Page 42 of You Cake My Breath Away

“No.” My nervous laughter betrays me.

“Til,” Shantel halts her buzzing and gives me a side-eye.

“Don’t start.” I suck in a breath, reminded of the way Deidre smirked as the Rick Springfield tune played. I am—and will always be—Jessie’s girl.

“Well,” the woman says, “go on. Tell me what he did.”

“He didn’t do anything,” I mutter.

“Then what’s got you in such a tizzy?” she asks.

I can tell I’m not getting out of here without answering, so I hunker down and decide there’s no better place to air my dirty laundry than the stylist’s chair. One of Shantel’s other stylists comes over and asks me if I want her to do my hair.

“Give me something new,” I say. “I need to get out of this funk.”

“Say less, babe.”

“Stop stalling,” Shantel’s client says. “I’m on pins and needles here.”

With a cape wrapped around my shoulders, I close my eyes and let the stylist get to work. I don’t want to see what she’s doing, and to be honest, I don’t know if I can meet Shantel’s eyes when I say what I’m about to say.

“I’m attracted to my late husband’s best friend.” I wince, waiting for the grief and shame to pummel me, but instead all I find is lighter shoulders and more room in my chest to breathe.

“What’s the problem with that?” Shantel’s client, who eventually introduces herself as Zevia, replies.

“Did you not hear what I said?” I ask, eyes popping open and fixed on her face. “He’s my husband’s best friend, and an asshole.”

“I may be old, but I’m not deaf.” Shantel brushes the woman’s neck free of the buzzed hairs and starts coloring her hair. I glance at her, hoping to catch some type of reaction to my confession, but her face is clear of anything but concentration on what she’s doing. “You’re a widow who’s ready to get back in the dating game. There’s nothing wrong with moving on.”

Emotion rises in my throat. “Not with his best friend.”

“The heart chooses who it chooses.”

“He treats me like a pariah,” I reply. “We can barely keep eye contact, and stay on opposite sides of the building.”

“Ever think he might push you away because he’s dealing with the same conflicting feelings?” Zevia says.

“Mmhmm,” Shantel chimes in.

“How could you say that?” I meet her eyes in the mirror. “Archer loved Jessie.”

“You’re right,” Shantel says. “They were thick as thieves, and nothing could separate them. Even you. Just because Archer may or may not have had feelings for you, he never would have done anything to jeopardize his friendship with Jessie.”

“Being a jerk to his best friend’s wife, someone he used to call a friend, doesn’t qualify?”

“Til, is he being a jerk or is there some place inside you that recognizes you were hurt when he pushed you away after you and Jessie got together?” Shantel sighs. “I’m not saying it’s right, but maybe he’s been trying to protect his heart and keep his integrity intact, and to do that he couldn’t be close to you any more.”

Her insight ushers in a hurricane of emotions and memories that knock me down. Every smile, hug, or congratulations he gave is torn down and a new light shed on them. Every jab, smart remark, or missed celebration takes on a new look.

One that paints a picture I’m not ready to look at too closely.

I close my eyes, struggling to gain my composure. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Suit yourself, pumpkin,” Zevia says. “When you’re ready to open your heart to happiness again, love will find you.”

I want to laugh at her fortune cookie way of looking at life and love, but the simplistic words are too true for my liking.

“Thanks for the sick new do’,” she says to Shantel.

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