Page 76 of Miss Understood

“Hey, Lucey, I brought reinforcements,” Monica says, popping her head around the corner and peeking into my room. Her face pinches when she sees the mess.

“Don’t judge,” I tell her.

She waves a pretend white flag and pushes her curls off her face. “No judgment here, honey. Remember me when I came home from Arizona? I was a mucky, yucky mess.”

“You and Carson worked it out.” I slide another spoonful of ice cream into my mouth.

When did I become that girl who binges on Netflix and ice cream? And wine? And day-old pizza?

There’s no way this room doesn’t smell.

Monica makes a spot for herself in the mess of pillows on the other side of the bed. “You really think it’s over?” she asks.

She’s always the romantic, holding on to impossible hope. Normally, Kennedy would be here to bring her back down to earth, but she’s in Paris. Luckily, I’ve got enough doom and gloom for the both of us.

“It’s over,” I say, tossing another empty mint chocolate chip container into the trash can by my bed. I really need to deal with that before this room starts looking like a crime scene. “I’m not giving up my career for a man. I tried to meet him halfway, and look where that got me. I never wanted to leave Price & Davis, but I knew it was best if we were going to give it a real shot with each other. Even that wasn’t good enough.”

Monica opens her mouth, but I continue to dive right in.

I jump off the bed and start pacing. “Besides, why do I have to be the one to make all the sacrifices in the first place? He wants me to get rid of my apartment; he wants me to work where he works; he wants to fuck me his way.”

Monica lifts an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Okay, that last part wasn’t an issue. At all. Actually, it was really hot. Normally there’s no way I’d let a man take charge in the bedroom. But then he blindfolded me and—”

“And?” Monica grins.

“That’s beside the point.” I toss my hands up. I’m rambling, and I’m not the kind of girl who rambles. I’m calm, collected. I think through my words and actions.

At least, I used to.

“Who am I anymore?” I fall onto the bed, defeated.

Monica leans over and brushes my hair off of my face. It’s a tangled mess that will probably take an hour of brushing and a bottle of my best conditioner to undo.

“Why does it hurt so much?”

“Love does,” she says sweetly. “Or at least, it can.”

Love.

I’ve been avoiding that word, even in my thoughts. Because there’s no possible way I’d let Jesse get into my head like that. Except it’s not my head that’s feeling the holes he left. It’s my heart. A place I thought I had guarded.

I prop up onto my elbows and turn to face Monica. “How long does it take to get over that?”

She shrugs. “You’re asking the wrong person. I was stuck on Carson for, what, ten years before we finally got our heads out of our butts.”

“Great,” I grumble, burying my face into a pillow.

“Maybe this breakup a good thing,” Monica says.

I look up at her with a suspicious glare. If the biggest romantic in the world has given up hope, then all is officially lost.

“Hear me out.” She folds her legs beneath herself and faces me. “This all happened in a really sudden and unexpected way. I mean, I’ve still got whiplash from finding out you got married, and it was seven weeks ago now. You guys didn’t go through the initial dating phase, the phone calls, the texts, the getting to know each other. All the things couples normally do when they’re figuring each other out. You guys went from having sworn off love for life to being married. That’s a big adjustment.”

Massive, in fact. My brain used to spin when Jesse called me his wife—even if my heart betrayed me and thumped around like a rabbit’s foot each time he said it.

Monica reaches out for my hand, and I’m thankful she’s the one who is here right now. “It was fast. Really fast. At some point, that was bound to catch up with you. I think you need to take this moment for what it is: a much-needed pause to figure out what you’re doing. Are you still going to take Troy’s offer?”

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