Page 111 of Meet Your Match
“Livia, what are you doing with that?” My chest was even tighter now in the presence of the box.
“I’m not doing anything,” she said, plopping it on my outdoor table. She tore the lid open. “Youare.”
“Wha—”
“Here,” she said before I could ask anything, taking out the first item she found and shoving it into my hand.
I froze the moment it touched my skin.
It was a golf ball, neon orange, from one of my first dates with James. We’d gone putt-putting, him showing off and me letting him because I liked that he wanted to show off for me. At the end of the night, he’d drawn a black heart on the ball he’d won with, and I’d kept it in my purse for longer than I’d ever admit.
“Okay…” I said, staring at it.
“Throw it.” Livia said, pointing across my yard toward where my compost bin was. “Or stomp on it or light it on fire or get a sledgehammer and destroy it.”
“A sledgehammer?”
“Listen to me,” she said, grabbing my shoulders in her hands. “You’ve cried over this fucker. You’ve gone to therapy. You’ve picked yourself up and you’ve started building a career and you’ve moved on. But you can’t let go of him, of what he did to you, until he’s no longer taking up any space. Not in your head, your heart, or this stupid box you keep shoved in the top corner of your closet.” She pulled out a picture frame of me and James next, pressing it into my chest. “It’s time to break shit, bitch.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she pulled out her phone and thumbed through it until Limp Bizkit was playing that exact song she’d just referenced, and she gave me a nod of encouragement, bopping her head to the beat.
“Livia, this is—”
“BREAK SHIT, BITCH.”
I let out a long sigh, because I did not see how this was going to fix anything at all. But I took the frame from her anyway, and when I looked down at it, I paused.
It was a photo of me and James at the beach, my head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around me, both of us smiling. That was the night he’d asked me my ring size. We’d spent the weekend with friends, and it was one of those perfect kind of weekends when the weather is gorgeous, and the days are long and lazy, and the nights are hot and wild. It felt like a turning point in my life. The man I loved had asked for my ring size, and we were joking about how many kids we wanted.
For so long, I looked at that photo and felt my stomach ache with how happy I’d been in that moment, with how scared I was I’d never be that happy again.
But looking at it now, I only thought one thing.
He’s not Vince.
It felt wrong, to see me in another man’s arms. I thought about the picture Vince took of us on the boat, and I compared my smile in that one with the one I stared at now.
I didn’t even recognize her anymore, the girl on the beach.
But I knew the girl on the boat.
I shivered.
The longer I stared at the photograph in my hands, the more upset I became. I didn’t want his arms around me, because they weren’t Vince’s. It was…gross. It was disturbed. It was not okay. It waswrongin every possible way.
And that made me laugh.
It was a short laugh at first, one that bubbled out of my chest. But then I was cackling, shaking my head as tears fromlaughingfilled my eyes this time.
“Oh, God,” Livia said, blinking as she stepped away from me with her hands raised. The song played out, the lyrics calling to me while my best friend stared at me like a psycho. “Did I officially push you over the insanity line?”
“No,” I managed through another fit of laughter, wiping tears from my eyes. “I… I think you just saved me.”
I ran a hand over the photograph, shaking my head. How did I ever thinkthatwas joy? How did I ever seehimas forever?
What James and I had was love, yes — it was important in its own way. He did make me smile, and I did feel safe with him until the very moment I didn’t.
But God, comparing him to Vince, comparing how I felt with James with how I feel now?
