Page 93 of All of You

She scoffed, and that was when I realized she and I were moving in different directions. But then, she solidified it.

“I tried!” she shouted, throwing her hands up. “I tried to protect you, tried to make sure you didn’t get sucked in with him, that you kept your focus… I did everything I could for you.”

“I don’t blame you for any of this. You know that, right?” I took a step toward her, but her sneer kept me from getting closer.

“I’m sure you don’t, nor should you.” She stared at the floor a moment, and another—long enough, I thought about simply walking out of the room and leaving her to her fuming, but just as I was about to leave, she spoke. “I’ll talk to you next week.”

I didn’t wait for her to let herself out. I felt so angry with her, with the whole situation, and still more than anyone, with myself.

I’d also begun to feel angry with Ben. Why hadn’t he let me explain what happened, and why hadn’t I told him sooner, or what made me do it when I did? Why didn’t he want to know what had been said that night, or how I felt about him?

And why had he been at brunch alone with another woman, holding hands and hugging?

I felt ill. I wanted to curl up in bed and go to sleep and stay there for a week. I was exhausted, but mostly sad. I kept thinking I’d come to the end of the tears, but every night when I went to bed, there they came again. Fortunately, I’d managed not to cry in front of anyone other than Amanda that first time, so I counted that as a success.

Before I’d unwrapped a particularly lonely-looking chicken breast and broccoli that my housekeeper had left me for the night, the doorbell rang. I’d lost a few pounds, mostly from lack of appetite, but Kendra wasn’t being too hard on me since I was still exercising and eating, and not, in fact, giving in to the desire to stay in bed all day and strum sad, half-finished break-up songs in the dark.

Maybe that happened once or twice.

As usual, I’d been too busy, and now, I was gearing up for the Oscars. I’d be heading to LA again in a few days. I felt no nerves, no fear, and I’d been wondering if feeling like your heart was torn out was the secret to not caring about awards. Jamie was on to something.

I took a deep breath, hoping I could maintain my calm and not fire Nikki out of pure frustration if she had any more accusations to throw at me. She’d been edgy and obviously frustrated with me. She’d already come over uninvited twice this week, and in the history of our working relationship, that wasn’t unusual, but everyone else seemed to understand I needed space.

I could admit she was trying to do her job, trying to jump on the momentum of the Grammy wins and appearing at the Oscars in a week, but I didn’t have it in me to battle with her anymore. I’d decided that I needed to ask her to back off a bit, or I’d have to let her go, because I couldn’t keep arguing with her.

When I swung the door open, it wasn’t diminutive, raging Nikki, but my hulking, angry-looking cousin.

Thanks a lot, Saturday.

“What were you thinking?” Reese said, standing with his hands on his hips just inside my front door.

“Hello, Reese. Good to see you, too,” I said, turning down the hallway while gathering my wits.

I didn’t have to guess why he was here, or what he meant, but I had no idea how to explain myself. I had no idea how to talk about this with him. The fire that had been building in my chest to showdown with Nikki had died out completely.

I busied myself with pouring water in glasses, setting one at one end of the counter and then retreating to the sink to get a rag and run it over the gleaming countertop. I could feel his eyes on me, waiting, until finally, he sighed.

“Why, Whit?”

I dropped the rag at the side of the sink and turned to him. “I never meant to hurt him.”

One shake of his head, telling me what I already knew—that wasn’t good enough. “I told you to be careful. I told you to be up front and honest, and what else?”

This wasn’t him being self-righteous. It wasn’t an I told you so. It was genuine anger, and though it wasn’t as simple and malicious as it seemed, I deserved it.

“Not to use h?—”

“Not to use him. Yep. And what did you do?”

The pinch of emotion settled in my jaw, that growing ache that had me gritting me teeth before I said, “I know I hurt him. I know I did. But he doesn’t know what really happened, and I haven’t figured out how to tell him.”

Reese’s eyes bore into me, and I knew he could read the honesty, the devastation in them. He had to.

“You just tell him.”

“I tried. That night, I tried to explain, but he couldn’t listen. He was too… blindsided, I guess.”

“Understandably.”

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