Page 70 of It Should Have Been Me

“That’s probably why she was lying down,” I add with a discreet smirk.

An unimpressed grimace is what we get in return. “Fuck off, the both of you.” He shakes his head. “Can we talk about something else, please? Like this voice note you keep referring to.”

Dylan’s eyes light up. “I didn’t let you listen to the voice note?” He’s already pulling his cell phone out of his back pocket.

“Dyl, c’mon. That’s not necessary.”

“Oh, I think it is, Scott. I told you I’d use this as a gentle reminder one day.”

In the last hour, Dylan has solidified about a hundred reasons why we should just cut all ties with him.

He presses play and my manhood already starts disintegrating when I hear the sound of my drunken, lethargic voice.

Dyl...Hey, Dyl. You know what I was thinking? I was thinking we should celebrate. Sort of like a new year celebration...even though we’re a few days too late. Your divorce just got finalized, so you’re a free man. I’m a free man. Let’s go out and celebrate. Well, I’m already out celebrating. You just have to meet me here. And don’t worry. I’m not gonna remind you about all the times when I told you that marrying Francesca was a terrible mistake. I mean, it was a fucking huge mistake, but we won’t talk about the numerous occasions when I warned you that she was pushing you into something you didn’t want to do. I won’t even mention that time when I told you that there was no spark in your relationship. Divorce is one of those things that could happen to anyone...who’s not genuinely in love with their spouse because they’re still harboring feelings for their ex. It’s no one’s fault. Okay, it was about eighty percent your fault, but don’t beat yourself up over it. And even though the whole messy ordeal could’ve been completely avoided if you just listened to me when I said DON’T marry her, I’m going to leave that conversation for another day. Tonight is all about celebrating. You wanna know what I’m celebrating, Dyl? I went to visit Mrs. H today, and she told me that...that Cat moved in with her new boyfriend. Isn’t that great? I just wanna shout it out from the rooftops how happy I am. I gotta say, happiness at this moment is feeling like she fucking destroyed me inside, but I’m sure that’s just because I ate some bad guacamole. Dyl, why aren’t you here yet...Oh, yeah, because I’m still recording this. Listen, meet me at Caleo’s. You better be here in ten minutes because there’s a cute blonde giving me the eye. Tall, blonde, big boobs – Cat always said that was my type, right? Short hobos aren’t my thing anymore, so you better get here before I end up leaving with her.

Dylan shrugs as he shoves his phone back into his pocket. “Let’s say I got there too late.”

“See that?” The expression on Peter’s face is nothing short of smug. “That’s the reason why I’ll never fall in love. Women are not worth that kind of trouble.”

We wait until all the girls have filed out of the room before we enter. Dylan has already explained his plan for the reception the first time we practiced this, so we don’t ask any questions as we take our assigned positions in front of the mirror. Pete and I generally hate every second of this, so we rely on Dylan and Tommy to provide the gumption from this ball-shrinking exercise.

“I wouldn’t say that with so much confidence if I were you, Pete,” Dylan says. “Once a woman sinks her claws into you, you have no defenses, no control, so you better buckle up because I heard a rumor about you. You wanna know what I heard?”

“What?”

“Well, a little birdie told me that he saw...Peter and Lia sitting in a tree. K. I. S. S. I. N. G.”

“Shut up, Dyl. Put the music on and let’s get this over with.”

* * * * *

DYLAN DROPS ME OFFthree hours later, and I’m a little thrown when I step out of the elevator and into my kitchen. I thought Cat would’ve left, but no. She’s made herself very comfortable in my apartment. She’s had a shower and changed into one of my hoodies. CNCO is blaring on her phone, and she’s at my stove, dancing to the beat as she cooks.

For a moment, I just lean against the wall and watch her. Everything about this looks so right. Cat dancing barefoot in my kitchen, her curls bouncing wildly as she sways – it looks like the home I’ve always wanted to have with her. But hearing that voice note earlier reminded me that Cat living a life like this with me is like clipping the wings of a wild bird.

She was meant to be free, soar high. When I look at all the things she was able to achieve without me, it’s obvious that staying with me would’ve only held her back. Deep down, I have this longing that it should’ve been me. It should’ve been me she wakes up to every morning. It should’ve been me that she shares all these amazing moments with. But I have to accept that she was destined for something so much greater than me.

Though, while she’s here dancing in my kitchen, I’m going to make the best ofthisamazing moment. I walk up behind her, grab her wrist, and twirl her into my arms.

A surprised gasp pops out of her before a smile takes over her face. “Hi.”

“Bailar conmigo.”

“Of course.” She accepts my request to dance by sliding her arms around my neck as I lead her into step. Her smile widens when I sing along to the words of the song. “Your pronunciation has gotten a lot better. I expected your Spanish to get a little rusty.”

“Nah, I still speak to your mom all the time.” Our feet move in a natural rhythm to the beat. “So, CNCO, huh?”

“Well, we were talking about that first day that I didn’t cross off the calendar, andBailemoswas playing that morning when you came to my house and found me dancing in the kitchen.”

My hand glides over her back. “And now I find you dancing in my kitchen. What’s for lunch?”

“Yeah, chicken fajitas. I figured it’s the least I could do after waking you up so early.”

“Nah, I still don’t forgive you.”

We move across the floor with a spin here and a dip there, using the entire space as our own private dance floor. Her squeaky giggles will linger in my apartment long after she leaves.

Even though she cooked lunch, we end up talking and lose track of time. Eventually, she remembers that we haven’t eaten and suggests that we have dinner on the roof. I’m not keen on the idea because she’s sort of unknowingly inserting herself into all these private spaces of mine. Despite my reservations, I agree, and we take our plates up to the roof.

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