Page 8 of Just One Moment

“You’llwork it out.Willyou do this for me?Please?”

Heck.Ialready knowI’mdoing it, but the earnest tone fromJomakes me want to do it sooner. “OfcourseI’lldo it.”

Shesighs in relief.

AmIreally that much of an asshole, she thoughtI’dsay no?

“Itmeans a lot.Quinnwas my first real friend whenImoved back to town, and she helped me out a lot.Iwant to be able to repay her.”

“Iget it.What’sfamily for, hey?”Ifake an upbeat tone.

Wesay goodbye, andIguess that settles it.My196 days of avoidingQuinnJacksonare over.Curlystares up at me without a thought between his big, round eyes.

“Anyadvice, bud?”

Hetilts his head at my question, andIknowI’velost it, but his unwavering stare is all the answerIneed.PeoplethinkQuinnis intimidated by me.Inreality,I’vebeen petrified to figure out why my heart jackhammered in my chest the momentIlaid eyes on her.

“Yeah, we’re fucked.”

Thecool eveningair sends a chill up my spine as it hits my sweat-soaked back.Ipull myT-shirt away from my body while my heart rate comes down from my run.Mywatch tells meI’verun six miles through the trail, beating my personal best.

Whenmy apartment comes into view,Islow my steps untilI’mstanding outside the modern brick building, so out of place inSuttonBay.It’snot huge, only holding four apartments and has been my home since lastFebruary.Therewas a bit of uproar when plans were approved for it to be built, the local residents citing it would pull away from the natural and historic beauty of the town.Iwholly agreed, untilIfound myself in need of a place to stay and desperate not to move in with my mom or brothers.

Thelock on the main door snicks whenIhold my key fob against the buzzer, and then make my way up the flight of stairs.Thescampering sound of little claws starts on the other side of the door the momentIpush the key into the lock.I’mgreeted with licks and scratches to my sweaty legs beforeIpick upCurlyand playfully scratch his belly. “You’llnever stop acting likeI’vebeen gone for an eternity, will you?”

Iplace him on the floor, and he scurries away to his bed to hump something inanimate.Atleast one of us is getting some.Mostpeople make rash decisions post-breakup; mine was adopting a wiener dog.He’sa little prick who only likes me, my niece, and his stuffed toys.Havinghim around makes me feel a little less lonely though.

Makingmy way into the kitchen,Idown a bottle of cold water from the fridge before sifting through the pile of mailIdumped on the counter this morning.It’sall standard junk or bills untilIspot a crisp white envelope with my name and address written in neat, cursive writing.

Iknow that handwriting.Butit’s the stamp on the back with the sender’s name and address that confirms whatIalready knew.

I’dheard the news inJanuary, and thanked my lucky starsIdidn’t have social media soIcould avoid the video of their “utterly adorable proposal.”Theknife she left behind is still firmly lodged in my back, and it looks like she was saving thekilling blow.Whenmy phone buzzes,Iknow it’s my mom.Sheprobably got the same envelope from the woman she thought would be her daughter-in-law one day.

Morbidcuriosity gets the better of me.Withsurprisingly steady fingers,Itear open the envelope and pull out a gaudy invitation.Boothmanaged to intercept the save the date a couple of months ago.I’mpretty sure he ate the card to hide any evidence, but there’s no avoiding this one.

Jenna&Ralph, together with their parents, are pleased to invite you to celebrate their marriage.

Irip the invitation in half, then again for good measure, before throwing it in the trash.

It’scomforting to know my ex-girlfriend of twelve years still remembers me enough to invite me to her wedding, but forgotIexisted whenIcaught her andmy cousinfucking in our bed.Fuck, that wasn’t even the worst part, which only proved our relationship had been over well before that.

Herparting words were the last nail in the coffin.

“Youseriously can’t sit there and tell me you didn’t see this coming,Graham?”Jenna’sshrill voice echoes through the apartment whileIsit motionless on the edge of the sofa.

Ishould feel something asIwatch my girlfriend of over a decade pack her things up.Mostpeople would be furious that they just found their partner in bed with someone else.Itshould gut me.Tosee the woman,I’vespent almost half my life with, in bed with another man.

YetIfeelnothing.

“Youdon’t even have anything to say now,” she whines. “Thisis the problem.Youdon’t talk.Andwhen you do, it’s always the wrong thing.I’mover it.This”—she throws her hands out at me in aggravation—“you.It’snot whatIwant.Ithasn’t been for years.”

“Maybeyou could have told me this before you started sleeping with my cousin.”

Shepauses her packing and looks visibly shocked thatI’vespoken. “Well, at least he doesn’t mope around, writing in some diarylike a teenage girl.I’mtired of staying in every night.Ofyou working all hours of the day or hanging out with your family.I’mnot wasting any more of my time on someone like you.”

Embarrassmentheats my skin like it always does when she throws the factIkeep a journal in my face.Sheknows whyIprefer to write everything down, and her dismissal over it is like tiny daggers being shoved into my sternum.

Myhands hang between my open legs as she continues to throw her belongings into a bag in a hurry.Sheprobably doesn’t want to keepRalphwaiting, who is outside hiding in his truck.

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