Page 140 of Fumbled Into Love

All my energy is being allocated to fight back my tears, to fight the overwhelming sensation of curling into a ball and crying until my brain is numb and my heart hurts a bit less.

“How are you doing?” Sawyer asks, filling the silence in the car.

“Fine,” I croak. We both know it’s a lie. “I got an email this morning about the movie premiere tickets I won.”

I try to make conversation, but it all circles back to Deon in my mind. He bought those tickets. I want to take him, to experience that withhim,but instead, it’s the first of manythings I’ll have to experience on my own, wishing he was with me.

“Did you want to go?” I ask though I think it’s obvious that Sawyer’s my second choice. “I know you love rom-coms.”

Her eyebrows crinkle as she drives and stumbles over her words. “I—Well, maybe. I can see.”

I want to shove the invitation back into my mouth, but nod. Once again, the car is uncomfortably silent.

“I made cookies!” She yells when the silence becomes so tense you could slice it and flings her arm into the backseat, patting around. A moment later, she drops a Tupperware container of cookies onto my lap. “Eat. It will help.”

“It will spoil my lunch.” There’s little chance I’ll be able to stomach anything today with how my stomach roils every time I think of Deon.

“The sugar will help you feel better.” With one hand, Sawyer opens the container, picks up a cookie, and slams it into my mouth.

I begin to protest and she shoves the cookie further until I’m mumbling into the chocolate chips.

“I dwidn’t wike tat,” I force out, and Sawyer's laughter bubbles.

“Sorry, couldn’t understand you with that amazing, delicious, world-famous cookie in your mouth.”

I wipe the crumbs from my lips.

“You know exactly what I said.”

I glare at her, but Maren whips my door open and hauls me from the car, forearms hooked beneath my armpits.

“Are you ready to have fun?!” Maren cheers, creating jazz hands in front of the nail salon. Her smile is overwhelmingly bright and it makes me nervous.

That’s a smile full of mischief.

I don’t like it at all.

I will admit that it is far harder to be upset about something when you have pretty nails. I stare at my lilac nails with small hearts on each of my ring fingers with admiration.

They’re socute,and I catch myself raising my hand to look at them every few minutes.

Rarely do I spend the money to get my nails done. It’s not a luxury I can afford often, but the pretty, fun nails are lifting a small weight off my chest.

Maren, Sawyer, and I work our way through Target, our shopping cart overflowing with snacks, bottles of wine, and face masks.

I’ve been dreading today, knowing it means the end, but my friends have managed to pull my thoughts away from Deon and Gordie and the small life we’ve built together.

They’ve pulled out every trick they have to keep the conversation flowing. Even sex-shy Sawyer spilled the beans about her and Henry experimenting with a blindfold. She blushed but left out no details, including when she accidentally tightened the knot too tightly and then spent fifteen minutes trying to wiggle the blindfold over Henry’s massive head.

I may or may not have snorted so hard that my vision went black for a moment. Maren shared that she and Jack can nolonger touch in front of the puppy because it wails and barks and wiggles between them.

Both of them have made a valiant and much-appreciated effort to focus my thoughts away from the inevitable. Unfortunately, now that we’re in Maren’s home, the one she shares with Jack, full of life and love, that sadness is much harder to avoid.

Photos of her and Jack pepper the walls and the evidence of two lives intertwined is so prominent that my chest aches.

That’s all I truly want. To find someone to share my life with.

“Your face mask, m’lady.” Maren bows deeply at the waist, handing me a green tea mask, “But more importantly, your beverage.”

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