Page 5 of Only in Your Dreams

“Becauseprecious Connorcouldn’t stomach the idea of the independence you’d gain having a full-time job. And then he goes and throws you to the curb. How are you still sitting here defending him? Where’s the rage, Mels? Where’s the hate? Why aren’t you telling me about the bonfire you made of his belongings on your way out of that absurd apartment you shared?”

“There’s nothing to hate. He always treated me well. Looked after me. He got me my job—”

“Which you despise,” Parker interjects. “I’ve never once heard you gush about the prospect of making rich white men richer for a living.”

I ignore him, but he’s not wrong. Maybe I’d graduated college armed with a math degree and no clue what to do with it, but crunching numbers at the same investment bank where Connor worked definitely hadn’t been on my bingo card. Until it was.

But at least I’d found a job as aimless as I’d felt back then. At least I’d been earning something, paltry as it had been. At least they’d hired me as a remote worker, letting me move back to my hometown after it became glaringly obvious I could only afford to live—quite illegally and perilously—in a street-side federal mailbox post-breakup.

It might have been the gracious thing to do to let me have the apartment we shared, but it was Connor’s apartment, really. He bought—well, his parents bought—a stunning condo in a high rise in the heart of the downtown, high enough to peek over the surrounding skyscrapers for a glimpse of the river and the deep orange sun as it made its final gasp across the daytime sky. That apartment was pure glamor. Everything a small coastal town girl pictured when she imagined a life in the city.

And Connor ratcheted up the glamorous lifestyle when he sweetly refused to split the mortgage with me and my part-time salary, insisted he was thrilled to afford it for the both of us, that it made little sense that we’d both run ourselves ragged working demanding jobs. That I should go out and enjoy my life. Which, other than the three days a week I spent in the home office he lovingly put together for me, consisted of lengthy, directionless walks along the river, various fitness classes, and lunch with the other barely employed girlfriends within our circle.

Parker plucks a high-necked blouse adorned with pearls from my hands, holding it up by the shoulders with a grimace. “Let me guess: he bought this for you?”

Also true. I’ll never deny that I lived a very spoiled life with my very doting boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend.

I snatch back the shirt and go to hang it in the closet. “I already know my life is in shambles, Park. I’ve had to crawl back home to live with mybaby brotherat twenty-eight.”

“Hey—first off, I’m only a minute younger than you. Are you always—”

“Yes, I will always hang that minute over your head. You know it’s my favorite thing to do.”

“Second, I may live above my favorite bar—”

“Oakley’s is theonlybar in town.”

“But I’m living a very adult life, in this very adult apartment. You know, I think it’ll be really good for you, being back. Have you told Summer you’re here?”

She’d be happy to see me, I know she would. Growing up, my friend Summer was a refuge in a world where I was constantly surrounded by boys, between Parker and his football teammates. Maybe I detached myself from Oakwood Bay over the past decade, but she’s always made it a point to come around when I’d be back for the holidays. Still though—

“No, I haven’t told her,” I sigh, fiddling with a shirt sleeve in my closet. “As much as I love you for letting me move in while I get back on my feet, you have to admit it’s all a little embarrassing. Getting dumped out of nowhere. Crawling back home, not being able to afford my own place.”

“Trust me, the only person who should be embarrassed is that idiot ex of yours.”

“Actually, Connor is incredibly smart. He’s the youngest person at our company overseeing a Fortune 500 CEO portfolio.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Mel,” Parker groans. “I know. It’s all he ever talked about the last time I had the misfortune of enduring his company, the pompous prick.”

When would that have been? Parker made the three-hour drive to meet me in the city all the time, when I first moved out there—a good thing considering I started avoiding Oakwood Bay like the plague, and I love the hell out of my brother. His visits dwindled, though, the further I got into my relationship with Connor. Parker wasn’t a fan of the so-called pompous prick. But Connor also wasn’t a fan of Parker’s many opinions, and the way he’d supposedly espouse them as fact.

I never felt like I could have them both equally in my life, and seeing as I lived with Connor, it was my relationship with Parker that suffered. Now, his is all I have.

Not for the first time since it happened, the image of Connor in my favorite shirt of his—the fitted polo that brings out of the blue of his eyes—comes to me. He sits me down and takes my hand, then shares with me he isn’t happy anymore. Tells me how much I mean to him, how he’ll always be grateful for me and the years we spent together, even when we go our separate ways. And then we do—we go our separate ways.

I finger the hangers in my closet, waiting for the tears to hit. They did, quite badly, the night of our breakup. Then the confusion settled in and hasn’t left me since.

I didn’t feel the monotony he said he felt. Had no idea what he meant when he said our futures no longer lined up. He left me so perplexed by the end of our talk that I spent the rest of the week trying to sort his words into an order that made sense. He’d stayed over at a friend’s place that first night to give me space, and by the time I woke up the next morning, he’d left for his month and a half long South American sabbatical. I’d never had a chance to ask where I went wrong.

Maybe that’s why I’m feeling this way. Maybe the confusion is why I haven’t shed a single tear since the initial shock of the breakup.

It might make sense of this inexplicable lightness, this strange relief deep down in my bones.

What else could it be?

Parker blows out a breath. His eyes are soft, sympathetic as I sink onto the bed beside him. I don’t know why. Perhaps we’ve developed some kind of twin telepathy sometime in the past twenty-eight years, because I haven’t let on a peep about thisI don’t miss my boyfriend of six yearsthing. It’s entirely heartless. Better kept to myself.

“You know what? What you need is a good distraction,” Parker says suddenly. “A change of scenery to get your head right. I have to skip the annual Labor Day camping trip this year. There’s a friend coming into town last minute, and I can’t miss seeing her.”

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