Page 3 of You Cake My Breath Away

“I haven’t seen or talked to Archer in weeks,” I reply, toying with a fuzzball from the carpet. It’s not a lie, but it’s also not the full truth. I’ve seen Archer a handful of times in passing, but like always, he gives me the cold shoulder, barely able to look at me or speak in full sentences.

“You know how he is.” She sighs, unfolding herself and standing with her hands on her hips. “I’m sure he’ll be at your birthday dinner this weekend. You can talk to him then.”

I open my mouth to remind her that I don’t want a birthday dinner—or to talk to Archer—but she speeds out of the room at a breakneck pace. Dragging myself from the comfy floor, I follow her into my bedroom. Her purse is already slung over her shoulder, and she grabs three bags for donation.

“What’s the rush, Shanti?” I ask. “Thought you were staying for breakfast.”

Her gaze flits off to the side, and she rolls her lips between her teeth before spouting off, “I…uh, forgot Mom needed me to pick up something she made from the pottery shop, and if I’m going to drop this stuff off for you before work, I’ve gotta get going.”

I cock my head to the side, unsure of why she’s rambling. My forehead bunches, but I force myself to smooth out my features and paste on a smile. Shantel and my mother-in-law, Nora, have been so good to me. After Jessie’s passing, they could’ve let our relationship dissolve, but they’ve managed to draw me closer, absorbing me into their family.

I pick up the other two bags as she backs out of the room, nearly bumping into the door jamb. My ring snags on the stretchy plastic, and I curse as it splits, spilling a few items onto the ground.

Maybe you’re not supposed to donate those, my brain helpfully supplies. Gathering the few items into my hands, I expertly throw them back into my room without Shantel noticing. After grabbing a new bag and shoving the contents inside, I follow her downstairs, my arms—and chest—heavy as I lug Jessie’s belongings to her car. Heat pours off the concrete, but I’m frozen as I stare at the bags. Ropes of anguish circle my throat, pulsing like the emotions I’ve kept clamped inside all morning are ready to boil over.

I dig my fingernail into the skin on my thumb, fixating on the black fabric holding what’s left of him.

The love of my life.

My best friend.

Tears prickle my eyes as I expel a breath, suddenly too weak to even lift my feet to move. My heart aches—pulverized by the thought of letting go of another piece of the man I thought was my forever—yet there’s a vague numbness that settles over my body.

I promised myself I would do this, that I’d honor Jessie by living my life instead of succumbing to the riptide of grief that’s always so close to the surface, ready to pull me into the current and swallow me whole.

A fresh start.

“Guess I’ll see you on Sunday,” Shantel says, severing the tendrils of grief threatening to suck me under.

I nod and say goodbye, watching as she slides into her car. Words form at the back of my throat, urging me to stop her before she leaves. I press my tongue against the roof of my mouth and clench my teeth, not allowing myself to go back on my word.

Her car slowly inches out of the driveway, the noxious stench of exhaust fumes following her as she disappears from my view. I inhale a calming breath and walk into the house, closing the door on the past and looking forward to the future.

***

Inside the closet, the black box draws my attention. It’s been days since I found it, yet I haven’t been able to muster up the courage to reach out to Archer. I called the law firm, but they couldn’t find anything under Jessie’s name, and because of client confidentiality, they wouldn’t tell me why Archer’s name was on the paperwork.

Just send him a text, Tilly.

I huff out a breath and slide the hair band off my wrist, tying my brown hair into a loose bun.

Archer’s phone number glows on my contacts list. My hands tremble as I tap out a sentence, practicing what I want to say before deleting it all again. The squeal of the trash truck outside startles me, and my thumb accidentally swipes the screen, scrolling the display. Texts from years ago, when talking with Archer was as easy as breathing, flood the screen.

Most of the time we talked in the group chat between me, him, and Jessie, conversing about the Chemistry project we were teamed up for our sophomore year in college. A friendship bloomed between us, and we spent junior and senior year as The Three Musketeers.

That is, until things got weird between me and Archer after a drunken kiss. Our friendship was strained from then on, and when Jessie asked me out on a date not too long after that, I had no reason to say no.

I roll my neck and shake out my hands, inhaling a deep breath like the therapist taught me to expel the anxious thoughts. I thought getting rid of Jessie’s clothes would be my undoing, but it’s the little black box inside the closet that throws me for the biggest loop.

And the still unmade bed.

Ignoring the disheveled heap of covers and pillows, I muster up some courage. If I want answers about what the paperwork is, I can’t keep pretending Archer doesn’t exist—or better yet, I can’t keep allowing him to pretendIdon’t exist.

I quickly type a message and send it off.

A stream of air flows through my parted lips as I release my held breath. I did it. I made the first step in hopefully reopening the lines of communication.

Chapter three

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