Page 3 of Getting Over You

“To move on,” Mollie finishes knowingly. “Right?”

“I was going to say to pursue a relationship,” I say, my voice breaking. “I thought it would be with eachother.Silly me.”

“There are so many guys all over this country. All over this world, Gigi. Marcus was not your One. Please know that. You know that, don’t you?”

“What if no one will be?” I ask. “How long until I decide cat mom life is the life for me and swear off guys altogether?”

“Well,” Mollie offers, “I think twenty-one is a little soon for that.”

My head leans against the car window, the vibrations radiating beneath my skull as Mollie hits bumps in the road. “I really do think I need to leave.” My voice comes out in a whimper. “I can’t stay here and watch him fall in love with her.”

Mollie reaches over, squeezing my hand. “I’m getting you home as quick as I can.”

“No,” I say, sitting up and wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “I mean, like, actually leave. Belinda lives in South Carolina. She’s got a house right by the beach. Maybe I need to relocate, clear my head.”

My sister gives me a cautious look. “I think you may be a touch on the irrational side now, given what just happened. Let’s not make any rash choices.” She pats my head. “Plus, you’re just fine here with me. And not in a different state with your mother, who probably hates you.”

I consider this, chewing on the inside of my cheek. “I don’t think she hates me.”

“Given the record, though, is it the best idea to go there?”

“Things have changed a lot since I was a kid,” I say. “She’s got the restaurant now. That probably keeps her busy and a little normal, right?”

Mollie looks at me doubtfully. “Do you think skipping town is the way to get over this?”

I don’t know for sure, but I’m desperate for a solution. So, I’m willing to find out.

Chapter two

Ididn’t think I was the kind of guy who needed to skip town after breaking a girl’s heart. Finding another girl in Houston would be easy. In fact, finding a replacement could have happened the night we broke it off. But instead, I packed some duffel bags and told Mom I was headed out to stay with my brother, EJ, in South Carolina for a while. It all fell into place, really, that the tattoo shop of my dreams is in the same city as my brother.

I couldn’t stay in Texas knowing she was staying. We frequent the same bars too much. We’re creatures of habit, she and I. And I refuse to watch her get free drinks and have her ass grabbed by a man that’s not me. When I got word of this tattoo shop I needed to see—it was the perfect excuse to get the hell out of there.

I pull into EJ’s apartment complex right as the sun is setting, my old girl sputtering and wheezing. When I cut the engine, it’slike the whole truck sags, relieved to finally rest. I climb out and softly shut the driver’s side door. One of these days, the thing might fall off the hinges. I’ll bide time until that day comes—I’ve got a tattoo empire to build, and as much as I love my baby rust bucket of a truck, she’s not my priority right now.

I climb a flight of steps, being deposited right in front of EJ’s door. I knock for nearly ten minutes, pounding on the door like a pissed-off girl dad by the end, but to no avail. I’m convinced he’s asleep, getting ready to start his day at dusk, as per usual. Then my phone rings.

“Yo!” my brother says—his usual phone greeting, regardless of gender, relationship, or literally anything.

“Where are you? I’ve been knocking, dumbass.”

“Can’t hear it from work, asshole,” he retorts.

“Work?” I say. “That’s where you are? How am I supposed to get in?”

“Shiiiit,” EJ sighs. “You’re here already? Dude, I thought you weren’t gonna be here until I was out of work.”

“Things changed,” I tell him. “What do I do here?”

“If you can meet me at work, I can give you my spare key,” he says. “I’m at Brew until close.”

“Can you speak to me in a way I can understand?” I ask. My jaw ticks with an annoyance that only my older brother can bring out.

“I’m working at Beach Brew. It’s a coffee shop downtown, a straight shot down Main Street from the apartment. Is driving a few seconds manageable for you?”

“Fuck you,” I say.

“Love you more, bro,” he says as I hang up.

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