Page 2 of Best I Never Had

Matteo’s getting married.

He’s getting married. He’s gettingmarried.

I whisper a faint “it’s fine” through my lips, but the words feel weak. And rough. Like it’s been finely grated against the rough side of sandpaper before trickling through my lips. I continue to walk, my steps slow and sluggish. I don’t need to look to my side to know that Lucy is watching me to make sure I don’t pass out or do something absolutely crazy like run into traffic.

Her warm, comforting hand smooths against my chenille-covered forearm. “Nat, I really am sorry.”

She’s not sorry that she told me. Not anymore. She’s sorry that the man I loved—stilllove—has moved on. The same man who decided I wasn’t the one that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with and found someone else to share that future with instead. That my mending heart is no longer healing but has returned to a state of defeat, all within a matter of minutes and a few words.

“Matteo doesn’t know what he wants,” she offers, a small sigh of frustration blowing through her nose from her repressed anger toward my ex-lover. “Even Mom said so. He’s just hurt, and this woman is the next best thing he was able to find.”

But that isn’t true. Becausehebroke it off.Hewas the one who told me he couldn’t do this anymore. Us, planning a future, deciding if we wantedto venture down a path where we vowed to love each other in sickness and in health. It was all too much for him.

My heart clenches. It actually squeezes just the tiniest bit before I remind myself how far I’ve come since our breakup. How the nights spent wallowing in my sorrow as I cried myself to sleep wearing a dress shirt that belonged to Matteo was for something instead of having to circle back to how it felt when the heartbreak was freshest. My teeth gnaw on my lower lip, and my gaze zeros in on the cracked sidewalk before Lucy takes my hand in hers and squeezes it.

“Come on, Nat. Let’s get some lunch, and we’ll stock up on some goodies for tonight.”

I smirk, unable to hold back my smile as Lucy leans her head against mine. “And by goodies, you mean liquor?”

She shrugs with a sly smile. “I mean, if that’s what works for you.”

I envy her at this moment. Twenty-five with a heart that hasn’t yet been splintered in two by heartbreak. Her normally dark hair, now light with the magic of bleach and toner, is perfectly coiffed and held together in a gold claw clip. After a six-hour flight from Seattle that included a one-hour layover in Minneapolis, she looks flawless. Her casual wear clings to her slender body, and her makeup looks smooth and untouched. As if it were done by a professional, not by herself using a small compact and her meal tray on the last leg of her flight into JFK.

When I look at myself in comparison, I look exactly how I feel: tired and rejected. Like I’ve been living in the same clothes for a week instead of the full day I’ve been relaxing in my fuzzy sweatsuit set. And my dark hair, untouched by the same magic Lucy paid an arm and a leg for, is barely being held together by the worn-out elastic I stretched out to fit all of my long, full hair in.

We continue, sidestepping a man with an adult ferret on a leash, which elicits a double take from Lucy, as we finally arrive at our destination.My stomach turns with the reminder that it’s lunchtime and this will be my first meal of the day. Our entrance into the small sandwich shop is announced with the twinge of the copper bell hanging at the top of the doorframe. Muffled pop music plays over the single speaker mounted next to the convex security mirror as a lone fluorescent light flickers in the opposite corner of the cramped store.

“They have a really good BLT here. Or if you’re not in the mood, their pastrami is good too,” I inform Lucy. “What do you want?”

Her nose scrunches as she considers her options. “I think I’ll just have the grilled chicken salad. With the vinaigrette dressing.”

“Just a salad?”

She nods, her forlorn eyes leaning toward the glass display case holding a large assortment of cakes and other pastries.

“At least split a brownie with me,” I request, coaxing her to give in to her obvious desire for a treat.

Her mouth twists to one side in a half smile. “Fine,” she caves. “I’m on vacation after all.”

I turn to the cashier, place our order, and pay.

“So who else is coming tonight?” Lucy asks as we step away from the register to the long pick-up counter.

I stare at her blankly, slightly confused by her question. The last time I spoke with her, on speakerphone with Carmen in the same room, we agreed on a welcome party for Lucy in the small apartment Carmen and I share but discussed no further than the fact that we would have plenty of alcohol and that Carmen would be managing the playlist. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t invite anyone,” I elaborate.

“What?!” She crosses her arms and lightly huffs, annoyed that our night may be limited to the three of us, plus Carmen’s boyfriend, David. “So it’s just the four of us?” Her bottom lip juts out, pouting like a child. AndI can’t help but notice the light stomp of her right foot, a habit that she hasn’t grown out of since she learned it got her what she wanted at the age of four.

“David might have some friends he can invite,” I finally offer when the furrow in her brow doesn’t relent. “We can ask Carmen when she gets home.”

“Are they cute?” she inquires a little too eagerly. When I look at her with an expression that borders judgment, she smiles coyly. “What?”

“Nothing,” I answer, teasingly rolling my eyes at her. “I just didn’t know you were looking to meet someone while you were here.”

“Nat, I am not looking tomeetanyone. But a girl can have a little harmless fun on vacation.”

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