Page 80 of It's Complicated

I call Aiden next.

“Lori, hi,” he picks up, sounding surprised—to hear from me this early, presumably.

“Have you heard from Jace?”

“Ah, yes.” My racing heart slows down to a slightly less tachycardic tempo. Jace is alive. He’s okay. “He sent me a weird text message last night, but I read it only this morning.”

“Can you forward it to me?”

“Sure, just a sec.”

I chew on a nail while I wait for the text to arrive. When my phone pings, I quickly switch apps and read the message with my heart in my throat.

From Aiden:

Fwd: Man, I can’t make it to the office tomorrow. Or all of this week. Please cover for me. I’ll see you at the wedding on Tuesday. If you’re still getting married?

I read the text again, then bring the phone back to my ear.

“What does he mean, if you’re still getting married?”

“The hell if I know.”

“Have you texted him back?”

“Yes, but the messages still appear undelivered. I called him, but his phone was off.”

“Yeah, same here. What do you make of this?”

“You told him you wanted nothing to do with him, and he’s disappeared off the face of the Earth to avoid dealing with his broken heart.”

I chew on more nails. “Okay, but why ask you if you’re still getting married?”

“That, I’ve no explanation for.” A voice calls his name in the background, presumably Kirsten. “Listen, I was about to grab breakfast. Talk later at the office?”

“Sure, thanks, Aiden.”

We hang up, and I stare around Jace’s bedroom, undecided on how to proceed. My eyes fall on a smear of black mascara on his otherwise pristine white pillow. The stain makes me equally sorry and satisfied. On the one hand, I regret saying those awful things to him last night. I was merciless. But I was so angry. On the other hand, is this how he’ll react whenever life gets tough? By running away? He kind of deserves his pillow to be tainted by my tears and melted makeup.

This brings me to the next practical aspects of starting my day: fixing my face and going to work. If Aiden and I have to cover Jace’s patients while he’s gone, it’ll be a hell of a week. Especially since Aiden will be busy with the last pre-wedding arrangements, which means most of the extra work will fall on me.

I move into Jace’s bathroom and check the trainwreck of my face in the mirror. Not good. A rabid raccoon would look more reassuring.

I turn on the faucet and try to wash the hurt away. Of course, that only worsens the mascara damage, spreading a blackish tint all over my features.

I never brought toiletries over to Jace’s place, so I search the cabinets for any kind of lotion I could use in place of a proper makeup remover. I only find a tube of aftershave. I squeeze a little on a cotton disk. It’s white and creamy and looks a lot like a moisturizer. Should do.

I shrug and squeeze more product on the disk, then rub it all over my face and my eyes. In five seconds flat, I feel like my head has been teleported to the North Pole during a volcanic eruption or locked into a burning ice cube. My skin feels freezing and on fire at the same time. I quickly splash myself with more water, trying to rinse the dreadful aftershave.

I blindly reach for Jace’s towel and dry my slightly less white-hot face on it. When I meet my gaze in the mirror, I almost laugh… I thought the rabid raccoon look was rock bottom, but add bloodshot eyes and a flaming complexion and I look like one of the red monsters fromLabyrinth, but one who had an epic mascara fail.

I stare at the tube of aftershave accusingly and read the label.

Menthol aftershave for a refreshing effect, apply only in small quantities. Test for skin sensitivity before using.

Guess I should’ve read that first.

The face fixing will have to wait until I can get to the emergency kit in my desk at work. Since it’s so much closer to work, from Jace’s apartment, I go straight to our practice, skipping breakfast. My stomach is too knotted for food, anyway.

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