Page 88 of Hot Girl Summer

I shrug in mock nonchalance. “Karma’s a bitch.”

Chrissy meets my gaze through tear-stained eyes.

“I’m messing. It’s fine. Over it already.” I wave a hand away and take a long sip of my drink. "Come on, I’ll pour you a glass of Fuckboy Tears.” I pause, rising from my seat. “And strictly off the record...I’m sorry, too.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Summer’swellandtrulyover, and for the past two months, I’ve avoided my bedroom. Aside from a multitude of “I’m sorry”and “Please talk to me”texts in the first few days of our fallout, I haven’t heard from Danny. The freshly laundered outfit—Belle’s outfit—mocks me every time I open my closet. I know I have to return it—and pick up my bike—at some point. But I’m not ready, and a lump catches in my throat whenever I think about it.

Every time I turn on the TV, I'm reminded of him. I can’t even watch a dog food commercial without welling up. Somehow, I manage to link everything back to him. I’ve withdrawn from my friends, especially April—I hate keeping her at arm’s length, but it hurts too much to see intimate photos of her and Ollie. I go to the gym, but I can’t stop shifting my gaze towards the water machine in the hopes of seeing him there, and unhelpful images of him in tennis whites run through my mind at every opportunity. I can’t even stomach a slice of pizza, but there’s always an endless supply of ice cream in the freezer. It’s ridiculous. I’m ridiculous. When did I become such a cliché?

I post selfies to keep up appearances, but it all feels so fake, and no amount of validation fills the gaping hole that’s left in my heart.

Concern for Kiki’s return to school has kept me occupied, though, and although it was a mostly-smooth-if-not-slightly-anxiety-inducing transition, I still worry and keep tabs on her daily. I’m grateful that I’m now two months into my teacher training course, and when I’m not working or studying, I’m busy jotting down ideas and creating a business plan.

With the help of my yogi friends, I planned a twenty-four hour Hip Hop Yogathon fundraiser for Beat—a charity for disordered eating—and it was a smashing success.

Life is better, more productive, and for once in my life, I feel like I finally have a purpose. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

A few days after the fundraiser, I check the donation page again, and an anonymous contribution flashes onto the screen.

“I’m so proud of you,” the message says.

The words cut right into my skin and etch their way into my heart. Initially, I think it’s from my parents, but when I see the amount, I realise it’s not. My parents are financially comfortable, but there is no way they could afford to donate that kind of money. There’s only one person I know who could.

I pace the living room. Everything in my gut screams Danny’s name. Confusion turns into anger, then guilt. Is this hisapology? Emotions scroll through my head at speed, like those Instagram filters that guess which Disney character or meaningless object you are. On a whim, I video call Ellie. Beautiful Ellie with her cards and her wise words—she would know what to do.

“Hey, is everything okay?” Ellie asks. I’m so happy to see her face.

“Actually, I need your help.”

I tell her everything, and she couldn’t be any more supportive.

“Let me pull you a card.”

I guide us through a quick meditation to clear our minds, and Ellie lays out the cards face down in front of me, panning the camera lens over them so that I can choose one.

“Queen of Cups. Interesting,” Ellie says, turning the card face up. A slow smile spreads across her face. “It’s telling you to pay attention to your intuition, and trust your feelings. Don’t be afraid to lead with your heart, not your head. Feel those feels, even if they scare you. Fear holds us back in so many ways. You’re one of the strongest people I know, even if you don’t believe it sometimes, and you of all people deserve to be happy.”

With Ellie’s suggestion, I buy Danny flowers, and, if I’m honest, I feel a little ridiculous about it, but it seems like an innocent gesture to show my appreciation. I deliberately avoid lilies, with their pollen relentlessly insisting on staining everything they come into contact with.

Instead, I opt for a small, non-toxic bouquet of seasonal flowers in an autumnal colour palette. I imagine that the shades of cream, taupe and burnt orange would compliment his decor perfectly, and I hate myself for even considering how they would look in his house. I even wonder where he would display them, and give myself a less than gentle reminder to snap out of it.

Dress. Flowers. Bike. Leave. That’s all you have to do. Don’t fucking cry.

The back and forth in my head is a constant the entire taxi ride, and as the car crawls to a stop and I see the open gates and the nearly brand new Audi parked outside, my heart pounds. I would happily stew in here like a teabag in the back seat with the tinted windows rolled up for the rest of the day, but over-steeping leaves a bitter taste, and I know what I have to do in order to feel at peace.

Somewhere between paying the cab fee and wrestling with a jammed passenger door, the heaven’s open. The taxi pulls away, and as I glance up through rain-soaked lashes, I freeze when I lock eyes with a pretty, petite brunette standing with Penny by her side in the doorway. The dog whines and pulls, but her efforts are ignored as I follow the woman’s gaze to the dress I’m holding, and I remember why I’m here.

When I look back up, my eyes lock with Danny’s as he comes crashing into the woman. I can see her a little more clearly now, and I realise that the woman isn’t Belle like I initially thought.

Through the rain, I can’t quite place his expression. Shock? Anxiety? Confusion? Whatever it is, I’m positive I feel all of those magnified and more.

The pounding in my ribcage clouds my vision, making it infinitely worse. That familiar feeling of being underwater, but this time is completely different than the last, and the time before that. The physical pain from my accident could never compare to the unwelcome ache in my heart. My instinct is to run, but I know I have to tackle the problem head on. Be a grown up. Get my bike back and get on with my life. Between us, the rain is a veil, a shield, protecting me from them.

As I walk towards them in what seems like burning slow motion, Danny says something inaudible to the brunette, and, within moments, she and Penny are out of sight. Taking Florence Welch’s advice, I shake it off, remember who the fuck I am, and tell myself that Summer isn’t over.

“I just came to get my bike and return the dress,” I say, the second I approach him in the doorway. “I won’t keep you.”

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