The XOXO New Adult Collection: 16 Full Length New Adult Stories

by Brina Courtney

  “Morning, Marin,” she said behind the piles of paper and files that towered around her. I handed her a cup of coffee from the shop around the corner, her favorite.

  “You like scones, right?” I asked, handing her the small box.

  “I love ‘em, but you didn’t have to do that,” she said, taking two blueberry pastries.

  “I really appreciate you meeting with me.”

  “What’s on your mind?”

  I waited for a second, then took a long sip of my coffee. Katie didn’t know what happened or why I had been out for a week. I thought of the different ways I could manipulate the words, but in that moment I forgot all of them. So I opted for pure candor.

  “Chad and I broke up,” I said. Her eyes flew open, and she dropped her scone on the desk. I reinforced my words with a nod.

  “Oh, my God, what happened?” She stared at me with gossip hungry eyes.

  “I caught him with another woman when I came back from Vegas. Early.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  I shook my head and looked at the floor. “So I called it off and kicked him out.”

  “That’s why you were out?”

  “Yep.”

  “I had no idea. Is there anything I can do?” she asked. If only there were.

  “Make him not a heartless bastard,” I said, crossing my arms and wishing she really could. Katie frowned and remained speechless. “I don’t know if I made the right decision. I help people patch up broken relationships all the time, and I threw him out. I do love him, but he hurt me so badly. How can I trust that he won’t hurt me again?”

  “I don’t know,” she said and sat in the chair next to mine. “Trust is a fragile thing. When it’s been damaged it’s hard to put it back together the way it was before. It’s a lot of work, you know that.” I nodded and she continued, “The question is—is it worth it to you?”

  “At first I didn’t think it was and that’s why I let him go. But I’m not so sure anymore. Did I make a mistake?”

  Katie put her hand on mine and looked me in the eye. “You already know the answer to that.”

  “And what’s that?” I asked.

  “You know.”

  What I knew was she had just pulled some shrink trick on me. I had done it many times before. The truth was she didn’t know the answer, but apparently I did. Only I didn’t! Or, one part of me wasn’t letting the other part in on the secret. In any case, all that was left was to mull over whether or not I thought it was worth it to work it out with Chad.

  For the rest of the day I sat through appointment after appointment, partially participating, but mostly absentminded. Just before I shut down my computer for the day, Andy appeared in my office. He had a habit of walking into my office unannounced to unload his cynical bullshit. What is it this time Andy, a smug comment? Unsolicited advice?

  “How are you doing?” Andy asked.

  “Fine,” I said, crossing my arms.

  “Sorry to hear about what happened,” he said. “It’s not an easy thing.” It was strange, his genuine tone. I mean, I couldn’t ever remember him being so nice to me.

  “What do you know about what happened?”

  “Katie told me you called off your wedding. She didn’t say why.”

  He didn’t know the circumstances of my newly ended engagement, but I was curious about the conclusions he had come up with. I wasn’t in the mood for a discussion, so I gave him a solemn look, hoping it would deter him from inquiring.

  “Stand up,” he said.

  I hesitated, but he urged me to stand. When I did, he wrapped his arms around me. A hug? It was a first. I definitely couldn’t remember compassion from Andy, but he was offering it. I’m a bit ashamed to admit it, but it felt good to be in the arms of a man, even if that man was Andy. The scent of his cologne reminded me of Chad. Tears surfaced, so I pulled away.

  “I’m sorry,” I said as I wiped my wet cheeks.

  “Sorry for what? Crying about your ended engagement?” I gave him a half-smile, unable to compose myself. “You’re gonna be fine, Marin. I’m here if you need to talk.”

  That was it. No discussion, no bullshit, just genuine kindness.

  On the walk home that evening, I analyzed my situation and my feelings about Chad for what seemed like the millionth time. There were no clear answers, so I decided to try another exercise from the Daily Meditations book.

  I sat cross-legged on the floor, candles lit, soft music playing, and a glass of vino by my side, trying to listen to my “inner voice.” After forty-five minutes of nothing, I gave up. The only thing my inner voice said was how ridiculous the exercises were. I pushed the book across the room. “This is so stupid!”

  I stomped over to the kitchen with my glass of wine and slammed it on the counter. My skin was hot and itchy. I did the only thing I knew to do in a moment like that. I had a hissy fit. I mean I did some weird, frustrated dance by moving my legs in a flash dance fashion and whaling my arms around and whining like a spoiled four-year-old. I was possessed by a violent urge to hit something or throw something. I had lost control, control over my feelings, control over the situation with Chad, and control over what to do next.

  It was still daylight, and my inner voice told me to run. I grabbed my shoes and my iPod and headed out the door. With each step, my mind began to clear. I still didn’t know the best thing to do about Chad, but I was determined to let it go for the night and deal with it later. That is, after I returned that stupid Daily Meditations book to the bookstore.

  I took Daily Meditations for a Broken Heart and its gift receipt to the bookstore during lunch. It was one of those popular bookstore chains with a coffee shop in the center. I waited in line as students and stay-at-home moms lined up to purchase new books. While I waited, I looked through an endless display of bookmarks and stumbled upon one that read Where to Look When with different verses from the Bible. When I made it to the counter, I handed the young cashier my book and receipt.

  “I’d like to return this please,” I said.

  He studied the book, then looked back at me. “I’m sorry, but this book appears to have been read. It’s no longer returnable.” He handed the book back.

  “What! I’ve had this book less than a week.” I pushed the book back across the counter.

  “I’m sorry, but the jacket is creased and so are some of the pages. I can’t take it back.” He pushed the book back again, this time with attitude. Despite my better judgment, I wasn’t giving up. I didn’t care about getting Holly’s money back or getting rid of the book, I wanted to make a statement; this book sucks.

  “I want to speak to the manager,” I said, and put my hand on my hip. He glared back at me for a moment, his lips puckered and brow furrowed. I raised my eyebrows and motioned him to run along to get his boss. He left without a word. I peered through the piles of discount books at the front of the store. I bet Daily Meditations is in the mound, I thought as I sifted through them to see if any caught my attention. There it was again, the same bookmark I had seen earlier. Where to Look When. Maybe it was some kind of sign to pay attention to, or a sign the store had overstocked the bookmark. I looked over the bookmark again before noticing the words Secret and Men among the book rubble. I moved the books to reveal the full cover, Unspoken: The Secret Lives of Men by John Suomynona. The cover was designed like a top secret FBI file. I picked it up and turned it over to read the jacket description.

  Warning: This book contains the truth about the unspoken, secret lives of men. Whatever you thought was real or sacred in your most intimate relationships is false. It is time that the truth is uncovered. You will hear stories from men everywhere and how they live as loyal lovers by day and playboys by night. You won’t believe your eyes in this tell-all, and why would you want to?

  The wheels in my brain turned rigorously. My breathing quickened. What was this book?

  “Excuse me, Miss, you wanted to see the manager?” a voice came from behind and startled me. I turn
ed and dropped the book at the man’s feet. He wore a blue oxford shirt with a nametag that read Frank Manager.

  “Ma’am?” he said.

  “Uh, yes, I changed my mind on the return.” I picked Unspoken off the ground and held it close to my chest. “I’ll take this one.”

  He nodded and walked away. I took my place back in line and checked out in a flash, avoiding eye contact with the annoying cashier. Armed with both books, I headed out of the store. Daily Meditations for a Broken Heart didn’t make it farther than the store’s trashcan, while Unspoken was tucked safely in my bag.

  That night I settled in with a glass of riesling, a few lit candles, and some comfortable clothes. I curled up on the couch and opened Unspoken: The Secret Lives of Men. I held my breath as I read through the first few pages, captivated by the words. It was as if I was discovering a secret no woman had uncovered until that moment. I was Columbus and the book was America. But this discovery wasn’t going to be positive. By page ten, I needed a break. I slammed the book shut and stood at a crossroads.

  Was I ready for the truth if it, in fact, could be found in the book? I paced for a few minutes and tossed over whether I should read further or pitch it with Daily Meditations and be none the wiser. Part of me felt it was wrong, but another part of me felt it was right. The book was intriguing to say the least. After years of being an advocate for love and honest relationships, I deserved to know if what I believed was real. I took a deep breath and lifted the book from the table. It was going to be a long night. I opened the cover and began to read.

  Unspoken took off like a freight train, with page after page of enthralling stories. In essence, it was a confessional from different men in different situations with one common theme; all men lie and all men cheat, and they will do and say anything so their significant other does not find out. No exceptions. These telling men worked normal jobs, had normal lives, a wife, kids, and a mortgage. It was as if they were living a second, secret life. A life that was commonly understood by their fellow men and kept secret from the women.

  My attention was diverted only slightly when I refilled my glass of wine. I heard riesling dripping off of the coffee table from my over-poured wine glass. Shit! Keeping my eyes on the book, I sopped up the spill and took intermittent sips from the brim of my glass.

  I read a story about a married pharmaceutical rep in his thirties with two kids. He admitted to cheating on his wife regularly, explaining that men are primal when it comes to sex and women are emotional. His theory . . .

  Having sex with your wife is like eating spaghetti. Spaghetti is good, but after a while it gets monotonous and you really just want a steak dinner. If you eat spaghetti every day and all of a sudden someone offers you steak, you’re going to take a bite if not devour the whole thing.

  I read on.

  In truth, cheating only exists when it’s discovered. When I cheat, I do it in a way that leaves my wife clueless. There’s no way she would ever know. Even if she did find out, I would lie through my teeth to the bitter end. Deny, deny, deny!

  I finished the final page, then closed the book. I pushed myself back into the couch, full of information and trying to digest it all. It was true, all men were liars and cheaters. Not just Chad, but every man. I hadn’t been singled out. Chad’s affair wasn’t about me. It wasn’t about something I did or didn’t do. It was his nature, his true nature, and I had uncovered it.

  “It all makes sense,” I said. “I get it now.” I stood tall with my arms stretched out and shouted, “It all makes sense. I get it now!”

  The affirmation sent me running around to each room to look through drawers, shelves, under the bed, and all over the apartment for anything that reminded me of my ex. Chad paraphernalia piled high on the living room floor. My fireplace blazed and I watched as the flames danced for my new liberation. I blasted my favorite fuck-you break up song, poured another glass of wine, and sang along while I pitched the items into the flames. Old pictures, notes, and clothing wilted in the fire until there was nothing more than ashes and dust.

  Amazing. It felt amazing to purge my apartment and my life of anything Chad. Though he had hurt me, I finally understood why. And for that reason I knew I would be able to move on.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Wedding

  My rose-colored bubble had burst, but I felt refreshed and exhilarated. Liberated. For the first time since I returned from Las Vegas, I was actually happy. The sun was brighter, my coffee tasted better, and I think my skin glowed.

  Now that Chad was out of my life permanently, it was time to cancel all the wedding arrangements. I spent the afternoon on the phone with all of the vendors including, the DJ, the caterer, the florist, and the reception hall, telling them all the same thing, “The wedding is off!” Most of my deposits were gone, but I started to think the whole experience was worth it.

  Then, right when I thought nothing could get me down, my phone rang. It was my mother. I slumped down in my chair and remembered I had yet to tell my family about my recent events. It was no accident. Yes, I loved them, but I spent much of my life trying to live up to their high standards. After awhile, it became too much. My oncologist father pushed my brother and me to be excellent at everything we did and somehow I always came up short. Even though I had a PhD and a successful practice, I still paled in comparison to my brother, Michael.

  No doubt they would see my breakup as yet another failure. The thought of announcing it to them made my stomach churn, but it had been almost two weeks since the breakup. I needed to come clean before they heard it from someone else.

  “Hi Mom.”

  “Oooh, is this my daughter?” Her words were coated with her heavy Chinese accent.

  I knew she was fishing about my two-week absence. She would learn soon enough.

  “How are you?” I asked.

  “Fine. I wanted to let you know your father and I are not going to make it to Rachel’s wedding this weekend.”

  “How come?”

  “Our Beijing flight cost too much to change.”

  My parents had been planning a big three-week trip to China. I guess by the time they learned about Rachel’s wedding, which changed dates a few times, it was too late to cancel. The notion of being spared my parents over the weekend was a relief, but I replied with a disappointed, “Oh, that’s too bad.”

  “I know. It would’ve been nice to spend some time with my daughter and my future son-in-law.”

  There it was. My cue to tell her the truth, or at least a version of it. I hadn’t thought about what to say, or how to say it, so I gave her the simplest version I could manage.

  “I have to tell you something.”

  “Okay.”

  “Chad and I called off the wedding. We broke up.”

  “WHAT!” she shouted, her already loud voice amplified. “What do you mean the wedding is off? Since when? Why did you break up? Marin, answer me!”

  “Mom, please calm down.”

  “Calm down! How can you be so calm? What happened?” She continued to yell questions at me. It was exactly why I didn’t want to tell her. She had a habit of accusatory reactions to my bad news.

  I sighed and rolled my eyes.

  “Once he moved in, we decided it wasn’t right, and it would be best to go our separate ways.” I crossed my fingers hoping she would accept my answer as satisfactory. Silence hung on the phone, and I held my breath for her response.

  “Did he see you bleach the peach fuzz on the side of your face?” she said. “Is that what happened?”

  Figures. Typical that she would think an embarrassing beauty routine would be reason enough to break off our engagement.

  “I always tell you not to reveal those kinds of habits to a man. You have to remain mysterious,” she said.

  “No, Mom. It’s nothing like that. And I only did that one time! Will you please stop bringing it up?” I raised a fist in the air thinking that it would soon be full of freshly pulled hair.

  “Y
es, okay. I had to ask.” I shut my mouth and let her go on. “Isn’t there a way to work it out with him? You were getting married. Now it’s over? Just like that?”

  “Yeah, Mom, it’s over.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear that, Marin. I suppose you want me to tell Dad.”

  “Yes, please. I really don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  “Okay, but we’ll talk about it when we get back from China.”

  “Okay. Have a good trip.”

  By the time we said our good-byes I was dying to hang up. It was painful, and that pain turned into self-pity. My own mother thinks I’m incapable of keeping a man. My ability to keep a man wasn’t the problem. Maybe I should’ve told her the whole truth. She probably would have reacted the same way regardless of truth or story. The truth was that I had nothing to do with the end of my engagement. It was all Chad, Chad and his man disease of deceit.

  Since discovering the profound truth, I was compelled to share it with everyone, which was why I ordered ten copies of Unspoken: The Secret Lives of Men for overnight delivery. If I wanted to convince other women of the uncovered secret, I’d have to become an expert on the subject.

  Over the next couple of days, I spent the sum of my spare time researching facts to support the book, facts I had conveniently ignored before. I diligently researched psychology journals dealing with infidelity and searched the internet for forums, blogs, and classified ads, trying to find other people who knew the same truth. In that short time, I gained a wealth of information and still only scratched the surface. The facts I uncovered were shocking, but nonetheless helpful.

  Rachel’s wedding day came quickly, and I couldn’t wait to tell Holly and Telly everything I had learned since I last saw them. I had buried myself in my newfound truth, and I was ready to come up for air and shout it from the rooftops. It was the kind of day that outdoor brides pray for, clear, sunny skies, warm, but not too warm. I took the morning to dress in my spring wedding best, a simple yellow, cap-sleeved dress. When the cab arrived, I grabbed my oversized purse and stuffed a copy of Unspoken: The Secret Lives of Men inside.