Page 88 of Crazy for this Girl

Pivoting, I latch onto the doorknob and pull the door open, but not before Troy gives me one final blow.

“Thanks for breaking up with me. Fucking you was like fucking my grandma.”

Not sure how he would know that or why he thought bringing an old lady into a conversation about sex was the way to go, but who am I?

I don’t acknowledge his statement.

Only me closing a chapter on my life.

In my car, I find more text messages from Cal that bring only tears to my eyes that should be threatening to fall because of Troy, and not from the empty ache of another man.

CAL: I’ll come back to you, Laynee. It’s goals.

CAL: You there?

CAL: I’m not sure if my text messages are going through, but if they are, know that I think of you every single day. I hope you’re happy. I hope you stop being so hard on yourself. I wish you everything good in the world.

CAL: I miss you. Listen to Hands Down by Dashboard Confessionals. It makes me think of you.

SEVEN MONTHS LATER…

LAYNEE: Dad told me the cabin next door went up for sale.

LAYNEE: Cal, where are you? What’s happening?

LAYNEE: Please tell me you’re okay, and breathing.

All messages come back as failed.

TEN MONTHS LATER…

Vodka coats and glows through my veins as another basket of chips and salsa is placed in front of me. I shove them away, not wanting to lose the only buzz that has successfully layered all my thoughts and fears for over a year.

It’s happy hour at a bar in New York and Hannah excessively coos on and on about how her fiancé is the best man that’s ever existed.

Earlier, I bobbed my head and mentioned how lucky she was. How honored I was that she wanted me as her maid of honor, even though we’ve barely spoken since she left North Carolina almost three years ago after we graduated.

However, I’m happy to be away for a little while. Away from my mother who constantly is up my ass about my new boyfriend, Henry, and how she googled him to find out his family owns an oil company.

Good for him, I guess?

And, furthermore, why the hell is my mother googling my boyfriends?

However, the deeper the night draws on, the more my happiness for my high school best friend blackens. No longer am I fake ecstatic that she’s getting married, but in an inner envious state of vodka-fueled rage.

How come it came so easily for her?

My boyfriend, Henry, is great. He’s about to graduate college with a business major and talks about making his grandfather’s business more of a success. He never went into too much depth about it, and I’ve only been dating him for about a month, so we’re still learning about each other. In that awkward phase where you watch how much you eat and make sure you look pristinely put together at all times.

If I needed to know more at record speed about Henry, I could pull a mom and just google his ass, but that doesn’t interest me. Call me old fashioned, but I’d like him to tell me instead of internet stalking the man.

And, to be frank, I’d have to really give a flying fuck to do that.

“Laynee!” I glimpse over my shoulder at my high school best friend who’s holding another shot of tequila in her hand, with a shit-eating smile on her face that I don’t find warming at all.

In fact, I want to tell her to watch out because he might dip out on her any second now, engagement ring or not.

“We’re doing two more shots, then we’re hitting the dance floor.”

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