Page 72 of Pick Six
“You’re right. You deserve fucking better, but you’re stuck with me now.” I grin at her.
She smiles, looking at me like she might say something else before she bites her lower lip and kisses me again.
“Let me get rid of this and make sure the coast is clear so you can get to the bathroom and change, okay?”
She nods and I kiss her one last time before I stand, feeling like I’ve finally won some hard-fought ground with her.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Harper
A few dayslater I’m upstairs, looking to get some old boxes out of the closet to see if I can find where I put a shirt I wanted to wear but couldn’t find. To look for it though I had to wander up to the old master bedroom closet and I hate coming up here. Alex, who’s downstairs finishing up an interview over the phone had offered to come up with me if I could wait until he was off the phone, but I just wanted to get it out of the way.
Looking around this house, really stopping to look instead of just getting through my daily tasks, work and sleep, gives me the hives. It reminds me of all the years I wasted on a man who probably never even really loved me. All the time I could have spent doing better things with my life, spending time with people who actually cared about me. But instead, I’d put on holiday dinners and birthday parties for him, decorated this house, and made plans for our future.
Now I’m slowly dismantling everything, trying to get it ready to sell because that day is coming sooner rather than later. I really needed to double down on looking for an apartment and finding a place close to work. It’s just without knowing if the levy is going to pass and how much longer I’ll have a job, I don’t know how wise it is to sign a lease.
This is why I tried not to stop and think too long. Because the second I do, I remember all the things I have to worry about right now.
I shake my head, trying to clear it because thinking about all of that isn’t going to change the past or the future. I pass through the master bathroom to my old walk-in closet and grab one of the last few boxes that’s left in there. I’ve been living downstairs in the guest bedroom since Drew took the rest of the furniture and it meant that I could mostly close off the upstairs portion of the house. Living in the house differently than I had before at least let me pretend it was a different place and let me avoid most of the memories our old bedroom and closets held. Except, as I’m grabbing the box my eyes catch on one of the things I’d left here, still neatly tucked in the dry-cleaning bag like the day I brought it home—my wedding dress.
I remember the stupid amount of time and energy I put into picking it out, hoping Drew would like it, hoping that it would bring me good luck. I had been so fucking naive. I rip it off the rack and stare at it. I want to throw it in the ocean. Maybe burn it on a bonfire out back. Watching it burn might be cathartic, give me some semblance of closure on this whole thing. But I can’t bring myself to do it, because all of those would be shit for the environment and the better thing would be to see about donating it to someone who needs one. Maybe they’d have better luck in it than I did.
Besides, it wasn’t cheap and it’s still in perfect condition, and only a few years old. Might be a style someone could still use. I don’t know any soon-to-be brides but it’s possible I know someone who does, and a consignment or donation center may want it.
As I step out of the closet and into the bathroom, my eyes fall to the counter, the place where I first saw Drew’s phone lighting up with text messages from her when he’d forgotten it one morning. This whole upstairs is a museum of bad memories, everywhere I turn is another exhibit of failure. But luckily, it’s almost empty and I’m almost out of here. The sooner I get the boxes and memories like this dress out of here, the better. Which reminds me Drew is stopping by sometime soon to pick up some of the things he didn’t take in the first round, except I need to find out what time.
Drew had texted me several times this week, wanting to talk and meet up at the house and I’d managed to dodge him. I don’t know what his sudden interest is in rekindling a friendship, other than the obvious—that he just wants to know if anything is going on with Alex. Because Drew certainly didn’t care about being friends post-divorce until he showed up. I’d avoided saying no outright because I didn’t want to argue or create friction for Alex, but I’d done my best to make it clear I was brushing him off.
Then he’d texted to say he needed things out of the garage and basement. Which again, seemed like a manufactured reason given he’d done without those things for months. But I couldn’t begrudge the man his belongings in his own home, and I’m happy for him to take the rest of his things. Each box he takes is one less thing for me to move or prep for when the house goes on the market. He could take almost all of it as far as I’m concerned.
I’d already given back my engagement ring, one that was a family heirloom that belonged to his mother and grandmother before her. He said he wanted it in case he got remarried, which seems like something a future wife wouldn’t love but I suppose it’s none of my business. Maybe he wants the dress too in case things with one mistress or the other have progressed. She can have a matching set and he can just take back up where he left off with someone else in the role.
That thought hits me like a form of grotesque amusement, and I start laughing and crying all at once. I don’t even know which one it is at this point. Another laughing sob escapes me and I double over. I must be loud because Alex, who’s finally off his call is standing in the doorway watching me. There’s a war of emotions on his face as he takes me in alongside the dress I’m holding, and his eyes soften as he sees me struggling to compose myself again.
“I’m sorry. I just—” I have to pause to draw in a breath. “I was trying to figure out what to do with this, and then I was thinking… do you think he wants the dress back to go with the ring? The future wife could have a matching set.”
Alex’s brows raise, his lips twisting in a mocking grin before he closes the distance between us and kisses my forehead. I lean into him.
“I’m not upset about him or the dress. I know it looks that way, but it just reminds me of how much time I wasted with him. Time that could have been better spent, and I just… I’m furious about that part still.”
“You’re allowed to be upset, Saint. He hurt you and you didn’t deserve it.”
“This is where I found out too. He left his phone in here on accident one morning. He’d gotten in late the night before and then had to leave early, to meet you oddly enough, and he forgot it. I came in here to get ready for work and his phone was lighting up with messages, so I picked it up. Thinking maybe it was you and I’d let you know he was on the way. But it was just one sext after another. About how good he felt and how much she wanted him to fuck her again tonight. Then I had to go to work and give a lecture on Victorian fashion to a group of women from the active seniors' group.” A tight little smile crosses my lips at the memory of that day.
I couldn’t remember anything that hurt quite like realizing you’ve been betrayed by the person you thought you could trust more than anyone, the one you sleep next to every night and do all the mundane bits of life with like paying bills and mowing the lawn. Then you just have to go to work and act like it’s any other day of the week.
“I wish I’d known, Saint. I would have punched him for you the second he walked in the door that day.”
An unexpected laugh pops out of my mouth at the thought of that. “I wish you had. He definitely deserved it.”
“I can still figure out a way to work it in if you need me to.”
I shake my head at him, swiping at the tears on my cheek. “I think I’m good. Now I just have to figure out what to do with this dress. I guess I should donate it, even though I really want to burn it.”
“Don’t burn it. You looked fucking amazing in it.”
“Oh please. Like you even remember what it looks like.”
