Page 36 of Winging It with You

That’s brutal. It’s like Asher’s ex isn’t even trying to hide his indifference or stupidity.

Maybe he’s just downright cruel.

“Well, what’s our vibe?” I ask, not really knowing what to say. “Are we angry? Out for revenge? Utterly devastated and heartbroken? I need to know how to proceed here, Ash.”

He turns toward me, his smile returning. Slightly.

“What, you have different procedures depending on my feelings?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Alright then,” he says, taking a sip from his bottle. “Let’s see how you proceed with equal parts humiliated and enraged mixed with a touch of self-loathing.” Whatever smile he managed to force across his face disappears as quickly as it formed. There’s an undeniable exhaustion behind his eyes, a weight he’s been carrying all alone.

“Ah, the mother lode,” I tease. “Well, for starters, I’d tell you that everyone has an ex or a romantic situation or two they’re embarrassed by, and if they say otherwise, they’re for sure lying.”

“Is that so?” he asks, his voice quiet and slow, like he’s trying to hide the slight crack I can hear.

“Mm-hmm,” I say from behind the rim of my bottle as I take another pull.

Asher nods and picks at his bottle’s label. “Do you?” he asks after a long moment, and I really should have seen that coming.

I haven’t thought about him in ages.

Or more honestly, I hadn’t thought about Ethan since Asher came bursting into my life. Thought about how it felt to have someone, and even worse, to have to move on without him.

“Of course,” I admit, realizing it would be unfair to let him wallow in relationship self-pity alone. “Falling in love with the wrong person and then getting your heart broken? That’s just another part of life, right? One of those things we all gotta deal with at one point or another.”

“And have you?” he asks, turning toward me. “Dealt with it?”

More like ignored it at all costs, but he doesn’t need to know that.

Not now, at least.

It’s easier that way. To pretend the past is truly in the past. That what happened then has no bearing on today—especially when you’re still unsure about who you can or should talk to about it.

I clear my throat. “Sure I have,” I say, but even I don’t buy my lie. “But the more important question here is how doyouwant to deal with it?”

He mulls over my question, opening his mouth several times but then seeming to change his mind. “I don’t want to deal with him or any of it,” he says after a beat. “I’m just upset about how it all ended and what that means. The only thing I can think about is how angry I am for wasting so many important years of my life trying to make someone like him happy.”

Asher’s brow furrows, and I realize now that this isn’t a conversation he needs me to interject in. Right now, he just needs to vent, and I’m happy to let him.

“I lost myself, Theo,” he says, and his voice is filled with a sudden vulnerability. “I don’t know when or how exactly, but somewhere along the way, I lost just about everything I happened to like about myself and became…this.”

Asher fixates on something in the distance.

“Andthisis?” I ask, hoping to gain a better understanding of how he views himself.

He shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know…just a version of myself who I barely recognize anymore. Someone whostrategically molded themselves into what they thought was the perfect partner. Someone who said and did all the right things to make sure they didn’t inadvertently cross some imaginary line. Someone who made sure to let everyone else shine. And yet somehow, allthatcould never be enough. But I see the relationship for what it was. And more important, what it wasn’t.”

I hate that. God, do I hate that.

He turns back toward me. “Did you know that last year, my team at work won the Walter R. Fitzgerald Award for Healthcare Innovation?” he asks excitedly, but he must see the blank stare on my face. “Of course you wouldn’t,” he laughs, shaking his head. “I keep forgetting we’ve known each other for a literal millisecond.”

This sends a slight pang of hurt through me.

“Will you tell me about it?” I ask, hoping he’ll elaborate.

“It’s…” he starts, a flush sneaking up his neck. “It just this award they give to a research lab that makes a significant development in the advancement of our career field. Our department won last year for our work on artificial nerve regeneration and it was a really big deal and moment in my career. I mean, Theo—we developed technology that helps damaged spinal cords by directing synthesized signals to the human brain…”

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