Page 6 of The Hang Up
Then I sit up, wipe my eyes, and shove the letter back into its envelope before returning it to the drawer. I push it closed with a satisfying thud, like sealing away my weakness.
He left. He made that choice. I won’t let him back in simply because I’m lonely, tired, and burned out.
I check the clock. It’s almost ten. I’m exhausted, but I need to make sure my mom took her pills tonight.
Creeping into my mom’s room, I crouch by the nightstand and grab her pill organizer, flipping open the PM for today.
Empty.
Thank God. I don’t have to wake her up and listen to her yell at me for getting home so late and disturbing her sleep.
As I turn and head back to my room, a memory grips me. I’m eighteen, standing in this same spot, holding a bottle of pills with shaking hands and a heart full of fear. Mom told me her diagnosis with tears in her eyes, and I held her, promising everything would be okay.
But it wasn’t okay.
Nothing has been okay since.
The weight of that night has never lifted—not during the college years I stumbled through, not in the jobs I took to get by, not even in the quiet comfort of fresh cupcakes in the morning.
It’s always there—the moment I chose to stay. When I stopped living for me and started living for her.
And Holden? He got to go.
I shove the thought away and creep back to my room. Grabbing my robe, I head to the bathroom. I turn on the shower, step under the warm spray, and let it wash away the tears, the anger, and the what-ifs. For a few minutes, I stand there, the water pounding against my back, my thoughts swirling.
Should I hear him out? Would it bring closure? Would it open a wound? Would I forgive him? Would I want to?
I close my eyes.
No.
Because if I let him in, if I even crack the door open, I might not be able to close it again, and I can’t afford to fall apart. Not now. Not when everything depends on me keeping it all together.
My mom.
Clay & Cupcakes.
My sanity.
I dry off, tug on my softest pajamas, and climb into bed. I stare up at the ceiling, the ache in my chest pressing down like a weight I’ve learned to live with.
I take a deep breath and whisper to the dark, “I’m fine without him.”
Even if it’s a lie.
FOUR
Holden
I tell myself I’m going to Clay & Cupcakes for the pastries. That it’s been a long week, and I’ve earned something sweet. That maybe I’ll grab one of those raspberry scones Lena makes, the ones that melt in my mouth and remind me of Sunday mornings in high school when she’d bake a dozen because she knew they were my favorite.
But that would be a lie, and a weak one at that. Because the truth is, I want to see her. Even if she barely looks at me. Even if her words are clipped and her eyes are colder than Lake Michigan in winter.
I park a few blocks down and walk the rest of the way. It feels less desperate somehow. Less like I’ve planned this. Like maybe I happened to be walking by and decided to pop in for a treat.
I know it’s pathetic, but she’s worth it.
The bell over the door jingles as I step into the warmth of the bakery, the scent of sugar and cinnamon wrapping around me like a memory I can’t shake.
