excited by the idea. I wasn’t surprised since she didn’t like running.
“You’d go for a run with me?”
“I would. Because I love you and I know something happened. And you won’t tell me about it. I figured I’d just wear you down strategically until you break.”
I chuckled. I had no doubt she’d be relentless. But there was no way I’d talk about Vegas.
“Fair enough. You can try, I guess.”
“You’ll break eventually.”
She seemed awfully sure of herself. I didn’t know if I should be scared or impressed.
“We’ll see. But lucky for you, I don’t feel up for a run. Why don’t we watch TV instead?”
Brielle snatched the remote off the table before I had a chance to. “Let’s do a lucky pick.”
I groaned. A lucky pick could go sideways quickly. We’d been doing it ever since I got a black eye and Brielle ended up covered in lemonade when we couldn’t agree on what to watch. She threw the remote at me—hence the black eye—and I emptied a whole bottle of lemonade over her head in response. We’d just moved in with Maimeó, and things were still a little shaky.
As a punishment, Maimeó would only let us watch TV when we used the lucky pick method. And now that was just how we did things.
We’d both close our eyes, and whoever had the remote would just click through. The other person would randomly call out, “Stop.” Whatever movie or series was selected was what we would watch.
It led us to discover some great shows but also sit through some duds. At least we could usually agree if a show was bad and change it.
After landing on a cooking show, we both leaned back on the couch. Brielle took my hand and held it until I went to bed. Little sisters could be the best if they wanted to be.
“The guy over there bought your coffee for you again,” the barista said when I tried handing her money.
I turned to where she was pointing and spotted a good-looking man in a tailored black suit. It was the same guy who had bought my coffee for the last three mornings. His brown hair was cropped short, and he was a few inches taller than me.
I immediately thought how he looked nothing like Landon. Because despite not having heard from the man in two months, I still thought of him every day.
Maybe it really was time to move on. And flirting with someone else seemed like the perfect place to start.
I smiled at the guy, and he beamed back at me. Once I had my coffee in hand, I walked over to where he was sitting.
He stood up as soon as he saw me approach and held out his hand. “Hi. I’m Henry,”
“Kinsley,” I said and shook his hand. It was warm, but his grip was loose. I was one of those people who judged others by their handshake. Firm was good, loose not so much.
But if I did that now, I would just turn around and walk out of the café. I wanted to move on from Landon with a desperation that scared me, and the only way I knew how to do that was to meet someone else and move. The hell. On.
I ended up staying for close to two hours talking to Henry. He was almost ten years older than me, had his life together and the same goals as I did. I agreed to meet him for dinner that Friday.
When I got home, I pulled my phone out of my bag, deciding I had to take the last step to recovery. After staring at the dark screen for a few minutes, I turned it on and brought up Landon’s number. It was time to move on. No more pining after someone who didn’t want me.
I felt like throwing up when I deleted his number. Then I went into my messages and deleted the message thread with him.
And because I didn’t do things halfway, I also went into my photos and deleted all but one of the photos we’d taken together. It was my favorite photo and showed us in front of the Lady Luck sign in the Neon Boneyard.
After pathetically staring at the picture for longer than I’d ever admit to, I threw my phone on the couch and leaned back.
It was time I learned how to exist without him again.
Landon and Kinsley’s story continues in the full-length novel Some Call It Devotion.
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Please enjoy the following excerpt from Kinsley and Landon’s story Some Call It Devotion.
Some Call It Devotion excerpt
Sarah Peis © 2020
NOTE: MAIMEÓ = IRISH WORD FOR GRANDMA, PRONOUNCED MA-MO
“I’m not married.”
“I’m afraid you are. Says so on our records.”
“You must be mistaken. Can you check again?”
“Ma’am, I already checked twice. It won’t change. If your name is Kinsley Fitzgerald I suggest you get a divorce if you want to get married in three months.”
“But who am I—”
That’s when it all made sense.
Son of a goat. That lying bastard didn’t get an annulment.
This was not part of my ten-year plan. In fact, there was no room for error in the plan. And a delayed wedding would blow out my timeline.
I growled and my eyes went wide at the sound. I didn’t growl. Especially not in public.
I ran my now sweaty hands up and down my dress self-consciously. I overslept this morning and rushed to get out of the house. Henry didn’t like it when I was late, which was always. Hoping to avoid another argument, I threw on the first thing I could get my hands on—a lime green baby doll dress with frogs on the hem. And here we were, at the California County clerk’s office to get our marriage license—and failing. My humiliation was complete.
I pasted a bright smile on my face, remembering my manners. “Thanks for your help. Have a nice day.”
She didn’t acknowledge me.
Sighing, I turned around, searching for Henry. My fiancé had been on the phone the whole time we’d been here. He didn’t even realize we hadn’t signed anything. Instead, he started walking outside when he saw I was no longer speaking to the clerk.
I followed him and waved my hand in front of his face when he ignored me. After looking up briefly, he walked to the car that was waiting for us.
The driver met us at the side and opened the door.
“Thank you, Stuart,” I said and slid into the cool interior.
“I need to go back to the office,” Henry said, pausing his phone call only long enough to bark out his instructions to Stuart. The drive was blissfully silent, and I didn’t have to make up a phony excuse why we couldn’t get a marriage license. Not that Henry seemed to notice we didn’t do the one thing we went there for.
The car stopped and Henry leaned over, his lips ghosting over my cheek. “See you later, honey.” His attention was back on his phone as soon as he was out of the car.
“Bye,” I replied to his back, already dismissed.
The door closed, and we pulled back into the busy afternoon traffic. I sank into the soft leather and took a deep breath. It would take a while to get back to my apartment.
Henry and I weren’t living together. Instead, I rented a two-bedroom apartment in downtown Los Angeles with my sister, Brielle. She was the main reason why I hadn’t moved into his McMansion yet. The two didn’t exactly get along. But I loved him and ignored their disagreements. Lately, they seemed to have come to a truce and were at least tolerating each other. But neither one of them knew about Landon.
I thought I would never have to mention my time in Vegas. But with the way things stood, the one and only time I decided to just go with my gut ended in a mess that I didn’t know how to fix.
And now here I was, trying to come up with a way to tell my fiancé that I was already married. I had no way to predict how he would react. He was a calm guy. Never yelled. Never got angry. Annoyed, yes, but not once had he yelled at me. We barely ever fought. Agreed on most things.
I was happy when he asked me to marry him, but now I wasn’t so sure. Because thinking of Landon brought up feelings I thought I’d buried in the deepest recesses of my heart.
Maybe if I could find him and get him to sign the divorce papers, I’d never have to tell Henry about my foolish mistake.
A plan was forming in my head. One that would get me out of this mess and back on track.
Turned out divorcing Landon was harder than I thought. I didn’t have his number anymore, since I deleted it when he didn’t respond to any of my messages after Vegas. But with the help of the Internet I tracked him down within a day.
I remembered the name of the garage where he worked, and it didn’t take long to find out that he was still there. But talking to my husband turned out to be more difficult. I left several messages at his office, but they all wen
t unanswered.
After three days of calling and getting no response, I decided to go see him. He was only a short flight away, and I had his work address. I needed to get a divorce soon or I wouldn’t be able to get married in three months.
I booked my flight to Denver for the same day, leaving me just enough time to pack and get to the airport. Pulling my biggest suitcase out of my closet, I started throwing clothes inside. I had no idea what I should bring. What did one wear to get a husband she barely knew to sign divorce papers?
Brielle tore into the room while I was packing my running shoes. “Where are you going? You can’t just leave without warning. I need time to prepare for your departure. This causes undue emotional stress.”
My sister was as dramatic as a toddler. I loved her with all my heart and enjoyed living with her—most of the time. She’d worked as a waitress since finishing high school a few months ago. She said she was still trying to find herself. I thought all she was trying to find was the next deadbeat who treated her like shit. But that was an argument we had too many times to count.
“Something came up, and I have to go to Colorado for a day or two,” I said, throwing more random clothes toward my suitcase.
She pushed out her bottom lip. “But I’m starting a new job tomorrow. I need moral support.”
At that, I stopped packing and looked up. “You didn’t tell me you were changing jobs.” And I knew why. She wanted to avoid a lecture. Because she’d already switched jobs three times in the last few months. “What’s the new job?”
“Retail. My friend Marcy works at this little boutique. And they were looking for someone.”
“That’s good,” I said, thinking that wasn’t good at all. Marcy was my least favorite of all her friends.
Her mention of a job reminded me I needed to actually tell my boss I was going away, which I was sure would go down well. Or not.
I worked my ass off in a dead-end job for a boss who thought yelling was a normal way of communicating. It was my first job out of college, and I was desperate to prove myself and took it. But it all came at a cost—mainly my free time.