Page 79 of Now That We Don't Talk

Dad nods in agreement. “And sometimes, the hardest decisions are the ones that make the most sense.”

I want to believe that. But this feels wrong even though I know time heals everything and—blah, blah.

“Anyway, I just wanted to let you know what’s happening,” I tell them.

“We’re always here if you need us,” Mom reminds me.

“Thanks for listening,” I tell them.

My mom wraps her small arms tightly around me, and my dad holds up his hand to shake mine.

Talking to my parents makes me feel a bit better. I’m very lucky to have them.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

VIVIAN

I’ve never really considered myself much of a crier. Sure, I get choked up when I watch movies that pull at the heart strings, but full-on sobbing—that’s not my thing. Or at least, that’s what I thought. But last night changed everything.

From the second I walked out of the restaurant, the tears started falling—and they didn’t stop. I cried in the car, barely able to see the road through my blurry vision. Then I cried when I got home, curled up in a ball on the couch. I cried in bed as I replayed the conversation I had with Mac, wondering if I’d just made the biggest mistake of my life. I think I’ve cried more in the last fourteen hours than I have in the last five years combined.

I can’t even count how many times I reached for my phone to call Mac. I thought about making a joke—ha, ha, just kidding—as if I could take everything back with words.

I still don’t know what came over me. One second I was sitting there, feeling everything shift between us, and the next I was in full-on fight-or-flight mode. I panicked andconvinced myself that ending things now would save us both the hurt later. Because if Mac was the one to break things off, it could ruin his friendship with Kyle and make things awkward with the whole family.

And maybe my practical brain is right. Maybe this wasn’t meant to last. Our lives are too different. The distance between us would eventually take its toll. And what about the years we didn’t get along? Would those old grudges eventually rise to the surface and cause issues? Maybe this was only meant to get us to a place where we could be friends.

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. But deep down, I’m not sure.

While I wait for my coffee to brew, I contemplate calling in sick to work. Crawling back under the covers is very tempting. I haven’t called in sick since I had the flu last year. I don’t like missing work. For some reason, people find this odd, but what can I say—I enjoy my job. And more importantly, it gives me a distraction. If I stay home today, I’ll think about Mac.

At work, I’ll have reports to read through and numbers to crunch. I can lose myself in spreadsheets, where everything makes sense and there are no emotions. I really need that today.

While I mentally debate my decision, my phone buzzes on the counter. I glance at the screen—it’s Addi again. She’s in full-blown party mode, sending text after text about last minute lists and details. I’m glad to be receiving these messages. She’s been quieter ever since the whole disaster with Mac and Kyle—or maybe she’s just been busy. Either way, I’m happy to be included.

I sit at the table with my coffee and scroll through my contacts until I find Katie’s number. I really need to talk tomy best friend. I was too emotional to call her last night, but now I’m ready.

I press the call button, and she answers on the second ring.

“Good morning,” she says.

“Hey.” My voice cracks, and I swallow hard, forcing back the lump in my throat.

“What happened?” she asks worriedly.

I take a deep breath. “Mac and I aren’t seeing each other anymore.”

There’s a pause, and I can practically hear her piecing things together. “Wait—what do you mean? I just spoke to him.”

I’m sure she’s already drawing her own conclusions about how things went down.

“I’m the one who ended things,” I tell her, my voice steadier now. “It wasn’t going to work. He’s leaving and going back to hockey and his team. I didn’t want to be the thing that held him back. The distance would’ve been too much. And honestly, we probably wouldn’t have lasted anyway.”

“Oh, Vivi. I’m so sorry.”

“I cried—a lot,” I admit.

“Really?” She sounds surprised. “Vivi, are you sure about this?”

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