Page 58 of Ms. Lead

I roll the poster back up and tap it into the container again. I’ll have to think later if I really want to hang it up or not. I may not want the reminder.

Next, I turn to the note, picking it up gingerly as if it might bite me if I’m not careful. I know that whatever is in it will hurt me regardless, so I’m sure I’m not that far off. I have to work my anger back to the level he deserves.

This note in my hand is all he’s left me with instead of facing me like a human being.

Drawing in and exhaling a super deep breath, I open the note with shaking hands.

Bianca,

I know this is not how you envisioned things ending between us, but I think this is for the best. As I told you last night, even if you require less, that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve more. And you do. You have no idea how much I wish I could deserve you. Maybe in another life, and under better circumstances, I will.

Until that happens, in this life, know that you were right last night. I do feel the same. But, as we both know all too well, sometimes love just isn’t enough. As much as that hurts, it’s equally important.

I made a hundred wishes for you on the stars last night, but you don’t need them. I’m positive you will find the life you want to live without any celestial intervention.

Yours,

-Oliver

I sit on one of the barstools at the kitchen island, rereading the note several times until I can probably recite it verbatim if I want to.

I don’t want to.

I don’t want to think about his words and how final they are. He couldn’t even tell me directly that he loved me, just that I was right. He has given up.

What a coward.

I am so tempted to draft a response text, email, or something to tell him off, but glancing at the clock on the stove, I can see he wouldn’t get it for hours yet. By that time, I might have changed my mind and would regret it.

But would I really?

My phone starts ringing in the bedroom, and I leap off the barstool and grab it. It’s Enzo. Of course, it is. I debate sending it to voicemail, but I know he’ll just keep calling. I clear my throat and try to sound as normal as possible.

“Hey, Enzo, what’s up?” I hold my breath and close my eyes tightly.

Please don’t be intuitive right now.

“You tell me.” That’s it. That’s all he says. God damn him. I try to think of what to tell him, but I must not answer quickly enough because he adds, “Do I need to jump on a plane to jolly old England to keep my promise to kill a certain someone if they hurt you? Because say the word sis, I’ve got air miles burning a hole in my pocket and a severe dislike of tea.”

“Enzo…” I know he’s trying to cheer me up, but it’s making it worse.

“I’m serious.” There is an edge to his voice that tells me he isn’t playing. That I wasn’t expecting. “I warned him.”

“It’s fine. I swear,” I lie. “I’ll be okay.”

“I mean, I knew he was leaving today, but I wasn’t sure how you guys would leave it. I take it things didn’t go as you planned, huh?”

I sigh. I’m going to have to have this conversation sooner or later. May as well get it out of the way.

“He left early this morning without saying goodbye. He just left me a note.”

“What?? Are you fucking kidding me?” I haven’t heard Enzo this angry in a long time. “I swear, I’m hanging up and calling the airline now.”

“Stop it, Enzo. It’ll be alright.”

I toss Oliver’s note that I carried with me for some reason on the bed and plop down beside it. This downward spiral is pointless right now. I just want to go home. Begging off the call, I tell my brother not to do anything stupid and that I’ll call him when I’m back in Vegas.

Once we hang up, I look around, my memory flashing to every moment in this house with Oliver. Like the house in Tahoe, it was like our little getaway, tinged with good and bad.

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