“No, you’re not.”
“It’s just ... it’s just ... failure is running through my veins like poison.”
“Babe.” He holds me tighter.
“This isn’t what I thought my life would be,” I whisper. “It wasn’t supposed to go like this. I don’t want to be a divorcée.”
“I know,” he says softly.
“And you’re completely right. I am a train wreck.”
He smiles against me. “I may have exaggerated the train wreck part, but in my defense, you did call me one first.”
I look up at him.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he says softly as he wipes my tears away with his thumbs. “We’re going to forget that we had a fight, and we’re going to forget that you ever got married, and we’re going to go out there and celebrate with our friends, and you’re going to start again.”
“But . . .”
“No buts; no more living in the past.” He kisses my forehead. “That’s it. Those are the last tears you will ever cry over him.”
“It’s not even him I’m crying about.” I sniff, feeling stupid. “He’s an idiot. This isn’t about him.”
“What’s it about, then?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Lost dreams, I guess.”
He gives a subtle shake of his head.
“What?” I look up at him.
“We’re a fucking mess, you and me.”
“How so?”
“You only like players; I only like party girls. Neither of which can give us the desired outcome we want.”
“Train wrecks,” I reply.
“Total fucking train wrecks. Come on.” He pulls me out of the stall and turns on the tap. “Dry your eyes, crybaby, and snap out of it.”
I give a halfhearted smile.
“Because today is the last day that you and I are going to live like this.”
“Like what?”
“In the past.”
I blink, confused. “I know I do ... but ... how do you live in the past?”
He shrugs casually, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. “I think I’m twenty-one.”
“Feeling twenty-one is not a bad thing, Blake.”
“It is if you act it, and you were right—everything you said to me is true. I am a walking red flag.”
I smile sadly.