Page 46 of White Rabbit

When she comes back, we order some drinks and when I’m three margaritas deep, I finally open up and tell them about Chad’s little vanishing act. Tiff sits, tapping away on her phone, only giving me half of her attention while Orla tries to comfort me by rubbing my back.

I don’t think I realized how angry and sad about the whole thing I was until I laid it in front of them like one big trauma buffet. It wasn’t the end of our relationship that hurt me, it was the way he cut me out without a word. I wanted to end what we had so that we both had closure, but Chad just disappeared like a thief in the night.

“So, he just vanished?” Orla scoffs as she orders us another round of drinks. “What a scumbag.”

“He wouldn’t do that.” Tiff shakes her head vehemently, sitting a little slanted in her seat as she clutches her phone like it’s about to save her life. She hiccups. “There’s got to be a reason he’s hiding and you don’t even care what it is.”

My mouth drops open. Didn’t she know me at all? “Of course I care! What am I supposed to do Tiff, when he won’t speak to me and he ghosted me! Four years, and he couldn’t give me four minutes to end it properly?”

“God, Ava. I can’t do this!” Slamming her hands on the table, she gets to her feet unsteadily and grabs her handbag. “I’ve booked a cab to take me home.”

Before we can stop her or try to talk her out of leaving angrily, she weaves her way around the other tables and through the front entrance as if her ass is on fire.

Burying my face in my hands, I let out a tipsy laugh. “What the fuck? Why is she acting more hurt by my breakup than I am?”

Orla sits back, chewing on her bottom lip. Her forehead is furrowed as she taps her nail against the base of her glass.

With a heavy sigh, she scrubs a hand over her face. “I tried to tell you. When we went for that run the other week, I tried. At The Blue Butterfly…”

Rubbing my temples, I ignore the way my head throbs. Tequila, in any capacity, is clearly not my friend. “Oh, I’m sorry I stormed off that night. Is that why she’s so angry with me? But that wasn’t anything Tiff?—”

“I think Chad went home with Tiff and Jeremy that night,” she blurts out on an exhale, like verbal diarrhea.

Silence.

I try to process while the world keeps spinning around me. The conversations from nearby tables fill in the quiet.

Orla tries to place her hand over mine, but I shrug her off. “What? What do you mean?”

“As in went home with them.” She winces. “I saw him getting into the cab with Tiff, they were all laughing and joking and handsy…”

Flexing my fingers, I try to count ten in my head. There’s a bitterness in my mouth that hasn’t come from the margarita as I ask, “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“I wasn’t sure. And I thought you were happy with him. And it had been four years. It seemed like you were about to get engaged and I didn’t want to blow that up on a hunch, but now I'm wondering…If you ever wanted to marry Chad.”

The words keep tumbling from her lips, and I’m surprised she finds time to breathe during her miniature rant.

Did I ever want to marry him? I kept putting him off, saying we’d get engaged soon. Saying that I wasn’t ready. It had been a commitment I couldn’t make.

She rubs her nose as she sniffs like she might be on the verge of tears. “The last time I saw Chad at breakfast, he said you’ve been painting again.”

“I never stopped.” I tilt my head, confused by what she’s trying to get at. Painting was my love. I couldn’t live without art in my life.

“You did, Ava,” she insists, taking my hand again and this time I let her. “You painted for work, but you stopped creating after your mother died.”

Shaking my head, I scrunch up my nose. “That’s not true.”

Orla grabs my cheeks, making me stare into her gray eyes. “When was the last time you lost yourself on a canvas?”

Blinking, I try to remember. When was the last time I’d lost hours or days to the piece I was working on? When did I last have paint staining my skin and a house full of canvases.

Quietly, I whisper, “The series I did for a project about decaying plants.”

Nodding, she lets go of my face. “Which was almost five years ago. After your mom passed and right before you met Chad.”

Safe, dependable Chad.

He was my security blanket while I worked through my grief and dealt with my father. Chad was the person who helped me keep my head above water while I healed. I was never going to make him happy in the end because we always had a shelf life. He could never make me feel the way Eli does, because he wasn’t meant to be my forever.

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