Page 33 of Love and Other Chances

Chapter thirteen

Ispend the rest of Saturday in a daze, blaming it on the lingering fever. I’m dutiful about taking medicine every three hours, trying to dull the pain, but there’s a deeper pain that the meds don’t touch.

There’s leftover potato soup in the fridge, so after eating a bowl I lie in bed, hoping to nap.

Sleep eludes me as my mind replays the affection in Brooks’ care. The tenderness in his touches. My chest suffocates with the weight of tears that won’t spill out of my eyes. I open Spotify on my phone, thumb hovering over the search bar.

No. No, no, no. Don’t go there, Teegan.

Sighing, I click it off instead. The silence is oppressive, so I begin talking out loud to fill it.

“Why, God? Why?! I’ve moved forward. I’ve lived my life. I’ve grown and matured as a person. Why would you make me go back there?”

Silence.

It’s only 4:00 p.m., but I eat a banana and then take more of the nighttime medicine, hoping and praying that sleep will overtake me, quiet my thoughts, and shut down the memories.

My comforter is folded at the foot of my bed, so I shake it open to spread it out. Brooks’ scent lingers on the fabric, flooding my nostrils. Groaning, I yank it off onto the floor. Curling up under the throw blanket, I clamp my eyes shut, begging for sleep.

After tossing and turning most of the night, I give up on sleep and roll out of bed at 7:00 a.m. My taste buds are craving more cinnamon toast.

I pour a bowl of cereal.

Sitting at the dining table, slowly taking bites, my mind whirls. Physically, I’m feeling much better than two days ago. But my heart is paralyzed. It stuttered to a stop, and I don’t know how to get it back to beating normally.

There’s no escape hatch from the bars trapping me. I’m captive to the past. The now. The what-ifs. The if-onlys. They’re locking me in, clamping down tighter and tighter.

I fail at every attempt to fly my mind away from my feelings. No amount of envisioning sunsets, oceans, or sunny meadows takes the edge off the pain my heart feels.

Unlocking my phone, I send a text to our Beefs chat before I can talk myself out of it.

I’m not ok. Force me to talk about it on our video call this afternoon. Don’t let me wriggle my way out, or I don’t know how I’ll find myself again

Thirty seconds later, my phone starts ringing with a call from Lana. I silence it. Her second call is overlapped by a call from Amaya. Sighing, I text them again.

I need a little time. I promise we’ll talk this afternoon. Make me

AMAYA

ok, but I don’t like this, Teeg

LANA

Praying for you till then, Beef

I take a long, hot shower, blaring upbeat music that doesn’t match my mood. Leaving my hair to air dry, I start a load of laundry to wash my sheets and clothes. I throw my comforter in for good measure, just to erase all traces of Brooks.

Pulling out our cleaning caddy, I meticulously wipe down every surface, if only to give my mind something to do other thanthink.

I’m loading the dishwasher when I hear the doorbell ring.No. Please don’t be Brooks. I can’t take it.

“Teegan? It’s Amaya!” my best friend’s voice calls.

Rushing to the foyer, I fling open the front door. Amaya is standing there holding two giant slushies from Brooklyn’s finest gas station slushie machine. The answer to every angsty situation we ever encountered in college.

I burst into deep, wracking sobs.

Amaya wraps her arms around me, despite the slushie cups, and I realize she’s also holding her phone with Lana’s face on video call.

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