Page 98 of Silver Linings
Thankfully, I have no time to ruminate on any of it for too long, because the store is slammed. Holly, Carmen, and I have been fielding customers left and right while trying to keep the place tidy as much as possible. I’ve noticed a few familiar faces, some of the people from book club, Dax from Respect the Drip stopped by to bring us coffee, Carmen’s fuck boy ex who Holly chased off with a particularly thick copy ofA Clash of Kings. Even Simon and Isla stopped by. Everything is going smoothly.
Warm arms slide around my waist from behind, and for a moment I breathe in a deep sigh of relief before I realize the scent is wrong, the build much smaller. I twist in Kena’s arms to see him beaming down at me, Julien standing just off to his right holding flowers. I try my best to muster up a smile, but it feels fake, even to me, and my best friend is immediately concerned.
“Julien, my love, could you go get me a drink?” Julien takes the request for what it is, a hint to get lost for a few minutes. “Okay, what’s wrong?”
I tell him everything. How my mom showed up and dropped an anvil on my head. How I tried to call Hendrix because he’s the only one I wanted to talk to about it. How he didn’t answer and hasn’t since. How he isn’t here when he said he would be.
I look at my best friend with defeat in my posture and can tell he’s at a loss for words. I don’t need to tell him all the muck this is dredging up for me. Abandonment claws at my throat, diggingin like a starved wolf, my misery its meal. I’m drowning, lost in a sea of regret and sorrow, no life vest in sight.
“He could still show up,” he offers in encouragement.
“Maybe.” We both know he’s not coming. He would have been here by now or given any kind of indication he was running late, but he hasn’t. He’s been radio silent since he left the shop yesterday, after I was acting weird and stand-offish and not my normally bubbly self at lunch. Is that what happened? He peeled back enough of my layers to get to my tender underbelly, didn’t like what he saw, and decided to cut and run?
“Everything will be okay,” Kena tries to assure me.
“I’ve gotta go. The store’s busy.” I give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for coming.”
I’m inverting in on myself, building my walls back up brick by brick because it’s the only defense mechanism I know.
Hours have gone by, and the day was a whopping success. I fake celebration with the girls as we clean up, tossing out cups and straightening shelves. I close out the till, and it’s the highest sales day we’ve had in years.
There’s a large part of me that’s proud, but the numbness that’s spread through my body hours ago isn’t allowing me to fully enjoy the success.
When the girls and I gather outside to lock up, I give them each a hug. “Thank you for all your hard work, and for pushing me towards this.”
They exchange a glance. “We actually got you a gift,” Carmen says.
She reaches into her bag and pulls out a small box, handing it to me. I lift the lid, and a bark of laughter launches from my throat. It’s the most genuine slice of joy I’ve had today as I pull out a pink ceramic mug that readsWorld’s Sexiest Boss. A tear escapes my eye, and I’m lucky I can pass it off as tears of laughterwhen really, I’m so overwhelmed, and this small kind gesture sets me off for some reason.
“This is the best. Thank you.”
We say goodbye before going our separate ways, and I’m left with spiraling thoughts again. It’s still early in the evening, but I can’t wait to get in bed and be enveloped by darkness and the oblivion of sleep.
As I walk into the building a few minutes later, I make one last desperate decision—one last ditch effort to make sense of this.
“Hey Tony, have you seen Hendrix?”
Tony scratches the back of his neck. “He was fired yesterday… He didn’t tell you?”
Fired? Why wouldn’t he tell me that? Did he blame me for it, is that way he was a no show today?
“Umm, no, but thanks anyway.” I turn, walking quickly to the elevators, and when I step on and the doors close, I crumble.
I can’t hold it in anymore. The tears pour out of me in rivulets for the second time today, because he didn’t show up when I needed him most. He’s spent weeks, months demolishing my walls, smoothing over my rough edges, and making me feel shiny and new—making me feelloved—only to not show up on the day I needed him the most, when hepromisedhe would be here.
Years of bottled up trauma comes rushing over me like an avalanche of despair, burying me under a suffocating reality: I never should have allowed myself to get attached, to rely on him.
I somehow make it through my front door, not remembering the steps I took to get here, fall into my too empty bed where I habitually reach for a body that isn’t there, and cry myself to sleep.
twenty-nine
. . .
To my luck,the first flight out of JFK direct to Seattle was boarding by the time I made it to the airport. I ran a mad dash through security and got to my gate right before they closed the doors. Once I was seated and we were in the air, the adrenaline I was surviving on up until that point abruptly wore off, and I fell asleep immediately.
I was grateful for it, though, since it kept my mind from spinning to worst case scenarios. But now that I was back on the West Coast and in a cab straight to the hospital, all thewhat ifswere running rampant.
Mom said Laurel was in a bad accident. It was vague, but there was enough panic in her voice to scare me into action. She could be in surgery right now. What if she was in a coma? Fuck, she could be paralyzed. The thought of my wonderfully stubborn and headstrong sister lying prone in a hospital bed makes me physically ill, and the shaking of the car as it rolls over the highway isn’t helping the rising nausea churning inside my gut.
