Page 67 of Best I Never Had

“Alex. NO!”

He stops just then, looking at me confusedly with a hint of annoyance evident in the way his brow furrows and his jaw clenches. “What do you mean, no?”

“I–I don’t…I?—”

His hand moves to cup my chin, and my entire body grows stiff. “Nat, I just thought since we had such a good time, we could make tonight even more memorable.”

I look away, lowering my gaze and turning away from him.

“I promise I’ll be gentle,” he whispers, a half laugh leaving his lips before he leans forward to kiss me again.

But this time, he kisses me more aggressively, suffocating the air around me. A thundering fear starts to roar through me. All I feel are his hands moving across my skin and over my dress. Down to my nape, shoving my lips closer to him. Gripping my thigh, squeezing the soft flesh, pinching it to sear this memory into my mind forever.

“You don’t have to be such a tease,” he whispers in a low, authoritative voice. My skin begins to crawl, wanting nothing more than to wipe away his hot breath brushing against my lips. His finger tucks under the strap of my dress and in my attempt to pull away from him, the fabric snaps at the seam, leaving my shoulder completely bare.

In a panic, my hand reaches for the door, fumbling withthe handle before it clicks open. A gush of fresh air enters the car, making Alex realize that I’m escaping his grips. His handreaches for my waist, his fingers slipping against the silky material of my dress before I turn to leave with barely enough time and thought to reach for my purse before closing the door behind me.

I don’t look back. Not even when I hear him call after me. Instead, my feet drag against the pavement as sob after sob heaves from my chest. I start to hobble, lowering myself to theground just as I hear Alex’s BMW drive off behind me. The shaky breaths and cries I can’t seem to stop keep coming, wave after wave, as I cover my mouth to silence the cries.

When my tears stop long enough for me to stand from the cold walkway, I walk into my house. I wave a half good night to my parents watching TV in the living room, careful to keep my voice calm and steady before I trudge upstairs to my room. I somehow gather the strength to change out of my dress, my beautiful dress now tainted with the memory of tonight, and climb underneath the covers and fall into another fit of silent sobs and heart-shattering betrayal.

present

October 22nd.

It’s a date I’ve remembered and looked forward to for the past five years. Five years ago on this day, Matteo took me to dinner atMomofuku and after a ten-course meal that ended in a mouthwatering rum cake, he asked me to be his girlfriend.

This is the first time in five years I’ll be spending that day alone, without Matteo. Minus the anniversary he completely forgot two years ago and went to a Knicks game with his friends instead.

I didn’t know how I was going to handle it. I didn’t know if I was going to stay in my pajamas all day with my face covered in cheese puffs or if I was going to go to every bar in Manhattan to drown my sorrows in cosmopolitans and obnoxious jukebox music well into the night. But calling Hayden and having him be by my side sounded like a safer option.

When Saturday morning rolls around, I go to the nearest bakery and stock up on cupcakes, donut holes, and a whole cheesecake with the excuse that it’s Carmen’s favorite, tucking away a large slice for her to enjoy when she gets home from work the following morning. I spent the latter part of the previous day distracted by the looming heartache that I was sure to surface when day broke, but it never happened. While I haven’t necessarily been the embodiment of what a happy single woman should be, I’m not necessarily as mournful as I thought I would be.

So I bury myself in preparation for my movie night with Hayden, hoping that staying distracted will keep those thoughts away. I flick through all the streaming services Carmen and I share and narrow down our choices to every sappy, chick flick holiday movie I can find. As I move about my apartment, flitting around while fluffing pillows that have already been fluffed and wiping surfaces that are already squeaky clean, I can’t help but think that maybe the reason I have yet to feel the pang in my heart I so highly expected is all because of Hayden.

Ever since the wedding, he’s been more attentive, texting randomly throughout the day as if to remind me that I’m on his mind. I even spent my lunch hour at his restaurant more than once this week, bringing José along so that we could indulge, just a little bit, on the now-familiarFrench dishes that Hayden spoils me with. A small smile lifts the corners of my mouth as I think about the number of times I had a lemon tart this week, a box of extras always held in my hands on my way back to the office after a food coma inducing lunch.

It’s so nice to feel like I’m being taken care of instead of neglected. To feel like I matter enough for someone to consider me.

Once I’ve neatly organized all our dessert choices and an extra-large cheese pizza on my kitchen counter, my intercom buzzes loudly. I press the button to buzz Hayden in and open the door to him dressed in the most casual attire a single man in his midtwenties could wear: gray sweatpants, a stark white hoodie, and a Cincinnati Reds baseball cap, all topped with black-rimmed glasses. He looks dressed for a night in.

My own attire matches Hayden’s level of leisure as I chose comfort over aesthetics today, not caring much what I look like. That meant I gravitated toward my usual lazy weekend outfit: an oversized sweater, spandex shorts that are hidden under the tent of said oversized sweater, and warm, fuzzy socks pulled up the length of my calves. All of it, quite literally, topped off with a messy bun and a makeup-free face.

“You look dressed for the occasion,” I comment, opening the door wider for him to enter.

“You said movie night,” he answers, swiveling on his feet to face me as he steps into my living room before extending a small white to-go container toward me. “I came prepared.”

“Since when do you wear glasses?” I ask as I take the container in my hands while eyeing him curiously.

He laughs. “Since forever. I just wear contacts.”

“How did I not know that about you?” I open the box to peek inside, only to find the most delicious smelling moist cake with cocoa powder dusted on top.

He shrugs before gesturing to the box. “We ran out of lemon tarts, but I had a few slices of tiramisu left.”

“Thank you,” I say softly, clutching the box to my chest.

He nods before turning to face my kitchen counter. He peruses what I left out as his hands brace the counter.

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