Page 27 of Any Girl But You
She opens her mouth to say something, but then closes it and keeps her gaze on her fingers. As she twists the trio of rings on her finger, she takes a quick, sharp breath. “I have to confess something.”
There’s a sheepishness in her tone that gives me pause.
“I wasn’t snooping, I swear. But when I dug in your desk for notebooks, I saw a stack of pretty cards in there with hearts on them.” Quinn cocks her head. “Do you have a secret admirer?”
Oh boy. This is not the confession I was expecting to hear. How do I explain everything about Josie? Why those cards are there, why I don’t toss them, what happened with us. I twist the ring on my finger and take a deep breath. “Not so much a secret…and not really an admirer. They’re from my ex-girlfriend.”
Quinn pulls her lips into her mouth. “The one you proposed to?”
I nod.
She doesn’t ask any follow-up questions, and it’s so hard to know what to offer. Does she need to hear the details of how my heart broke when Josie left? Broke and shattered, and how I convinced myself I’d never be whole again, and that it hastaken me until this year to open up my heart to the possibility of someone else? “I haven’t read the letters.”
A small line forms between her brows. “Why not?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. The breakup was so painful that I’m not sure anything in there is what I need or should hear.” I swipe my tongue against the inside of my mouth. “We were together for ten years, and I thought she was the one. I was convinced she was the one, obviously.”
I can’t help but flash back to that day. Gooseberry Falls. The rush of the waterfall behind us. The rich greenery. The lump in my throat, the shakiness of my fingers, the weight of the ring in my jeans. Josie had been off for a while, but I thought it was stress. She was a vet tech, working with injured animals all day and…I thought it was stress. And when I got down on a knee, and she started bawling…I knew. It wasn’t tears of joy.
She never even saw the ring. We drove home in the most excruciating, awkward silence ever in existence, and she moved out a week later.
“So why not throw the letters away?” Quinn asks.
I think about this a lot. Whynotjust throw them away? “I guess I’m not ready.”
Quinn’s face turns warm. She shifts, studying my face. “Are you over her?”
This answer is much more complicated than what I can give right now. I’ve let Josie, the person, go. I had no choice when she left. I’m ready to move on, ready to find the one, ready to find a soulmate. But I’d be lying if I said I let the relationship go. To this day, parts of it still haunt me.
Quinn’s leaning in, her eyes wide and expectant, and I can tell she really wants to know. And I can’t tell if it’s because there’s a small tug between us, or because we’re friends, or if she’s just curious.
Finally, I sigh and say the truth: “Honestly, I’m not sure.”
FOURTEEN
QUINN
The bed squeaks underneath me as I roll over and flop to my side. A couple weeks ago, after the fiasco at Zoey’s, we ended up staying up until midnight reviewing her paperwork, contacting insurance, calling her clients and special orders, and coming up with a plan. We brought her industrial cake mixer—which was so heavy I thought I’d crack a limb—to the barn among some other tools and containers. Zoey will use my space to prep, then bring the items back to her bakery to bake in the one oven that was unaffected by the electrical mishap. Since she isn’t doing daily orders for the shop, she’ll schedule times for the people to come pick up the items at the bakery.
I write a quick note in my journal. A little manifestation of how I want things to be, and a little bit of patting myself on the back for the things that I’ve accomplished. After reading one book on PTSD, I read another, and another. Journaling, being in nature, being creative, are all things helping me overcome what I went through at my last job. And every day, I feel myself lift and morph into who I want to be.
A knock on the door sounds. “I’m dead, go away.” I shove the journal to the side.
“You know, there are morning people, and night people. But you are like a never o’clock person,” Frankie says as she enters, uninvited as usual, with a grin.
“Wow. Did it take you all morning to come up with that little zinger?” I chuck a pillow at Frankie, and of course she grabs it midair. If she did that to me, my reflexes would be too slow to dodge. It’d hit me in the face.
She lobs the pillow to the edge of my bed. “Morgan and I want to check out that new bar in Duluth, the Pine Street Tap House or something? Wondering if you and Zoey want to come with.”
My sister is the least subtle human in the world. Her voice lifts too high when saying Zoey’s name. But, as much as I can read her, she can also read my face like no one else. I lie back down and throw my arm over my eyes. “I don’t know… I’m not even sure if Zoey goes out. Is that the place with open mic nights?”
“Yeah. There’s a band playing there next Friday. Might be fun?” Frankie says, shrugging. “I’ll be DD so you can all get shit-faced and I can take advantage of my girlfriend.”
“You’re disgusting,” I say as I peek out from under my arm with a scowl. “Our walls are too thin, and I cannot possibly put my noise-canceling headphones on any higher. I’m sleeping in the basement that night.”
“Even better.” Frankie bounces her brows. “For real, just ask Zoey if she wants to come with. But if you really don’t want to, we can just go us three.”
Frankie’s voice drops at that last part. Not that I am a third wheel. Or maybe I am. I’ve always just been there, like Frankie’s extra limb. We’ve always lived together, we’ve always been together, we do so much together that I’m surprised Morgan hasn’t disowned us both. But I can tell how bad she wants me to come with and bring Zoey. And even though I’ve spent what feelslike every waking minute with Zoey, it feels like it’s not enough. Extending that time with her makes me damn near giddy—which is exactly why I shouldn’t do it.
