Page 31 of Better Than the Beach
“Alright, C,” Ivy says firmly. “We’ve got about half an hour before the guys get here. So, spill it. Tell us what happened.”
So, I do.
I tell them everything. I even rehash the things I already told them, so there isn’t a single event that took place that they don’t know about between the time my flight was cancelled in Denver to right now in my Indianapolis apartment. And even though I don’t want to, even though I try super freaking hard not to, I cry.
“That fucking bastard,” Bailey seethes as she hands me a tissue, and Ivy growls in agreement. “What a fucking asshole. We could kill him. Ivy watches enough murder shows that we could probably pull it off and make it look like an accident.”
I bark out a sad laugh, wiping my tears from my eyes, and shake my head.
“Thank you, but no. No murderous plots.” I shrug. “I’d said it was just a holiday fling. We didn’t make any promises to each other or anything like that. He didn’t owe me anything. I mean, it hurts to be ghosted, yeah, but I don’t have anyone to blame but myself for my unrealistic expectations.”
Bailey grunts, clearly disagreeing with me, and I glance at Ivy to find her studying me with her problem-solving face.
“Do you think something happened?” she asks curiously. “Like maybe something with his ex-wife?”
“If she was actually hisex,” Bailey adds angrily. “He could have lied.”
I shake my head and grab another tissue from the box on the counter.
“I don’t think he lied. I’ve thought about it a lot. I think he was telling the truth when he said they were divorced.”
“And do you really think she was...” Ivy’s eyebrows shoot up, trailing off and implying the word without actually saying it.
I snort a laugh and shrug again.
“Maybe? I don’t know. She never said she was pregnant, but the way she was cradling her stomach...the way she said he would be a great daddy, yelling about being a family...”
I replay the moment in my head as I bring my glass of wine to my lips and take a sip.
“Maybe she’s just a manipulative bitch,” Bailey says flatly, and I choke on my wine. “Shit, sorry,” she says with a laugh, and I wave her off as Ivy reaches over to rub my back through my coughing fit.
“She kind of seemed like someone who could be considered a manipulative bitch,” I concede after I’ve caught my breath, and Ivy and Bailey both laugh. “It definitely felt like amessysituation.”
“So, it sounds like you dodged a bullet,” Bailey says, and I huff a laugh.
“Yeah, maybe.”
We sit in silence for a moment before I finally give voice to my feelings. The ones I’ve been working through since my last phone call to Mallory went unanswered.
“I think what hurts the most is that I thought I was important enough to at least warrant a call or something, you know? Like, relationship or whatever aside, he said he wanted to talk to me about master’s programs, but then he never followed through. He’s getting his doctorate in psychology, you know? He’s successful in my dream career field, and I thought it was finally the sign I’d been waiting for that maybe it was something I could do. Like I finally had someone in my corner, for once. I felt, I don’t know, validated.” I sigh and roll my eyes. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. He’s there and I’m here, and this is how it’s supposed to be anyway.”
“Why do you need his validation to pursue something in your dream career field?” Ivy asks, and I pause. I blink at her, but I don’t answer. She continues. “I mean, why does it matter if he’s in your corner or not? He’s just a man. It’syourcareer, not his.”
I glance at Bailey, and she pops an eyebrow.
“Good dick doesn’t mean shit,” she says, and I bark out a laugh. Bailey smirks. “I agree with V. Don’t base your self-worth on this one dude who ghosted you. He’s just one dude. You had good sex—”
“—reallygood sex,” I interject, and Bailey’s smirk stretches into a grin.
“Reallygood sex,” she amends, “and that’s awesome. You liked him, and then it ended, and that hurts. It might hurt for a while, honestly. But don’t let him being a fucking douche negatively affect your confidence in yourself.”
“He’s not a douche,” I say with a sad smile, and Bailey rolls her eyes playfully.
“Yeah, yeah, so you said.”
Ivy tops off our wine glasses and adds a few more cookies to my plate before speaking.
“I’m sorry it didn’t turn out how you wanted it to,” she whispers, then pulls me in for a tight hug.
