Page 168 of Toeing the Line

I take a deep breath as I slow to a stop in traffic. This isn’t something Edie can understand. She found acceptance early, and nobody has ever made her feel less than based on her looks. But she’s cut out her new family for me, and I need to talk through this.

“That I’ll never be enough for him.”

“Faye…”

“I’m not fishing for compliments—”

“I didn’t think you were—”

“And I’m not looking for validation, but it’s true. You saw what went up on social media when people got those pictures of us. It sucked. Seeing side-by-side photos of me against the other girls he’s been with? The ones who don’t have cellulite and hips and extra chins that only show up in photos. But the thing that sucked the most, is that I wasn’t surprised. In fact, it almost felt like a relief. Like, now that it’s officially out there, he can’t deny it anymore. Everyone sees it and as much as it hurts, and it really fucking hurts…” I trail off, the words catching in my throat. Because it does. And saying it out loud doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“Faye, you’re beautiful. And I didn’t get that from those posts at all.”

“What are you talking about? They were vicious.”

All the photos of him walking or standing or nuzzling one gorgeous woman after another, all with supermodel bodies and short skirts. They looked cool and sexy and like they belonged together in every photo. Me? I looked a sweaty, frumpy mess.

“Yeah,” she says, and I can picture her shrugging. “The comments were cruel and vapid and horrible. But to be clear: the photos of you were beautiful.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Have you really looked at those pictures?” She sounds just like Caro for a moment.

“Of course I have,” I hiss. I don’t need to look at them again.

“Then you’ve seen the way he’s looking at you.”

I squint, as if that will help me remember what she’s talking about. But I can’t. I just remember how wrong we looked together. How it completely validated the comments.

“Faye, anyone could look at those pictures and see that he is head over heels for you.”

“Edie—”

“Faye, for someone so freaking smart, you really can be an idiot,” she says. “That boy is in love with you.”

“I don’t think he is though,” I say.

But then something itches in the back of my head. The last night we were together, the way he held me in front of the mirror after the most intense sex of my life. But it didn’t end there. He asked me tomake loveto him. He didn’t use the word again, and I wonder if he really meant to say it. But the way he said it. The way he held me to him. And then the way he stared at me as he rocked into me, as if he couldn’t get close enough.

I swallow down around the lump in my throat as traffic starts to move.

“Look, I’m not saying you should go be with him. If you want to be with him, be with him. Talk to him. Work through it.”

“The look on his face though, Edie. When I didn’t believe him… it struck a nerve. It was deeper than a misunderstanding.”

“Then apologize. Understand. Figure it out.”

“But what if he doesn’t…” I can’t finish the thought, and I wipe at my eyes.

“Then he doesn’t.” Her words are simple and light, like the island breeze in the background of her call. “But don’t run from what could be amazing because of the ‘what-ifs.’”

I take a deep breath through my nose and let it out slowly through my lips. I could stay in Portland. I could stay where I am and wait for the Knitty Kitty to re-open and talk to Zeke. Maybe we could work things out, maybe I could get over my insecurities, and maybe it could all go back to the way it was. But even in the best-case scenario where Zeke and I can get back together, there’s a seed of disappointment. A persistent, itchy, distinctly different kind ofwhat-if?I would be sad not to try this thing in Corvallis.

I let out a little breath and nod, fortifying myself.

“It sounds like you have your answer,” Edie says, as I hear Dar in the background.

“I think so,” I say, and we say goodbye so she can pay attention to her husband.

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