by Becky Monson
“Oh,” he repeats. I catch a look of hurt, or maybe annoyance, on his face. But it’s gone too quickly for me to be sure.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing.” He shakes his head, putting a hand up to rub his forehead. “I just . . . I . . . never mind.”
I should explore this further, obviously, but I can’t. Not when my brain is moving around in circles, trying to figure out what course of action I need to take with this whole Serene-the-cheater thing. Obviously, I need to tell Adam. Or maybe I should tell Carla and have her tell him. No, I need to go directly to him.
“Ian, I need to go,” I say.
“Okay, sure. I get it.” He looks down at the pavement.
“Um, I’ll text you?” I say, a sheepish grin on my face, as I start to walk backwards from him.
“Yeah.” He nods his head, and the left corner of his lip pulls up.
I give him a quick wave and I’m off.
~*~
As I suspect, when I call Adam, he’s home alone, since clearly Serene was not with him. I was slightly hopeful she would be, and then I wouldn’t have to be the bearer of bad news. But I knew it was her in the café, and the fact that she is not with Adam only confirms it more.
I’m on the subway heading to the Lower East Side to go to Adam’s apartment. He was really excited that I wanted to come over. He probably thinks I’m rethinking our friend status. I’m not. I think I’m at my capacity of ex-boyfriend-turned-friends.
Right now, my heart wants to think about Ian and meeting Maureen, but that will have to be saved for another time because my brain can only keep pondering how I’m going give this news to Adam.
How will he take it? Will he be sad? Angry? Relieved? Will he say he made a mistake and wants me back? Would I want to go back to Adam?
I already know the answer to that. Adam and I were never truly right for each other. I mean, I thought we were, but I think I convinced myself he was the one I was meant to be with. It was a lot like my relationship with Brandon, actually – very easy, very convenient. And with Adam I had the bonus of loving his family. But I was never really myself with either Adam or Brandon. I wasn’t enough for either of them. Truthfully, neither of them were enough for me.
What does it say about me that I’m so willing to give my heart to the wrong guy? But when the guy who was probably the right one came along, I couldn’t even say those three stinking words. And now it’s too late.
The smell of the hallway as I walk to Adam’s apartment brings back so many good memories. We did have fun, Adam and I. The odd thing is I don’t miss it.
“Well, hello stranger,” Adam says as he opens the door. He immediately pulls me into a hug.
“Hey,” I say, as we pull apart, and he ushers me into his apartment. His place looks pretty much the same as it did a few months ago. I guess I thought Serene would have done some decorating. From the looks of things, she’s not a cleaner, either.
“How’s work?” he asks as we walk into the apartment. He’s making small talk, which is so strange after our history. It doesn’t feel natural at all. It feels forced.
“Um, good,” I say, intertwining my fingers, rocking back and forth on my feet. “It looks like I will be promoted to assistant caterer soon.” I go to nibble my bottom lip, but I stop myself. It’s not entirely a lie. I just don’t know when “soon” is.
“You?” I ask.
“Busy,” is all he offers, which is fine by me. I don’t need him to go into detail like he used to when we were dating, which could be quite agonizingly boring. But, of course, I acted like it was so very interesting.
“Have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the couch. He sits down in a plain, brown armchair, leaning forward, elbows on thighs, hands intertwined.
“Thanks,” I say, pushing an article of clothing to the side as I sit down. It’s the sweater—the ratty old sweater I attempted so many times to get rid of.
“You still have this?” I hold it up, pinched between my pointer finger and thumb, handling it as if it has cooties. It just might.
“Yeah.” He nods his head and smiles, looking down at his intertwining hands. He knows how much I hated that sweater.
“It doesn’t bother Serene?” I ask out of complete curiosity. I drop the offending sweater on the floor.
“Nah,” he shakes his head, “she’s never said anything, at least.”
I want to tell him that’s a red flag because any girl who truly loved him would tell him to burn it (like I had tried so many times). But that’s moot since I have an even bigger red flag to tell him about, like the reddest flag you can possibly have.
“So, what did you need to talk to me about? You seemed a little frantic on the phone,” he says, looking up at me with a pleasant smile.
“Well,” I swallow hard. This is not going to roll off the tongue easily. “It’s about Serene.”
“Oh, yeah? Sorry she’s not here, by the way. She had to go run some errands.” He leans back in his seat.
“Um, yeah, that’s what I want to talk to you about. I saw her,” I say, and then start rubbing my suddenly-sweaty hands on my jeans.
“You did?” He smiles, most likely picturing her. I’m picturing her too, sucking on some other guy’s face.
We sit there in silence because I’m not sure how to just come out and say it.
“Is that what you wanted to tell me?” he asks, clearly confused how that could be the only thing.
“No,” I say and take a deep breath. “I saw her with someone else.”
“Yeah.” He nods his head quickly. “She said she had to meet up with her brother.”
“Um, I don’t think who I saw her with was her brother,” I say. I raise my eyebrows, hoping he will get my insinuation.
He shakes his head briefly. “I don’t understand.”
Ah, yes. Adam was never good at picking up on insinuations. There was one time that I wanted to leave a boring party, and I kept raising my eyebrows and nodding my head toward the door and . . . nothing. He didn’t get it. After we left, I asked him why he didn’t respond to any of my gestures, which were clearly stating my desire to depart, and he said, “Oh, is that what you were doing? I thought you had a crick in your neck or something.” I learned then that I just needed to say “let’s leave” so there was no room for misinterpretation.
“Well, I saw her at a café with a guy,” I look down at my lap, not wanting to see his face when I tell him the next part, “and she was kissing him.”
“What?” I look up to see Adam’s face all scrunched up. He’s leaning forward in his chair as if ready to pounce. “What do you mean?” he asks, clearly confused and rightfully so. This has to be so hard for him to wrap his brain around.
“I mean, I saw her and some guy . . . um . . . making out in a booth.” I keep a steady eye on him to make sure he’s accepting what I’m trying to tell him.
“That’s not possible,” Adam says. A hand goes to the back of his neck and he rubs it briefly.
“I’m so sorry, Adam,” I say. I truly am sorry. I know Carla hates Serene, but I’ve never had any reason to hate her, besides the fact that she snatched Adam away. I’ve made my peace with all of that now. I never wanted to see Adam hurt, though. And here he is, hurt.
“Wow,” he says, sitting back in his chair. He rubs his forehead. “Wow,” he says again, but more under his breath.
And then the craziest thing happens. He starts to laugh. It’s not a belly laugh—it’s more of a maniacal, crazy laugh, the laugh of someone about to lose it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Adam react like this.
“Adam?” I want to go over to him and comfort him, but I don’t. I stay rooted in my seat.
“Did my mom put you up to this?” he says, after the crazy laugh has subsided. It’s now replaced by a crazy, red face.
“Carla?” I shake my head, “No? Why would you think that?”
“Because it’s the only thing that makes sense.” His hand goes through his dark,
thick hair, leaving it messy and furthering this lunatic look he’s going with.
“I’m sorry, Adam. I don’t know what to tell you. I’m only telling you what I saw,” I say, my hands out, palms up, pleading my case.
He sits there, staring at me. I stare back. Don’t people look away or around the room when they’re lying? Or, in my case, nibble on their bottom lip? Well, I’m not doing any of that because I’m telling the truth.
“You know,” he says after a few seconds of our staring contest, “I’ve heard stories of crazy ex-girlfriends going to extremes to get their exes back, but I thought it was folklore or something. But wow, I guess it does happen.” He leans forward in his chair and stands up.
“What are you talking about, Adam? I’m not trying to get you back,” I say and stand up. I can feel the heat in my face; I’ve joined him in the red face of anger. “I’m telling you what I saw, that’s all,” I say, my volume elevating.
He rolls his eyes, “I know Serene, and that’s not her.” He tilts his head to the side, “I thought I knew you, but I guess I didn’t because I really didn’t think you would pull a stunt like this.”
“Are you serious?” I grab my gold clutch from the couch. “This is not a stunt, it’s the truth. I’m telling you what I saw. If you don’t believe me, then that’s your problem. But don’t try and turn it on me.” I walk toward the door and swing it open.
I’m not going to stay here and try to convince him of what I saw. In fact, I hope he marries her, and she cheats on him and steals all his money, and he lives the rest of his life in misery.
I walk out the door and turn back. “This goes without saying, but that is a big, fat no for coming to your wedding,” I yell and turn around and walk out. As I slam the door, I can hear him start his crazy laugh again. I need to work on my final remarks when I leave in a huff. I could have said something much more profound than that.
I race-walk down the hall to the elevators and press the down button as many times as I can, trying to hurry up the elevator. Once inside the elevator with the door shut, I allow the full weight of the situation that just happened to hit me. I had a lot of scenarios running around in my head about how it was going to go down, but that was not one of them.
The ego of that man. How dare he think I would go as far as to make up a huge lie to get him back? Okay, so I did make Justin be my pretend boyfriend and go to his family’s dinner in hopes Adam would see what he was missing. But, this is different. This is the truth.
What am I going to do now? I guess there’s nothing I can do. Adam will just have to learn the hard way. Unfortunately, he’s not the only one that will suffer, so will his family.
That thought makes my heart sink. Adam’s family shouldn’t have to suffer from his love-obsessed brain. But what can I do? I can tell his mom, but he’ll only say the same things to her that he said to me. He won’t believe her, either.
The only thing I can do is hope Adam will see the truth. Maybe if he sees it with his own eyes, he’ll believe me. And then he better apologize to me. I mean, after he’s had enough time to grieve. I’m not that coldhearted.
CHAPTER 30
University of Connecticut, Senior Year, End of Term
“Ian, I wish there was a way, but there just isn’t.” I sat on his bed, my arms folded, my mind made up.
“Bridge, why are you getting so caught up in the details? Take a chance.” He sat down next to me, taking my hand in his.
“I can’t go to London with you.” I shook my head. I knew it was impossible, but Ian was not giving up easily.
“What are you going to do in Goshen this summer? There’s nothing there for you,” he said, frustration in his tone. He let go of my hand.
“I need to find a job, Ian. I need to start making money. There’s nothing for me in London.” I fold my arms again.
Hurt spread across his face. “I’m going to be in London.”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, yes, you’ll be in London. You are the only thing for me there. But it’s just not . . .” I stopped myself before I said what I was thinking because I know I didn’t mean it, but it was suddenly there on the tip of my tongue.
“. . . enough?” Ian finished the sentence for me.
“No, you know what I mean,” I said, heat rising in my face. Ian had already been red-faced for a while.
“I really don’t know what you mean, Bridgette.” He stood up from the bed.
I hated it when he called me Bridgette. It was too serious. It wasn’t in Ian’s nature to be so serious. It felt all wrong.
He cursed under his breath. “I’m a fool.” He put a hand through his hair.
“What are you talking about?”
“I should have known this wouldn’t work out.” He pointed between him and me.
“What do you mean, ‘this wouldn’t work out’? Just because I can’t go to London doesn’t mean I want us to break up.” I stared at him, my eyebrows pulled in tightly.
He ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe what an idiot I’ve been.”
“What are you talking about? Why does me not going to London make you an idiot?” My voice started to get louder.
“Bridgette,” he turned to me, “it’s not about you not wanting to go to London. It’s about this. It’s about us.”
“I’m seriously confused. Maybe you need to calm down. Maybe I should leave.” I stood up from the bed and walked toward the door.
He grabbed my arm, pulling me back to him. “Bridgette, look me in the eyes.”
I rolled my eyes and then looked at him.
“I love you.” He said it sternly, not romantically, which was odd as this was the first time he had said those words to me. “The question is: do you love me?” He searched my face, looking for an answer.
I didn’t answer. I don’t know why, but nothing would come out.
“Your silence is your answer.” He dropped my hands and turned away from me.
I couldn’t say anything. I didn’t know what was wrong with me, but I couldn’t bring myself to say the words he wanted to hear. I wanted to, I did. But nothing would come out of my mouth.
“You should go.” He shook his head, not willing to make eye contact with me again.
I grabbed my purse as I walked out of his room, holding back the strong desire to slam the door as I left.
“Everything okay?” Brandon asked from the couch in the living room. As I walked past him, a single tear dripped down my face.
“Um, yeah,” I said flatly. “Yeah.” I repeated myself. Obviously everything was not okay, but I wasn’t in any place to talk about it with Brandon, of all people.
But despite the fact that it was Brandon, I couldn’t help but break down completely before I could walk out the door. I felt like a fool on many levels.
“Let me take you back to your apartment, Bridge,” Brandon said. Walking over to the door, he tucked his cellphone into his back pocket. He opened the door and ushered me out, blubbering idiot that I was.
Whatever just happened between Ian and me was, by far, more heartbreaking than anything I had ever experienced. I didn’t even know what was going on. Did we break up?
I felt numb as Brandon drove me back to my apartment. He didn’t talk, which was good, because all I could do was cry.
He kindly walked me into my apartment, his hand on my lower back as he escorted me in. His hand felt foreign, but comforting at the same time.
“Thanks,” I said as we walked into the apartment. Amy was nowhere to be found, which was probably for the best. A cry of epic proportions was about to happen.
We stood in the doorway for a moment, and then unexpectedly, Brandon slid between me and the door and walked into the apartment. He walked over to the couch and sat down.
“You don’t look like you should be alone right now, Bridge,” he said, a small smile on his face.
This caught me off guard for many reasons. This was not a Brandon thing to do. To be empathic in any way, shape, or
form was possibly against his genetic makeup. At least that had been my experience in the past. He never took interest in me or my feelings. Only Ian did that. But Ian was different than most guys.
Of course, the thought of Ian made the tears start moving again. Only intermittent ones had been falling by this point.
Brandon patted the seat next to him. Blindly, without thinking about it too much, I walked over and took a seat. He pulled me into him, again surprising me with the gesture. He rubbed my back and kissed the top of my head, as I buried my face into his shoulder and just let it all go.
After some time of blubbering, I came to, pulling my face away from his shoulder. I looked up into his eyes. They were full of something I hadn’t seen before from him. Compassion? Understanding? Again, I was baffled by this unexpected set of reactions from him.
He reached up and wiped a lone tear from my eye. It made me feel vulnerable and a little lost. My mind was a fog of heartbreak and confusion. This was not helping. I decided my best move would be to get some distance from him. He must have meant well, but truthfully, he was making my mind spin even more.
I tried to pull away, but he held me close.
“I’m so sorry, Bridge,” he said, looking at me. “He’s an idiot.”
I was having major déjà vu. I’d been on this couch before, crying over a relationship, except it was Ian holding me while I cried about Brandon. But Ian was right about Brandon, and now Brandon was making assumptions he had no idea about. I was the idiot. Me. I did the damage.
“No.” I shook my head trying to get the words straight.
“He is. Me, too. I was an idiot to let you go,” he said, his expression softening.
“What?” That was not what I was expecting.
“I wish I could go back and change things,” he said, looking me in the eyes.
My eyes searched his. What was he talking about? I’d been to his apartment with Ian many times after the breakup. There was never any sign of remorse. I was finding this admission hard to believe.
I didn’t have a response to that. My brain was swimming. Too many things all at once. I couldn’t handle it. I tried to pull out of his lock, but he kept holding me. I made the single mistake of looking up, and he locked eyes with me. Before I could even comprehend what was happening, his lips were on mine.