“You write?”
“My journals. You’ve seen them.”
“Oh, right. Your diary.”
“It’s not that,” I say carefully. “It’s more like . . . poetry, I guess. It makes me happy.”
“I didn’t know.”
How could he? I never told him. “Well, you do now. And one day—” Maybe this is too much for today. I shouldn’t push it. But, to my surprise, I want him to know. “I think I want to try and publish it.”
He rubs my arm. “That’s—I don’t know anything about that, but if that’s what you want, I’m sure it’ll happen.”
I grin. It’s as good an answer as I’ll get for now.
“So what’re we going to do about this mess?” he asks. “I assume since you’re here, it’s over with that photographer and you’ve got nowhere to live.”
My smile vanishes. Finn. If I can forgive my dad and Rich and move forward with them, then I can do the same with Finn. Once he understands where I was coming from, and he will now that I feel more equipped to explain, then we can patch up the holes we exposed last night and start on firmer foundation. “I love him,” I tell my dad.
“Banana . . .”
“I know. It’s soon. It seems irrational.” I pull back to look him in the face. “It’s not. He’s really good to me, Dad. In a roundabout way, he’s the reason you and I are having this conversation. He’s showing me how to be comfortable in my skin. Well, mostly. I’m working on it.”
My dad looks torn, and I don’t blame him. It sounds shifty, any way you slice it. “How does he pay the bills?”
“His pictures.” Kind of. “And he used to work on Wall Street, so I guess he does some trading on the side.”
His posture relaxes. “You don’t say?”
Now I’m speaking my dad’s language. But his question still stands.
What am I going to do about this mess?
Because that’s what I am—a mess. I’m realizing I’ll never have my shit together. And maybe that’s okay. Finn fell in love with my mess, and that makes it a little bit magical.
It’s become ours.
I ran away, though. I’m still learning to manage the emotionally-stunted teenager inside me. Will Finn understand that? How can I tap into the adult I need to be rather than indulge the adolescent I can’t seem to outgrow?
I’m not sure. All I know is, I’m not ready to walk away from him. I’m ready to run back.
31
As soon as I hear a key in the door, my eyes open. I didn’t shut the blinds last night; the room is bright and cheery. This time, it only takes me a second to realize there’s no key. No Halston. I haven’t really slept all night, startling awake every time I hear a noise, thinking it’s her. I’ve been too on edge to do much more than shut my eyes, my emotions pinging between worry, anger, and hurt.
She’s there.
With him.
I gave her a choice, and she didn’t choose me.
I told her this would happen. Love can only take you so far. If Rich gave her the kind of stability our relationship may never have, can I blame her for going back to him?
Yeah. I think I can. I let myself fall hard and deep. Now I feel completely fucked.
I didn’t handle things the best way last night, but when I saw another empty glass on the bar, I panicked. She was drinking with a big, alluring idea in her head—who knows what she might’ve done? After months of watching her come apart with even a hint of negative feedback, I wasn’t about to let her put herself in front of a firing squad. Not until we’d discussed it thoroughly, and I’d figured out a better way to explain how risky going public would be. She’d have nowhere left to hide. No armor to deflect judgment. Just me, and I’m not sure how much longer I could’ve gone trying to preempt anything that might’ve hurt her.
“Finn.”
I shoot up in bed, my heart nearly jumping out of my chest. Halston stands with one hand curled around the inside of her dry elbow, still in her dress, tights, and pumps. I look at the clock. 7:49 A.M. She’s never up and dressed this early on a weekend. For one selfish moment, I hope she’s been wandering around all night, but I know it isn’t true. She’s been with him.
I sit up against the headboard. “What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice scratchy.
She flinches. “I’m sorry about last night.”
“Me too.”
The sun highlights the bags under her eyes. The bright red color of her cheeks tells me she’s been crying. It’s not enough to make me go to her.
She steps into the room, taking off her shoes. “We hit a hundred thousand,” she says. “Even without the last photo. Happy birthday.”
I clench my teeth together. Again with this shit. I’m so fucking tired of hearing about followers, likes, comments. “Why are you here?” I repeat.
Her chin trembles. “For you. I get it now. I understand it better.”
“Yeah? Explain it to me.”
“None of us are without our faults or even . . . mistakes. I’m not saying I’ll accept being manipulated or controlled, but I’m beginning to see that it’s always come from a good place. Even with Rich.”
“Stop.”
“But—”
“I don’t know what this is, but if you’re here to justify going back to him, you can turn around and leave.”
“That’s not what I’m doing. I’ll just get to the point. I had a long talk with my dad this morning. He came to Rich’s. I’ve been fighting him for so long, and I’m tired. So is he. We have work to do, but I know he loves me and wants what’s best for me. He’s trying to understand that I’m the one who knows what that is, not him. Ten years ago, he didn’t think he had any other option but to get me professional care.” She takes a breath. “And now, it’s like I’ve opened my eyes. If I’m not angry at him, I can see you and Rich better. You want to protect me out of love, nothing more. Am I right?”
All I ever did was love her, hard. It’s defeating to try and explain that to her. I’m happy she’s finally getting there, but I also feel other things about it. Things I don’t yet understand. Like will her sentience keep? Was last night just a preview of what’s to come down the line? And am I ready for a potential lifetime of that?
The answer is yes. I can handle it. Or, I could have, before she made her decision and got into that cab.
“I want to keep you safe and happy because I love you,” I say carefully. “I love you so much, Hals, it hurts. Is it supposed to hurt?”
“A little, I think,” she says, her voice breaking. “It never hurt with anyone else, not like this. Doesn’t that mean something?”
“It means when you can’t handle the pain, you’ll go to them. The ones who can’t hurt you.”
She shakes her head. “That’s not true.”
“You did it last night.”
She swallows. A few tears leak over her cheeks. I want to go to her, take her in my arms, tell her I forgive her for what she did. The one thing—the only thing—I asked her not to ever do. Go back to him. Choose something or someone over me, the way everyone else in my life has. Because there’s only one way to describe what that choice did to us.
“Deal breaker,” I tell her. “I could’ve forgiven you anything else. Just not this.”
“But nothing happened,” she pleads, walking to the bed. “I slept on the couch. I barely even talked to him.”
That’s probably the least of my worries. After the way she and I have fucked, you don’t go back to someone like Rich for sex. “I believe you didn’t cheat on me. But it still doesn’t matter.”
She sits on the mattress edge, close to me, and lifts a hand as if to touch me. I look at it, and she scratches her elbow instead. “I don’t love him, either. And I meant it when I said I’d never return to him.”
“Sadie, who I thought I loved, chose someone else. My mom chose alcohol. Marissa, she’s going to choose Kendra if things keep going as they are. I believed you’d stick with me no matter how hard it got.�
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“I do. I can. I will.”
We stare at each other. She’s in my sheets, in my head. She always will be. I don’t know what to do. I can’t imagine going on without her, but this feels like the worst kind of betrayal. Indecision wars in me.
As she searches my face, her expression eases, and she sits back. “You’re right. I have to go.”
“What?” I ask. “Where?”
“I have to leave you.” Tears fill her eyes again, but she inhales them back and persists. “If I don’t, you’ll forgive me now and let me stay.”
I don’t argue with her. It was true the day she walked into the coffee shop, and the first time she came up to my apartment—and it’s true now. I can’t walk away. I can’t ask her to leave. She’s a part of me.
“You shouldn’t have locked me out of the account last night. Maybe I would’ve revealed myself, maybe not—but it was a mistake I needed to make. If I don’t make these mistakes, I won’t grow up. You’re the one who told me that.” She sniffs. “I need help, Finn.”
I want to help her. So fucking bad. I thought I was doing that all these months, constantly trying to protect her, deleting what I didn’t want her to see, watching my words about all things coffee, wine, shopping and smoking so I wouldn’t say something to make her feel scolded. She’s right, though. I want to kiss her tears away and make it better, but I can’t. She has to figure this out on her own, and it’s too much for one man, trying to save her from everything. I shouldn’t have bitten my tongue about her stopping treatment on her own when I knew it wasn’t a good idea. The only way I can help her now is by letting her get the help she needs.
She stands and picks up her shoes. I almost can’t take it. Where will she go? She needs me. I need her. “You can stay a few days,” I tell her. “While you figure things out.”
She looks at me and shakes her head. “If I do, I’ll break down into a puddle of tears, and you? You’ll pick me up. Dust me off. It’s who you are.” She takes a deep breath. “I love you, Finn. I love you enough to clean up my own mess.”
32
All the benches in the park are taken, even the one semi-hidden by a tree, the one I’ve declared as my bench. Not surprising, since it’s a beautiful day. I have to sit on a window ledge across from the park for a few minutes of peace.
Well, peace is pushing it.
When my mind is left to its own devices, it eventually drifts to her, and she brings me anything but peace. The memory of her walking out, barefoot in tights, a slump in her shoulders, stings just as sharp now as it did five weeks ago.
I pop the lid off my cup and toss the teabag in a nearby garbage can. I’m not much of a coffee drinker these days. First Sadie, now Halston. It’s got an unfortunate amount of involvement in introducing me to bogus soul mates. Some days, I want to say fuck it and go get Halston. It still feels like I’m missing a limb, and it doesn’t help that every goddamn square inch of my apartment, with the exception of Marissa’s room, is a reminder of her. There’s no surface I didn’t fuck her on. No corner I didn’t kiss her in. No chair she didn’t sit in my lap. I might have to give up the place.
I snap the top back in place and take a tentative sip. When I look up and see her coming my way, I nearly spit out my drink but overcorrect and end up dumping burning hot liquid onto my tongue. I use my napkin to mop up the spillage, my gaze trained on her. She hasn’t seen me.
Sadie.
My heart hammers in my chest. She walks in my direction. My urges jump between stopping her and bolting, but it looks like I won’t be doing either since I’m frozen to the spot. As stealthily as I can, I lower my sunglasses onto my face in hopes she won’t see me.
Fuck. In a city this big, I’d hoped I’d never have to see her again. I don’t know where she lives now, probably Brooklyn, but she left this neighborhood right after Nathan found out about us.
She looks the same, except that I’ve never seen her in spring, only winter. I remember her as dark, but she’s wearing a pink dress. To my surprise, it suits her. Her face is fuller, her dark hair shorter. A year and a half ago, I would’ve called her the love of my life, my soul mate, my future. Now I know—she was little more than someone in the right place at the right time. Or the wrong place at the wrong time, depending how you look at it.
Me? Now that I’m completely over her, I can say it was right. I don’t miss her. It’s a good thing she chose Nathan, because if she hadn’t, I never would’ve met Halston.
Even if just thinking Halston’s name is like a knife in my heart, I don’t regret a second of my time with her.
As Sadie passes by, the only urge I have left is to thank her for knowing better than I did. I will it to her, hoping she knows on some level that I’m grateful.
And then she stops.
Fuck.
She’s a foot past me when she says, without looking back, “I have a baby now. A girl.”
I let the news sink in. It could’ve been me, and I’m glad it wasn’t. I respond, sincerely, “I’m happy for you.”
“What about you? Have you met her yet?”
“Who?”
“The girl. The soul mate. The one.”
“You don’t believe in fate.”
She tilts her head. “Maybe I’ve changed my mind.”
I don’t have to think too hard about it. “Yeah. I’ve met her.”
I think she’s about to walk off, but then she turns around. She takes off her sunglasses, and so do I. Her eyes are as beautiful as I remember, an intoxicating blend of purple and blue. They’re not the cool, calm-before-the-storm gray I want in my life, though.
She comes and sits on the ledge next to me. “And?”
“And what?” My breakup with Halston is on both our shoulders. Just like with Sadie, I put a lot of stock in fate, in meant-to-be. I trusted that love was enough, even though I knew better. “I fucked it up. Is that what you expected to hear?”
She sighs, fidgeting with her sunglasses. “Of course not.”
“What’s wrong with me, Sadie? Why can’t I get it right?”
She smiles softly. The baby has made her warmer, I think. “I’m so sorry for how I hurt you. It was brutal. Nathan was my priority, and I didn’t have the time to let you down easy. But you know . . . Nate and I, we’re so happy now. And we’re not.”
My body tenses. I don’t want to hear this. I don’t need to know how content or miserable she is.
“Because that’s love, Finn. We work at it every day, still, even though we both understand that the other person isn’t going anywhere, even when times are tough.”
“What are you saying?”
“Happy endings don’t exist. That’s your problem. You thought you and I would ride off into the sunset and let fate take the reins.” She squints out at the park and shakes her head. “Nope. Fate doesn’t stick around for happy endings—it only gives you the opportunity to work for one.”
Sadie’s been in Halston’s shoes. She’s had to withstand the pressure of being ‘the one.’ I know I lay it on thick. I expected to save Halston, and for her to save me. So that I could have my fairytale. And that’s not exactly fair.
Sadie slips her sunglasses back on. “I have to get back to work, but I have a feeling you’ll be okay. If she’s really the one, you’ll get her back.”
Halston is my soul mate, love of my life, my future. She’s a handful and a lot of work, but I’ve made it this far. Sadie’s right. Why would I give it up to fate now, knowing that fucker’ll fumble the ball?
She stands and continues down the sidewalk.
“Sadie?”
She looks back at me. “Hmm?”
“Thank you.”
* * *
The next morning, I admit to myself I don’t really like tea. Not every day. Even though it’s painful to be there, I miss Lait Noir. It can’t be any worse than being at home, so I get my laptop and camera and head down the street to the café for the first time since Halston left.
There’
s nowhere to sit. It was idiotic to think fate had reserved me a table in a coffee shop or a bench in a park.
Honestly, what the fuck.
I check to see if my secret windowsill is open, so I’ll at least have a place to wait for a table to open up.
But what’s on the ledge sucks the breath right out of my lungs.
Memories hammer my brain like little metal bullets.
Not again.
I can’t go through this a second time.
This is a sick joke.
I walk over slowly, staring at the journal wrapped up in a leather bow. My chest tightens with regret, love, sorrow, longing. I look around, but nobody’s nearby. Maybe someone ran to the bathroom and left it to save their spot. Maybe it’s an illusion. Maybe fucking aliens beamed it down from outer space. Yeah, that sounds likelier than the other possibility.
It belongs to Halston.
I should walk away.
I pick it up.
Open it.
Like the first time, the opening lines slam me in the chest, but for a different reason.
December 8th
I think I’ve met the one. Which is strange, because that was supposed to be Rich. I never had this feeling with him, though. This fluttering in my tummy. I’m glad to report (fiiiinally) that butterflies do exist.
I can’t do this. I can’t be reading this. I continue.
Okay, butterflies are a bad way to describe love. That sounds more like lust. That would be fine too. I’ve always wanted to know what true lust felt like. I can’t possibly love this man I just met one week ago. Oh—Finn. His name is Finn.
I skip ahead.
January 23rd
Rough
Sandpaper kisses as calloused as your hands, as domineering as your fuck, as excruciating as your goodbyes. When you say hello, I can’t wait to do it all over again.
February 14th
Slip of the Tongue Series: The Complete Boxed Set Page 104