Page 99 of If the Stars Align
His gaze is steely. “You’re being needy. And it’s not a good look on you.”
I blink back tears. “Are you fucking kidding me? This coming from the guy who—until recently—had his hands all over me every morning while I was still dreaming? Who treated me like his daily dose of caffeine, without a second thought about whetherIneeded more sleep?”
He scoffs. Then he stands and starts pacing the room. “Youlovethe way I wake you up, Sunny. You tell me all the time that it’s your favorite goddamn part of the day?—”
“Yeah, well, maybeIwould like to be the one in charge of when I wake up for once. You take my body when you want it…and you make me yours…and I used to think it was so hot. But now I see it for what it really is. It’s selfish.”
He drags his hand through his hair. “That’s bullshit, and youknow it. On the days I go into the office early, you’re always telling me how much you missed me. You don’t really missme, Sunny—you miss getting fucked.”
Tears roll down my cheeks. “Yeah, you know why? Because sex is the only time I feel connected to you, Jeremy!” I grab tissues from the nightstand and wipe my eyes. “Why do you do this to me? One minute you look at me like I’m the only woman in the world who matters, and the next…you make me feel like shit about myself. Your mood swings are giving me whiplash.”
Jeremy closes his eyes and squeezes the bridge of his nose. Then he finds his dress shirt, slung over the back of a chair. “I’m going out,” he says, jamming his arms into the sleeves.
He leaves the room and, a minute later, the front door slams shut.
This is the bed I made for myself—and now I’m lying in it. Alone, and devastated.
I think back to the way things were at the beginning. Witty banter, and great sex, and the lovestruck look in Jeremy’s eyes that made me feel safer than I’d ever felt before. But where’s that sense of safety now, when he’s hot and cold, and pulls the rug out from under me whenever the hell he feels like it?
Is safety knowing for a fact that he’ll come home drunk tonight, and say he’s sorry, because it’s what he always does? Or is it his insistence that I’m the only person who understandshim…the only one who could match his wit and intelligence…and we were tailor-made for each other?
Maybe it’s the three-carat diamond ring on my nightstand, and the promise it represents. But what fucking promise is that, exactly? A vow to stay true in sickness and in health? Or a vow to keep me walking on eggshells for all eternity?
Dex would never treat me this way. And yet…
I broke up with him.
The front door opens and shuts. I glance at the clock. It’s 2:00 a.m.
Jeremy walks into the room, takes off his clothes, and crawls into bed with me. His eyes glisten in the darkness. “I’m so sorry, babe,” he whispers, stroking my hair.
A tear falls from his cheek and I wipe it away with my thumb.
When he kisses me, he tastes like whiskey. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers again.
In between every kiss, he apologizes, and cries, and tells me how much he loves me. Just like he always does. And I come to the same conclusion I always do after a night like this:
I let go of the love of my life. And I chosethisman. If this relationship doesn’t work, then nothing in my life makes sense. So I forgive him.
Again.
It’s a perfect summer day in Manhattan. I’ve been here the last six weeks shooting my latest film, and we wrap today. But I don’t feel as angsty as I normally do when a project ends. Because when I fly back to LA tomorrow, I’ll be picking up where things left off with Jenna.
After leaving the restaurant together that night in late March, we hung out practically all of April before I had to leave for New York. I guess a month goes by pretty quickly when you’re spending so much of it in bed.
But true to our agreement, our relationship has remained casual. We don’t talk about feelings. We don’t worry what the other person is up to when we’re not around. We don’t define or label anything, although I guess it’s pretty clear we’re friends with benefits. Ultimately, we’re both just grateful to have someone around when we don’t want to be alone.
It's been a much-needed distraction for me, that’s for sure. After Sunny told me she was engaged, I was convinced I’d fall apart. But being with Jenna has tempered my anxiety enoughthat it’s settled to a low hum that’s constantly in the background, rather than the raging riot I expected to annihilate me.
After we wrap filming, I decide I’d like to stay in costume for a few hours and just wander around the city like a regular person. This is the first movie I’ve done that’s required me to wear a considerable amount of makeup and prosthetics. I played a detective in his late forties who—how should I put this—isn’t quite as attractive as I am. I’m unrecognizable for the first time in years, and I’d like to take advantage of it. My makeup artists are fine with it and tell me to call whenever I’m ready for them to peel everything off.
I go to Times Square first and join one of those double decker bus tours. I overhear the couple seated in front of me talk about how wonderful my last movie was, and I smile. When I hop off the bus, I take a long walk through bustling city streets, then get myself an everything bagel with lox and scallion cream cheese (knowing full well I’ll have to add an extra workout tonight to make up for it), and I eat on a bench in Central Park while I people-watch. I round out the day with a trip to Whole Foods, just for the hell of it.
I’m strolling through the store, completely unperturbed, when I make it to the wine section. That’s when I see a face I recognize at the opposite end of the aisle.
It takes me several seconds to place him, but when I do, a jolt of adrenaline sets off a fight-or-flight reaction in my body.
Jeremy.
