Page 2 of Another Life

I’m going crazy in the fucking cereal aisle, my hand on my chest as I peer over the corner, to see if the coast is clear.

I see him walking toward me, his eyes on a jar in his hand.

The sight of him doing his own grocery shopping is something I never thought I’d witness. Something so everyday and public; something I’d never been privy to in our past lives. I jerk back into the aisle when he starts to look up, turning so I’m facing away as he walks past. I count to five and grab a box of cereal to hide behind before I peek back just as he steps in line to pay.

He isn’t very far. I could take a dozen steps and be right behind him.

Part of me wants to reach out and touch him, just to make sure he’s really in front of me. But I don’t. Of course I don’t, because that would beweird.

I stare down at my UGGs, my sweatpants and hoodie, knowing that at least I’m sporting a healthy glow, having just returned from my friend’s wedding in Puerto Rico.

Still, I’m far from the girl he fell in lust with.

I don’t dare call it love anymore. Not even if, in the deep recesses of my mind, I know it was the only time I really let myself fall into that kind of love.

Scary, free-falling to my death, love.

The kind of love that came with consequences that I was still dealing with.

He looks over his shoulder and I suck in a breath as his eyes skate to the right of me.

I duck away from his line of vision, my back against the shelf of cereal boxes. The sugary one in my grip gives a little under the pressure of my fingers, as if clutching my daughters’ favorite breakfast would make the ghost of my past disappear.

All the years of regret slam into me, paralyzing me where I stand. I hold a piece of my present life while my mind fills with a past I’ve tried so hard to forget.

Without a backward glance, I drop the cereal box and rush out of the grocery store.

Abraham Pugliesi is back.

And he’s chasing me out of grocery stores.

As I get in my car, I think about beginnings and endings and how no one ever got to know how we began or that we’d ever even ended.

Our existence only existed between the two of us, and that’s the saddest part of it all.

CHAPTER TWO

THE LAST ROMANTICS

PAST

“Itried to tell you,” Miley reminds me, her sage wisdom interrupted by a drunk giggle. Because drinking on a Sunday night before the start of the summer semester is probably what I should’ve been doing instead of standing outside of the movie theater, talking to my tipsy best friend on the phone.

I justhadto say yes to one of these little assholes.

That’s what wanting to get laid will get you—stood up.

I kick out my foot, watching as my scuffed white Converse peeks up at me. A cool breeze picks up, flirting with the ends of my floral skirt. It brushes against the tops of my calves, and I turn, taking one last glance up the street.

“Yeah, well. I’m gonna stay anyway.” I turn on my heel and adjust the strap of my brown leather bag as I walk inside, determined to enjoy myself. I’m already here.

“If you want some dick, there’s plenty here,” she announces, and I hear a few malewhoopsin the background.

“If I wanted any old dick, I’d fuck the homeless guy on thecorner,” I hiss, peering around to make sure no one’s listening as I step up to the building to purchase a ticket.

“Suit yourself,” she says, giggling before she ends the call.

I’ve never been able to sleep with just anyone. It’s a curse.

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