The Truth About Heartbreak

by Celeste, B.

  “And River James is what you need?”

  Yes. “The apartment is yours,” I tell her instead, ignoring that conversation. She already knows the answer.

  “I don’t want your fucking pity!”

  “I’m not giving you pity, Isabel.” I take a deep breath and lean forward. In my softest voice, I say, “I’m giving you freedom. That’s what you really want, isn’t it? The ring on your finger was supposed to be your way out, but it doesn’t have to be the only one.”

  She blinks. “You’re … serious?”

  “The rent is paid for the next year,” I answer, locking eyes with her unsure gaze. “I know it’s more complicated than that with your father, but it’s a step in the right direction. You make good money doing what you love. There’s no reason he has to control you, much less who you marry. Just because he made bad business choices doesn’t mean you have to save him. Parents aren’t supposed to rely on their children, it’s the other way around.”

  This time, she’s speechless.

  I reach into my pocket and pull out the single key resting in it. It’s the last one to the apartment, since she still has the other.

  Leaning forward, I rest it by her phone in front of her. “I’m not asking you to forgive me, Isabel. The shit I’ve put you through will be something I regret for the rest of my life. All I’m asking is that you find happiness. Do what you want. Live in the apartment you’ve told me all these years you love. Redecorate. Fall in love. Prove to your father that true love exists. Just be happy, Issy. Not for me. Don’t do shit for me. For you.”

  I’m shocked to see her eyes glaze over as she peers down at the key. Her fingertips graze the ridges before she blows out a steady breath. “We really are horrible for each other, aren’t we?”

  “Afraid so,” I murmur.

  She nods once. We sit there for a few moments in silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s what we need right now.

  Pulling open her desk drawer, she pulls a folded piece of paper out. At first, I don’t recognize it. But when she passes me the yellow, crinkled, paper, I know exactly what it is and what’s written inside.

  “For the record,” she whispers, eyeing the paper between us, “I don’t hate you, Everett. I don’t particularly like you right now, but hate is the furthest thing I feel. When I found this letter as I packed, I couldn’t make myself read past her name. What we had may not have been real love, but I do love you. If I read this letter, all of that would go away. We’d have nothing good left between us.”

  Accepting the letter I wrote nearly six years ago, I blow out a quiet breath, like I’m dispelling my anxiety and worry. “I love you, Issy. We’ll always be friends.”

  Isabel laughs, brushing tears from under her eyes and sniffing back more from falling. Even tears can’t break her. Not really. “Let’s not get carried away. I still think you’re an asshole.”

  That makes me smile. “Let me know what furniture you want to keep, and I’ll get people in there to remove the rest of my things. Make a home out of that place, Issy.”

  She doesn’t ask me where I’ll live, because she probably already knows. The cabin is my home. River is my home.

  Hopefully, she’ll find hers.

  36

  River / 23

  July boils me alive in the California heat, and I’m not sure I’ll ever complain about New York summers again. My hair is a frizzy mess that Steph has to teach me how to tame, and I’d say she’s mastered it based on her silky-smooth strands.

  In the few weeks I’ve been here, Steph has kept her promise to make me live. When I want to stay in and watch movies, she takes me out on the town. We’ve seen new stars on the Hollywood walk of fame that have been added since I was here last, and she’s shown me some of her new favorite places; restaurants that cost a kidney to eat at, hidden diners that remind me of Pop’s in Bridgeport, and food trucks that offer any type of food we could want.

  Sometimes I’ll go to set with Mason and Steph to pass the time, though Steph claims she’s the one who keeps convincing me to go. I just like looking at the setup they have, so when she’s assisting in costume, I wander around the lot. It’s not large, because of the low budget, but it’s still impressive.

  When I hear Steph yelling my name and running over to me with wide eyes, worry ceases me. “What’s wrong? Is Mason okay?”

  She grabs my arms and tries catching her breath, holding her chest as she sucks in as much oxygen as her lungs allow. “I need to ask you a huge favor. One of the set crew members showed up super high and got fired, and they need someone to step in to touch up a few things today. Maybe tomorrow, too.”

  My mouth goes dry. “Steph, I can’t—”

  Her blue eyes turn pleading as she yanks on my arm. “Pretty please? It’s just painting, Riv. They won’t expect you to build anything. Plus, I told them you majored in art, so you’re practically qualified!”

  “I majored in Art History,” I correct her, glancing at a group of people who seem to be watching us in wait. Panic courses through my frozen limbs.

  “Hey, look at me.”

  I obey, trying to force myself to calm down before I have a full-blown panic attack. I started getting them my senior year of college when I thought for sure I’d flunk my math class. Evidently, Everett saved me like he always does. No … did. Past tense.

  “It’s just painting, River. I promise,” she begins, voice softer than the panicky tone she gave me before. “You know how to hold a paintbrush, and I haven’t seen you do anything art-related since you’ve been here. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the sketch pad that’s been in the same place all lonely and sad in your room.”

  Glancing down at my sandaled feet, I count to ten backwards and finally relax. “I’m not inspired, is all.”

  “You’re not letting yourself be,” she counters with a sad frown dulling her face. “I know you promised Bridgette and Robert that you’d try. But are you?”

  I don’t answer.

  She doesn’t let up. “You’ve always wanted to make them proud, so do that. Help out on set, do what you love, paint or draw or whatever when we get home. The best friend I knew back in Bridgeport hasn’t been living with us over the past month. The ghost of her has been. And don’t think I won’t sage the house or call Father Thomas from the Catholic Church down the street to perform an exorcism until my bestie returns.”

  There’s no stopping the ridiculous laugh that bubbles out of me. She claps and jumps, wrapping me in a quick, tight hug.

  “There she is.” She squeezes my hands and gestures toward the people staring. “They’re going to give you what you need and tell you what to do. It’s so simple even I can’t mess it up, so don’t start overthinking like I know you want to.”

  She pulls me over to the set crew and introduces us all. The person in charge, Briggs, is in his late fifties with salt and pepper hair and a gray beard that covers his less than amused expression.

  Before Steph leaves she whispers, “Don’t worry. Briggs always looks like this. It’s his version of resting bitch face, except ‘bitch’ is more like ‘bored’. Go show them what you’ve got, babe!”

  Then she runs back to whichever trailer she’s working in today.

  Briggs assesses me and sighs heavily, like I’m not who he’s looking for. “Well, you’re not high, so that’s a good start. Come on, kid. We’ve got a lot to do today.”

  I remember what I said I’d do while I was here—live, be happy, and not let anything get in the way of doing something great. This could be the first step at keeping that promise.

  Mom and Dad will be proud.

  Steph comes home after a long day on set with a huge smile on her face and an envelope in her hands. Dropping it onto my lap, she stares at me until I hesitantly pick it up. She’s giddy and bouncing where she stands, her hands waving for me to hurry up.

  Tearing it open and pulling out the contents, I inhale a sharp, surprised breath. “Uh, why am I holding a check from your empl
oyer?”

  She squeaks. “They paid you for your help this week doing the sets! And Briggs asked if you could be put on for the duration of the film, because there’s always work to be done like you did this week. You got that man to like you, River. I didn’t think that was possible.”

  It’s probably because I don’t talk unless someone prompts me. The others chit chat and joke around while they work, but I never know what to say. Briggs will sometimes come and ask me how I’m doing and inspect whatever project he gave me, just nodding before moving on to the next person.

  “I’m being hired to work there?”

  She bolts toward me, dropping on the couch and tackling me in a hug. “Yes! How exciting is this? We’ll see each other on set! You get to paint and be creative and I get to help dress people and make them look pretty. I mean, how awesome is this?”

  “Uh…” My shoulders rising is my only response. I never thought I’d work on a film set. The week has gone by fast and it’s been a nice distraction, but it makes me remember the youth group I said goodbye to last month. Those kids are where I want to be, and Melanie and I spoke to them about me needing this time to heal, so I can be the best person for them when I’m back. Working another job feels wrong.

  “We need to celebrate,” she informs me, quickly standing and pulling out her phone. “I know how you feel about clubs, but there’s this really laid-back place I know—”

  “No!” I groan loudly, dropping the check onto the coffee table.

  She winks. “Sorry, I’m not familiar with that word. We’re going to get dressed up, put smiles on our face, and wait for Mase to get home. He’ll be our escort tonight.”

  There’s no point arguing with her. When she pulls me off the couch, it’s to her room and not mine. She helped me unpack, so she knows what I have in my closet isn’t club material. The huge walk-in closet in her room is definitely sporting options for the occasion though.

  She rifles through a few things, the scraping of hangers against the bar making me wince, before squealing and yanking out a black scrap of fabric.

  “What is that?”

  She laughs and tosses it at me. I don’t catch it before it hits me in the face, sliding into my hands. The material is soft and stretchy, and it looks like there’s a design in the middle.

  “It’s a bandage dress. It’ll look hot.”

  I don’t want to look hot. In fact, frumpy seems to be the perfect style for me. Nobody pays attention to frumpy.

  “Don’t look like I just told you that your puppy died,” she pouts, sitting down next to me.

  “But—”

  “I’m going to level with you because we’re friends.” She faces me with a stern expression. “You’ve been pining for the same guy your entire life. Don’t think I never noticed when we were younger. Just because I liked Everett didn’t mean I had claim. He always paid attention to you, so I get why you fed into that. And I’m not saying that’s why you fell for him or whatever. He might have been the first nice guy you encountered who didn’t make you feel scared, but I do think he always had some feelings for you. But after what happened, I think you deserve to try new things. Date new people. You already went out with David, right? And it didn’t work out. Who knows, maybe you’ll find someone tonight or on set or somewhere that will make you forget about Everett Tucker.”

  Her version of forgetting means using other men, but I don’t want to be like Everett. He used Isabel to fight his feelings for me. He used me to distract himself from Isabel. Using people gets you nowhere but in a tangled mess of what-ifs and unrequited feelings.

  Steph must sense my ill feelings toward the idea, so she sighs lightly. “You’re River Jean James, a fighter and a survivor. Let Everett drown in you, River. Let him see that you can’t be controlled or manipulated or beat down by old choices. Stop crossing oceans for people who won’t even jump over puddles for you.”

  And that’s all it takes before I’m secured in a black bandage dress with my purple hair in loose waves down my shoulders.

  I don’t want Everett to drown in me.

  I just want him to float away.

  37

  Everett / 27

  I’m back at the office after two weeks of working from home. Shit in town has died down, especially after Isabel started resurfacing around Bridgeport buying things for her apartment. It hasn’t been forgotten, but it’s better than listening to people whisper about me every waking second.

  Robert won’t admit it, but I think he may have warned people not to say anything about the topic—maybe even threatened termination. He’s a well-respected man, so people listen to him. But there are a few who test him until he makes sure they know he isn’t playing. Whether he did it for me or River, I don’t know.

  Not wanting to push my limits with his patience, I haven’t said more than I’ve had to since I started back at the office Monday morning. Robert went over a few deals he wants me to look into and that’s all. No updates on River. No talk of his thirtieth anniversary plans with Bridgette.

  He hasn’t called me out or gotten angry over the situation, and I wonder if it’s building until he can’t contain it or he’s choosing his battles carefully.

  The beep of the intercom stationed on my desk tells me Leigh, the new secretary on our floor, is trying to get in touch with me.

  “M-Mr. Tucker?” Her voice is shaky and nervous. “There’s a man who insisted on talking to you and he seemed awfully—”

  She’s cut off by Oliver slamming the door against the wall as he storms in.

  “I see that, Leigh. Thank you.”

  I lean back in my chair and try speaking before he can, but he’s next to me yanking me up before I can say a word.

  “What the fuck, Everett?” he growls, slamming me against the white cement wall behind us. I let him, despite standing a few inches taller and having more muscle mass than him. He needs to work this out on his own.

  From the corner of my eye, I see Robert standing outside my office. He doesn’t intervene, just watches silently along with Leigh and a few others.

  Oliver’s fists twist my white dress shirt as he shoves me against the wall again. “You told me nothing bad would happen to her, Everett. I asked you if something was going on with my little sister and you lied to me.”

  Pointing out that he asked me when we just started at Penn would be pointless. I did tell him nothing was going on between River and me because there wasn’t at the time. He suspected she had a crush on me and I assured him he had nothing to worry about. He may not have liked Isabel but having her in my life seemed to ease his worry over my feelings for River.

  His hands are shaking as he pushes off me, leaving me against the wall. He doesn’t raise his fist or try to punch me. That isn’t Oliver James. He’s not violent unless he has to be and apparently, I’m not worth the hassle of a swollen hand.

  “I won’t hit you,” he murmurs, stepping away and raking his hand through his abnormally long hair. He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a plain gray t-shirt. Bags are under his angry brown eyes, making his anger dim compared to the exhaustion.

  Robert nods once at the back of his son’s head, like he’s proud. That’s all he does before he turns back into his office, waving in dismissal for people to do the same.

  When I’m sure Oliver is calm enough to hear me out, I push off the wall and flatten out my wrinkled shirt. “I’m not going to justify what’s been done. Just know that I never lied to you when I said you had nothing to worry about back then. It wasn’t until a little while later that I even started looking at her that way.”

  “That way,” he scoffs, dropping into a seat across from my desk. He drops his face into his hands, his elbows propped against his knees.

  After tucking my shirt back into my navy slacks, I take my own seat again. The door can stay open for all I care. Let people listen and pretend they’re not.

  He straightens up and eyes me. “I get that shit with you and Issy was never good. But why Rive
r, Everett? Why my sister?”

  With a loose shrug, I return, “Why not her, Oliver? She’s gone through hell and back, experienced the type of pain I can relate to. But unlike my sad excuse of a life, she channels hers into her passion and lets it make her stronger. I admire her strength and ability to trust and love and fight. I’m not sure I know another woman like her.”

  I’m not sure I want to, I add silently.

  He blows out an exasperated breath. “I wouldn’t have cared so much if you weren’t so set on staying with Issy. River didn’t deserve the kind of treatment she got from you. I’m not saying she’s innocent in all of this, but she might not be as strong as you think.”

  That makes my jaw tick. “Why not?”

  He eyes me skeptically, like I’m not supposed to be irritated he would question his sister’s strength. “My dad asked me if I knew that her birth mother found her. I think he was asking the wrong guy about it.”

  Leaning forward with wide eyes, I stare at him in surprise. “Her birth mother?”

  He grumbles something under his breath. “I guess that answers that. Yeah, her birth mother found her not long before she left. It must have shaken her up not to tell our parents about it.”

  I remember River mentioning that she wanted to know about her mom, but never thought anything came of it.

  Then something clicks in my head.

  “What do you mean she left?”

  He rolls his eyes in disbelief. “Come on, man. Like you didn’t know.” When I don’t bother trying to speak, his brows raise. “Wow, you don’t know? She’s been in Cali for the past month. A little over a month at this point. She’s with Stephanie.”

  Swiping a hand across my jaw, I shake my head. “I promised Robert I wouldn’t reach out to her until she had some time to think. I didn’t …”

  His shoulders seem to ease from the squared position they held. “Well, she didn’t seem to tell anyone then. A tweaked woman came up to my mother one day when she was running errands claiming to be Savannah Scott, River’s biological mother. And, I got to say man, Mom showed me a picture and they look too much alike for it to be a lie.”