Page 125 of Desserts for Stressed People

Another sob breaks the silence in my apartment. I do. Idolove him. “I have to respect his decision. I made my own future.”

Neither of them understand my quote. I don’t think so, at least. But I know what I’ll do now. I’ll watchBack to the Futureand—why the fuck not?—I’ll eat a whole box of cookies.

I don’t need todeservedessert.

* * *

I watchMarty’s dad and mom through a veil of tears. Everything remotely romantic has me weeping, but I don’t think there’s anything that will drive me away from this movie. Not even the fact that I’ve watched it with Shane.

I’m halfway through the movie when I realize there’s one more thing I’m grateful for.

Shane.

Life has spent all day shoving down my throat the million reasons I should be happy. Slapping me with the awareness that I’m one lucky bitch. But I somehow forgot to include Shane on the list. Shane, who rendered all the loves I’ve experienced before him irrelevant. Who made me feel a different type of love. True, passionate, gut-wrenching love.

I think I might have loved him before I met him, because with his messages, he woke me up from the coma I was living in. He showed me everything I didn’t have, then gave me all of it and more.

Desserts. Love. Laughter. Life.

The reason I didn’t crush under the weight of the last six weeks is Shane. And that’s true for so many things. My work, my personal life, my well-being. He kept me anchored and safe, and now I love him. I also lost him, yes. But that was my fault. And I’m still grateful he was a part of my life, however short-lived.

I wish I could tell him. I really wish he knew that despite how it ended, I don’t regret him, even if he regrets me.

As I stare at Marty running toward Doc and trying to save him from his death, my phone pings from the coffee table. I reach for it, knowing it’s either my parents or a promotion for something I don’t need.

When I notice it’s a number that’s not saved, I figure it’s the latter and almost put the phone down. But as I quickly scan the screen, I freeze.

Heaven, what in the name of God happened? Riley.

“Fuck,” I mumble at the screen as I cup my mouth with my hand. That’s Shane’s sister. He must have told her about us, and she’s asking what went wrong. Or maybe he told her about Nevaeh and she’s just asking if I’m normal. Either way, my heart’s gone through the roof.

This is the closest I’ve gotten to Shane since last I saw him at the Dèvon party. I haven’t run into him in the cafeteria or in the hall. No looks across the parking lot or awkward rides in the elevator. Nothing. He’s only two floors above me, yet he might as well be on a whole other planet.

But now...now Riley texted me. I have to answer back.

Heaven:

Hi Riley. How are you? So good to hear from you. Things...got messy, as you probably know. I screwed up, and your brother deserves better.

I might be laying it thick, but it’s not like I don’t believe what I’m saying. On top of that, I’m aware there’s more than a chance Shane will read this. If it’s the last means of communication we have left, I’ll make sure my message comes across super clear.

Riley:

OMG, you kids are going to kill me. He won’t tell me what happened, but he’s heartbroken. You have to fix this. He can’t have waited years to be with you for a week only.

I press my lips tight. Half of me is still convinced she has the wrong person, but there’s what Marina said too. That five years ago is when Shane became even more of an asshole.

With a sigh, I throw myself back on the couch cushions and stare at her message. She said he’s heartbroken, and Marina described a similar situation. Is he not sleeping? Has he cried? Does it make me a horrible person that I hope he’s some sort of sleepless zombie plagued by constant tears and regret? And what can I do to fix it?

Maybe I can’t tell him I’m grateful for him, but I can show him. Maybe there’s something I can do to let him know I love him. Even if he doesn’t love me back. Even if we’re done. Even if he’s a mess because I hurt him.

I get up, walk to the desk, and turn on my laptop. I know what I’ll do. What I do best. And I’ll need a fresh pot of coffee for that.

As I walk toward the machine, a determined smile emerges over my face. Quickly typing on my phone, I send out one more message.

Heaven:

You’re right, Riley. Don’t worry about it. I’m not giving up.

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