Page 92 of That Time I Kissed My Beachfront Boss

“Multiple times. I kept getting sent straight to voicemail.”

“Do you think he blocked you?”

“Of course he blocked me!” Darby shrieks. “I checked his locker, and his coat was still there. His stethoscope. His lunch cooler. I was this close to calling the police. Then I found the note at his apartment.”

“What note?”

“The goodbye note, taped to his refrigerator.”

“What did it say?”

“It said, ‘Sorry, Darby, but this is for the best. Don’t try to find me.’” Her voice rises to almost a shriek. “And the rest of his apartment was empty, Liv. EMPTY! The man just Gone Girl-ed himself, and left me with a lousy note!”

“Hold on,” I say. “Put a hand over your heart. Right now.”

“Liv—”

“Do it. Hand flat on your chest, right above your heart. Feel the beat? Your body is doing what it needs to do.”

“I—”

“We have to regulate your nervous system, so just do this with me. Take a deep breath. Inhale, but don’t let it out … Now exhale. And take another deep breath.” Together we work through a breathing exercise Darby knows well enough from her own therapy sessions, but she’s too out of balance to manage without guidance.

“Right now, in this present moment, you are safe,” I remind her. Then we go through the routine of naming what she can see, smell, taste, hear, and feel. When she’s finally calmed down, we sit in silence together for a while.

“Okay,” I finally venture with a soft voice. “Tell me what’s happening for you right now.”

She scoffs. “What’s happening is I’ve been ghosted.”

“Does it count as ghosting if he left a note?”

“I don’t know, Liv. I haven’t had time to check Urban Dictionary for the latest definition.” There’s a bitter edge to her voice that’s not great, but at least she isn’t sobbing anymore.

“I’m so sorry, Darby.” And I truly am. My sisters and I may tease each other, but if anyone else tries to mess with us, we turn into a pack of revenge hounds. “What do you need from me right now?”

“Nothing,” she sniffs. “Wait, no. This. I needed this. I knew you’d be the one to talk me off the cliff, Liv.”

“Really?”

By way of answer, she blows her nose. Several times. But eventually she comes back. “Tess would just try to paint rainbows and sunshine all over my head. And when that didn’t work, she’d start listing the reasons Angus was wrong for me from the beginning. And Mac would just want to hunt Angus down and wring the guy’s neck.”

“At least you’d know where he was, then.” I say this with a cringe and a tentative laugh, hoping she’s ready for some dark humor.

“Heh.” A half snort, half sob slips out of her. “I knew I could count on you,” she says. “Thanks for just listening and not resorting to rainbows or murder.”

I draw in a long breath, and decide not to tell Darby how much her opinion means to me. Because this moment isn’t about how she’s making me feel. Still, the fact that Darby came to me first—with faith and hope—stirs me on the inside. Like, right in the middle of my internal organs. A bone-deep truth. Proof that I have a purpose.

You matter too, Liv.

Darby and I stay on the phone for another half hour, and I even have her laughing a little at the end. We don’t solve any problems related to Angus, and we have no plan in place by the time we end the call. But there really is no plan when it comes to heartbreak, is there?

In fact this whole situation is a stark reminder to me that letting love in is a lot like spinning the roulette wheel. Sure plenty of couples find happiness, but there’s always the risk of putting all your chips on red just before the ball lands on black.

Not to be dramatic.

But I’m not wrong, either. Because even if you manage to find your soulmate, and you both commit to forever together, faithfully, there’s always an expiration date. The till death do us part moment. That’s why they put it in the vows.

No matter how you look at it, someone’s always got to go first, and then the other one’s left behind, alone again. Just ask my mom.

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