Page 78 of The Girl with No Name

It’s not much, just a blond wig and oversized sunglasses, but they transform my appearance enough to shield me from prying eyes. I feel a strange mix of determination and desperation propelling me forward. I need toseethe truth.

I sit at a corner table, trying to appear nonchalant as I sip a watered-down drink, my eyes fixed on the entrance of the building across the street. The minutes stretch into an eternity, each passing moment heightening the tension within me.

And then, as the evening sky deepens into shades of indigo, he emerges from the building, his familiar figure cloaked in thetwilight. My heart races as I watch him, a knot of anticipation forming in my chest.

As he walks down the steps, a woman falls into step beside him, laughter dancing between them like dark magic. My breath catches in my throat as I wonder if my worst fears are materializing before my eyes, or if this is just some casual work acquaintance.

My questions are answered when he pushes her up against the railing and kisses her.

The world seems to blur around me, the sounds of the bar fading into a distant buzz. I sit frozen in my seat, a silent witness to the unraveling of the life I thought I knew, the weight of certain betrayal pressing down on me. In that moment, as the truth cascades over me like a wave, I know nothing will ever be the same again. The present I know is gone. And the love-filled, future life I’d been planning with him was all a schoolgirl fantasy in my pretty little head.

I take an Uber back to the apartment immediately, picking up some boxes on the way, and gather my things.

When Gatsby arrives home that night, he seems shocked at the sight of the boxes. “What’s all this?” he asks.

“You really don’t know?”

“I don’t know what you think?—”

“I saw you with her, leaving work today.”

“Babe, I don’t know what you think you saw?—”

I laugh. “You’re really going to gaslight me like this? I know what I saw. Stop.”

He huffs. “Fine. You know what? You saw exactly what you saw. It is what it is. So what are you going to do?”

“I’m leaving.”

“And what? Where are you going to go? You’ve got nothing. You went to some third-rate college. You’re just some bartender who thinks she can paint. Are you going to go live in your van?”

“You’re an asshole. And I’m sad I met you.”

“You’ll never meet another guy as good as me. You know it’s true.”

I ignore him as I make several trips to load everything into my van. When I finish, I turn to look at him one last time. “You’re a sad, sad man. Have a nice life.”

“What about the painting?” he asks.

“Keep it. I don’t want to see it, or you, ever again.” I start my van and drive off down the street, with no idea where I’m going.

After a few blocks, I pull over to the side of the road and cry like I’ve never cried before.

My emotions are a stew of everything I’ve been feeling these past months—the hope that I’d found something special in Gatsby, the terminated pregnancy, the loss of Aunt Sarah.

The worst feeling of all is,what if Gatsby is right? What if my life is all downhill from here?

He has this way of being ultra convincing. When he believed in me, when he told me I was pretty and my art was good, it fed some deep layer of my ego.

What if I never find the love and happiness I’m so desperately searching for?

What if I’ll never be able to trust a man again?

18

REED

“HARVEST MOON” – THE BROTHERS COMATOSE, AJ LEE & BLUE SUMMIT

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