Page 83 of Love Undecided
Chapter 36
Kat
I go through my closet again, but nothing in there is calling my name. The thirteen plus outfits scattered around my room don’t seem to be doing it for me either.
Not that I should care, this lunch isn’t to impress Brad, it’s to cut him off completely. We can’t be together. And it doesn’t matter how bad either of us may want to be.
Not that I want to be.
No matter what Remi says. Or how many pictures of Brad I still have hidden in my house.
He needs to let go. We’re through.
We’ve been through since the first time I found out I was dying. And the fact that I’m actually still alive changes nothing.
Because I will die.
In the next few years, if not sooner.
And there’s nothing that either of us can do to stop it.
I shut my eyes, take a deep breath, and spin three times pointing my finger as I go. My go-to for deciding on an outfit when I can’t otherwise make up my mind.
I take my time dressing: slim fit boyfriend jeans, my bad-ass cowgirl rodeo belt, beige ankle boots, and a slouchy, low cut white tee tucked in just enough to look unintentional. I let my hair dry naturally so it has just a little wave to it and apply minimal makeup and lip gloss. I spritz a little of his favorite perfume on as my final touch, though I’m just not sure if that’s to purposefully be a bitch or not. Grabbing my purse, I take a deep, cleansing breath, put on my sunglasses, and head out the door.
Since lunch is my idea, I’m not sure what he thinks will come of it. But I know what I have to do and I’m not remotely prepared. Even though I know it’s best for both of us.
I get to the restaurant early so I can get my bearings and prepare myself emotionally for this talk. It’s a casual seafood place right on the water, and I managed to get us a table outside on the patio. Great view, pelicans circling, a soft breeze with the light ocean aroma. It would be romantic if it weren’t so tragic, if I didn’t still have feelings.
When I see him walking up I realize, too late, that said preparations should have been literal as well. As in a tequila shot. Or twelve.
My breath catches.
Somehow in the last twenty-four hours, I’ve forgotten just how beautiful he is. Or maybe it’s because my reason for seeing him today is personal and intentional, not by accident or in passing.
He looks good, as in really good.
His dark blonde hair tousled, probably from running his hands through it too many times. And even though his tortoiseshell sunglasses hide his eyes, I know they are shining bright and blue behind them. The rest of his outfit just makes him look like sex on steroids: low riding jeans that are snug in all the right places, a tight white tee-shirt that shows off his pecs and arms, and black Chucks.
I asked him to meet me at a newer restaurant that we’d not been to as a couple just so there wouldn’t be any competing memories to mess with our heads.
Or maybe just my head.
In case I haven’t mentioned it twenty-seven million times before, as far as I’m concerned Brad is perfect. He is everything that a woman could ask for in a man. He’s attentive, complimentary, stable, protective, generous, emotionally available, loyal, positive, funny, and seriously good looking.
So why this conversation?
Why am I making sure he breaks all ties and stays away?
Now that he's here, I have to wonder if it’s really for him or if it’s for me.
Is it because I’m so afraid of hurting him if something happens to me? Or am I more afraid of hurting me if it doesn’t last? If I’m afraid of hurting him, what’s the worst that will happen? The cancer comes back, which we already know it will, and I die, which we already know I will.
So I die, that hurts him, but what do I care? I’m dead. And if he hurts me, well shit happens, right? Nothing can ever be good all the time. If having a terminal illness has taught me nothing else, it’s definitely taught me that. All goodness comes to an end. And most times that end is heinous. I mean, whenever you get too used to goodness, it turns bad. Everybody knows that.
Well everybody, apparently, but Brad.
Because nothing bad ever happens to Brad, at least not until me.
I’m Brad’s bad.
