Page 95 of The Change Up
Sometime around midnight, I’m lying in my bed, freshly showered when I hear my phone buzz on the side table. Practically diving for it, I read the message that just popped in.
Brynn: You’re an asshole.
Not wanting to deal with her tonight, I slide out of her message and pull up Chloe’s thread of unanswered texts.
10:07 PM
Me: Wildflower, call me. I can explain everything. I love you.
10:32 PM
Me: Chloe, please. It wasn’t what you thought.
11:02 PM
Me: I’m worried about you. Please call me.
Me: I don’t even need a call, just let me know you got home safely.
11:23 PM
Me: I love you, Wildflower.
11:43 PM
Me: I’m so fucking sorry.
Numb.
Broken.
Empty.
My heart feels like it’s been ripped from my chest and stomped on by a herd of elephants.
It’s been twelve hours since my life imploded, punching me straight in the gut. Last night I flew on a stranger’s private jet—he was a friend of my dad’s—-back to my empty townhouse. I’m sure Brynn was at Quinton’s, and if I needed her, she would have been right over. But, much to my dad’s dismay, I wanted to be alone. I had to beg him to stay home and not drive up from Dallas to get me.
Someone must have texted Brynn because at one point I had a missed call from her. I sent her a short text back letting her know I was fine, and I’d talk to her about it later.
I didn’t want to talk about my feelings, I didn’t want to replay the night. I wanted to lie in my bed and let the tears pour from my soul.
I sobbed so much, I don’t have any tears left to shed. After crying myself to sleep last night, my body woke me up at eight, even though I was exhausted.
Who knew bawling that hard could leave you feeling like you just ran a marathon?
Which is why I’m standing in my kitchen, 80s rock blaring from my Bluetooth speaker as I bake. Today calls for rage baking.
Flour coats the counter leaving a cloud in the air as I sort out my pain on the dough that needs to be worked. Being in the kitchen, focusing on recipes, it’s my favorite way to escape. Only today, I’m struggling. Not even the blaring sounds of Twisted Sister can get me out of my head.
I reach for the scraper and cut the dough into eight triangles before brushing heavy cream on the tops. The smell of lemon and blueberry invades my nose. Lemon is such a calming fragrance.
Once the scones are in the oven, I feel a sharp pain rip through my chest. My brain is a whirlwind of emotions. I can’t seem to shut out the noise. The chaos floods my system with visions of last night. I don’t know what to grab onto first. Seeing my mom and knowing she’s been living her best life without me. My boyfriend told his family I was nothing to him. There was a part of me that thought maybe someday they would be my family too—even with how fucked up his dad is.
The images of my mom and her four kids infiltrate my mind. I thought my eyes were dried out from all of the tears, but I guess there’s more.
Sobs rip through my chest. I don’t know how to handle these emotions. So much has happened in the last day. I went from being blissfully in love and watching my boyfriend pitch another phenomenal game to being devastated at what’s become of my life. Who did I hurt in the past to warrant such horrible karma?
I don’t get it.
