Page 84 of Just the Tipsy
He nods and heads back inside, but I stay on the bench and try to pull myself together.
I’m on that bench for a long, long time.
TWENTY-SEVEN
BIANCA
“Alright.Just a little more paperwork and this house will be good to go for the next owners,” the realtor says to me.
“Great,” I say with a little fake pep, even though I’m crumbling inside.
I’ve been crumbling for the whole week since the wedding and Waylon’s rejection. Sadie definitely notices, because she won’t leave my lap if I’m sitting and insists on snuggling all the time. At least she makes me feel a tiny bit better.
But she can’t stop the constant loop in my thoughts — that no one will ever choose me for me. That I need to offer them something else to make me worthwhile. With Kyler, he obviously wanted my connections. And with my exes and friends before that, they wanted clout or something equally stupid.
Waylon hurts the most, though. He doesn’t want any industry connections or clout. So the more he got to know me, the more he probably realized that I don’t have much to offer him. Or at least I don’t have enough to offer for him to stay.
I sign a bunch of paperwork and head out to my car. I sit there, zoned out, for a few minutes. It’s Friday, and I’m done with work. But I want to be alone, but I don’t want to go homeyet. Even seeing Waylon’s house or hearing Duke and Murphy playing in the yard makes my heart ache.
But sitting in the parking lot, staring off into space, probably looks weird. I start up and drive home. Or to the house, I guess, because home isn’t a definite spot anymore.
When I get home, I let Sadie out before laying down on the couch. When I broke up with Kyler, I had a good, long moping period, but it didn’t feel like this. Like I’ve been excavated and left open in the hot sun.
I look just as rough as I feel too. I’ve been too exhausted to wrap my hair at night or even get my satin pillowcase out, so my curls are a little all over the place. And I have dark circles underneath my eyes that I haphazardly covered with a little concealer.
My phone rings — it’s my mom. The urge to cry suddenly takes over me, but I tamp it way down. If Mom senses that I’m upset, she’ll get my dad, then Dad will also be upset.
“Hi, B,” Mom says when I answer the phone.
“Hey.” I scoop up Sadie and rest her on my stomach.
“What’s up? You sound tired.”
I squeeze the bridge of my nose. Of course Mom picked up on something right away.
“Just a long week,” I say. “But I just sold the house, so I won’t be here too much longer.”
“You did? That’s great.” I hear Mom muffle the phone, as if muting doesn’t exist, and calls out to my dad, “Bianca sold the house.”
“She did what?” Dad yells back.
“She sold the house!” Mom says louder. “Anyway, since you sold the house, when are you moving to New York? We can meet up with each other whenever you get settled. Or if you want help with your move, we can do that too.”
I take in a deep breath and let it out. “Yeah, maybe.”
“You don’t sound very excited,” Mom says. “Do you like it down there?”
I pet Sadie. “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated?”
“I do like it, but it’s…” I try to search for a word that distills the dread I feel at the thought of leaving while also having the urge to flee despite having friends here who I’ll miss. “Complicated.”
“Mmhm. I’m guessing you’ll tell me whenever you’re ready,” she says. I breathe out a sigh of relief. “Just know that we’re here and we love you. No matter what happens.”
I stare up at the ceiling, tears stinging my eyes. My social life might be a confusing shit show, but I can always count on my parents to have my back. And a lot of people don’t even have that.
“Love you too,” I say.
