Page 10 of Dibs
Sean slams the door on his way out without another word, and I finally exhale. We were no strangers to fighting andcrazy bitchisn’t exactly a new phrase for him to throw around, so I let it roll off my back.
I need to make an appearance at breakfast in—I glance at the clock—an hour and then tiptoe out of there without making a scene. That’s the goal. Fly under the radar as best I can, keep the bride and groom in the limelight, and definitely no throat-punching Sean.
My hands again curl into fists that want so badly to be used. I tell them, “I know, but it’s Tara’s day to shine, not ours.” I force myself to stretch my hands out in front of me, letting out a sigh. I’ve got one hell of a right cross, a target acquired, but the wrong damn timing.
A knock comes at the door, and I hear a little beep. It opens to Deacon standing there, leaning against the doorway with an unreadable expression on his face.
Finally, he sighs. “Your tits are out, doll face.” He turns the other direction and puts his hand over his eyes.
“Oops. Sorry.” I walk from the bed to the table where my suitcase is spread out, and rummage in it until I find a ruffle-sleeved teal dress that works perfectly for the early-fall occasion. Deacon averts his eyes while I dress.
“Alright, all good. I’ve officially broken up with Sean, by the way. The bastard was just in here calling me a crazy bitch and telling me if I think I get you in our breakup, I’m even crazier.” My eye twitches with remembrance. “I still don’t know how he got in here.”
“I’m in the room across the hall, so I heard a little bit of that. I didn’t like his tone. Frankly, I never have. Not before it ended or after.”
I run a brush through my messy hair, the remaining light brown curls loosening into barely there waves, and I secure it into a braid while Deacon sits at the desk chair, looking at me in awe. “I still don’t get how you women do things like braiding. I tried it on my niece’s My Little Pony, and it was pathetic. Paisley laughed at me. Laughed like a hyena, and so did my sister-in-law.”
I giggle, grabbing my makeup bag and heading to the bathroom.
“I like that, Beck.”
Puzzled, I ask, “What do you like?”
“You laughing. I want to hear you do more of that.” Deacon appears in the doorway, watching me line my hazel eyes with brown liquid. I add a rosy pop of color to my eyelids and use the same color on my cheeks.
“So, how bad is the hangover?” Deacon asks.
“Oh, ha. It’s there. Though the aspirin has kicked in, so thanks for that. Just need to get some food into my stomach to cushion those meds without making a scene down there.” I frown, thinking that this may be the last time I’m in the same room with all these people at once—people I’d once called my family.
“Hey, it’ll be fine, okay? We’ll sit with friends, not with the family.” Deacon continues staring at me in the mirror as I fuss over myself.
“I already told Tara. She guessed it, so I just confirmed she was on the right track. Wonder if she spread it around to everyone.” I shrug one shoulder like I don’t care, my lips pulling into a line as I sigh noisily because I do care, and I hate that I care.
“Sean acting like a pissed-off teenager is probably a clue-in as well. That little bitch.” Deacon leans in and wipes a little smudge of eyeliner below my bottom lash line, and we look into each other’s eyes a bit too deeply as he wipes it away. The touch does something to my body that it shouldn’t, though I refuse to dwell on it.
“He insists he didn’t cheat. He still won’t cop to it, even though I have irrefutable proof.” Chuckling, I shake my head, digging in my bag for the right lipstick. “But of course, he’s lying. He has a tell. He rubs his temple like I’m giving him a headache. I can’t believe I just figured this out recently. He does it to make me think I’m crazy and annoying. Hell, maybe the last ten years, I’ve been every bit as crazy as he thinks I am for having stayed with him. Sean never respected me. Not like I deserved.”
I’m angry and sad at the same time. Sorry for wasting all that time, all that youth I’ll never get back. Youth is short and fickle, and already, thirty is approaching, which makes me feel like a feather drifting along the wind who should be grounded somewhere instead. All the expectations I’d had of thirty—marriage, babies—have melted away. The future is nothing but a question mark.
“My mother would be so glad to hear you two broke up,” Deacon tells me, running his fingers gently over my braid and tugging on it.
“Really?” I’m aghast. Everyone had seemed to like Sean, including Lillian. That was part of why I liked him so much when we met. He was Mr. Popularity at his fraternity, and he’d overlooked much hotter, sluttier girls and zeroed in on me that night at the party. Or at least, that’s what I had thought.
“She always told me you were settling for Sean. You know, she never much liked him. Mom was an excellent judge of character, and she had a very high opinion of you. She wanted you to be with the best man for you—a truly good man—and she knew that wasn’t Sean.”
I groan, exasperated. “Damn, I wish Lillian had told me that when she was alive.” I swallow a lump in my throat and sip my water to clear it. “We did have a kind of weird conversation toward the end, where she talked to me about spreading my wings and finding my greatest life. It was all very confusing, and I wasn’t sure what she meant.”
“She wasn’t one for drama or speaking out of turn.” Deacon shrugs.
“Neither are you. I think she’d be so proud of the man you turned out to be. I hope she told you that regularly.” I place my hands on Deacon’s shoulders and rub them through his linen-blend, light-blue button-down. As a real estate attorney, Deaconhas all the most handsome suits, and he looks incredible in them.
“She wanted me to make time for love, not work so much. That much she told me at the end.”
“That sounds like her.” I smile in remembrance, thinking of how Lillian appeared before she lost her hair and became so sick from radiation and chemo. I can recall her easy, bright smile and her sea-blue eyes, the same color she’d passed to Deacon. Whenever Lillian was around, you just knew everything would be okay. She had this level-headed calmness about her, and she gave excellent advice. Much better than my own mother did.
I think of the Christmas gifts she so carefully wrapped and decorated with perfect bows and the little handmade cards she’d purchased from a tiny shop in Vail. She had always been so thoughtful in her gift-giving, insisting on shopping for every female at the Wrights’ famous holiday party on Christmas Eve.
Thankfully, it’s only September. I have some time before I spend the holidays alone or overseas in Japan.
