I’m wondering how long I can ignore the knocking at my door before the police are called. I’d say about ten more minutes. But it’s also just as possible that would Meghan call the cops herself. Conceding defeat, and with a great deal of effort, I rise from the couch.
As another round of knocking starts. I do my best to yell, “I’m coming!” But my voice is weak and scratchy from dehydration. My downfall didn’t end sitting on that curb. Nope. When I got home, I decided to Google the shit out of Jackson and Lacy. So I did. And I found a lot.
I found articles about their relationship, commentary on their attendance at fancy events, photos of them side by side. And the salty icing on the wound, I found their engagement announcement. She wasn’t lying. There was even a close-up of the ring. A ring I was able to recognize from last night. She also wasn’t lying that it all happened before I met Jackson. From the dates on the posts, it looks like their last public appearance was more than two years ago. Until, of course, just the other night.
I don’t know anything about their breakup. Based on the disappearance of information, it seems clear that they did end things. But when asked about it, Jackson’s response was always the same. No comment.
The more I learned, the worse I felt. It was bad enough that Jackson never brought her up when I thought she was just an ex-girlfriend, but it’s not like he can claim they weren’t serious. She was more than just an ex. She was his ex-fiancé. There’s a difference, and one is a much bigger deal than the other.
He was planning to marry her. Her! That she-devil of a woman. How can someone, who wanted to be with a woman like that, want to be with me? It’s like I don’t even know him.
I finally texted Meghan last night, or this morning, around two. The text didn’t say much. I don’t even really remember what I wrote, but it was along the lines of He’s back with Lacy and we’re done. Then I didn’t answer, or even read, any of the four million texts that she sent as a response. I had meant for her to see my message later in the morning, not for her to respond immediately. Unluckily for me, I work from home and she’s her own boss, so even though it’s a Thursday, she’s at my door before noon.
I’ve barely turned the locks, when Meghan shoves through and wraps me in a hug. She moved so fast that all I saw was a reddish blur of curls.
I had almost convinced myself I ‘d gotten past the shock and sadness of it all. That I was on to the anger phase. But being wrapped in a hug from my best friend… that unleashes the tears. Again.
“Oh, sweetie. It’s okay.” She’s stroking my hair, like I’m some sort of pet. It does feel kind of nice. “Let it out. It’s okay.”
I do, and I feel stupid all over again.
Once I get myself under control enough to talk, I pull away. Meghan looks me in the eye and winces. I guess heartbreak doesn’t look good on me; go figure.
Meghan guides me back to the couch. “Sit down. Take a breath. And tell me everything.”
When I drop myself onto the couch, she goes back to the door, grabs the giant bag she brought with her, and carries it to the kitchen.
When she starts digging around in my cupboards, I cave. “What are you looking for?”
“Found it!” She pulls out a tea kettle.
“You’re making tea?”
She adds water to the kettle and places it on the stove. “Sure.”
“Sure?”
“Yeah, sure. It’s kind of like tea.” Then I watch as she unloads a pile of lemons, a thing of cinnamon sticks, a jug of honey and a bottle of whiskey. What the hell sort of tea is she making?
Meghan lets me just sit there and watch her as she combines everything she brought with some steaming hot water.
Filling two mugs, she joins me on the couch. “Go on, try it.”
I look between her and my mug. “You put booze in here.”
“Yeah?” She raises her eyebrows at me.
“It’s still the morning.”
“And? Are you really going to sit there and tell me that you were having a productive work morning? Because you look like shit.”
“Thanks,” I deadpan.
“You love me because I’m honest. Now drink up and tell me everything that happened.”
I take a sip of the non-tea boozy drink. It’s surprisingly delicious. “Huh. What is this witchcraft?”
“It’s called a Hot Toddy. It’s good for colds. And broken hearts.” She gives me a sad smile. “Now spill. Start from when you first saw those pictures online.”
So I spill. I tell her everything, every detail, every feeling. She shakes her head, and gasps, and tears up, but she doesn’t stop me. She does refill my drink though. By the time I’m done recounting my tale, we are both two toddies in, and I’m feeling the effects.
“Fuck, girl. I’m so sorry,” Meghan says, shaking her head for the hundredth time.
“Me too.”
“I wish I had something clever to say that would help. Have you talked to Steph? She seemed to hate that Lacy bitch.”
“No, I haven’t. And I’m not going to.”
“What, why?”
“Because they’re family, her and Jackson.” My voice cracks a little when I say his name, and that just pisses me off. Using that anger, I continue. “I don’t need her trying to make up excuses for her brother. And I really don’t need to cause problems between siblings. They’re a family of three. I can’t be responsible for damaging that.”
“Fuck that noise. If this were to hurt their relationship, it would be Jackson’s fault – not yours.”
“Yeah, I know. But you know what I mean. What’s the point? What’s the point in calling her?”
“If she calls you, will you answer?”
“I don’t know.”
“Has she called you?”
“I don’t know.”
With that answer, Meghan tilts her head. “You don’t know?”
“I turned my phone off after I texted you last night, and I haven’t turned it back on. I didn’t want to talk to anyone.”
“That explains why all my calls this morning went to voicemail, you bitch.”
I smile a little at that. “See, that’s why I turned it off.”
We are both startled by a knock at the door. I look wearily in that direction but make no move to get up. Rolling her eyes, Meghan goes to the door. I can’t see if anyone’s there from this angle, but I see her bend down to grab something. When she turns back, she’s holding a white envelope, wrapped in a green ribbon.
My heart stops. What the fuck is he playing at? Why would he send me something today, after his night with Lacy?
Coming back to the couch, Meghan sits down and sets the envelope between us. We sit there for a solid minute, then she nudges it closer to me. “Aren’t you curious?”
When I don’t answer, Meghan grabs the envelope and rips it open. She takes a game ticket out of the card and sets it on the coffee table. It doesn’t take her long to read the letter. When she’s done, she looks at me, her brows furrowed. I just stare back at her for a bit, before holding my hand out.
Dearest Kitten,
I’m sorry I missed you last night. I know that was poor timing. I need to see you, so I can explain everything. Here’s a ticket for my game tonight. I’m hoping we can talk after.
Yours, Jackson
I don’t know how long I’ve been holding this letter, staring at it. The words are getting hard to read, and it’s only when I see the tear drops streaking the page that I realize why.
I’m so confused. “Why?” I croak out. “Why the hell would he want me to come to his game? He could have just explained in the letter. Dear, Kitten. I suck. I want a plastic bitch. Bye.”
Meghan grabs the letter from my hands and reads it again. She’s thinking.
“What?” I ask.
“You didn’t see him last night, right?”
“Right. The nearly naked door guard made sure of that.”
“Well, what if . . .”
She doesn’t finish. It’s like she’s trying to think of a logical what if. I sigh and lay my head back against the couch. “Trust me, I’ve gone through the whole list. But there’s too much that adds up to one big steaming pile of he-didn’t-pick-me. Can we not talk about this for a little while? I just need to forget about Jackson, and this entire clusterfuck, for one day. I’ll turn my phone back on tomorrow. I can deal with reality then.”
“If you’re suggesting that we continue day drinking, avoid the topic of dicks, eat food, and go to bed extremely early, then I’m in.”
Meghan takes the card, and the ticket, and stuffs them under a pile of magazines. Then she fills our mugs once more.
We stick to the plan perfectly. We drink just enough, we eat too much, and I’m fast asleep before Jackson’s game even ends.
