Trevor bursts into my house, where I am swaddled in soft knits and cupping a mug of hot tea, Unlikely Animal Friends babbling on the television in an effort to drive Alex’s frustrated voice from my thoughts. “We have to break up.”
I snap my neck so hard toward the doorway that it pops. “What?”
“I think Teyonna’s into me. She’s been acting down since I kissed your arm. Which I regret now, and not just because I had to taste your flower soap. Please, Ro, I bought you that kiwi smoothie body butter for a reason. You want to smell edible, trust me.”
I sit up, The Green Witch’s Garden sliding off my lap. “Wasn’t the plan to make Teyonna regret what she could’ve had?”
He thumps the ceiling with the flat of his hand. “Bro, she can HAVE it.”
I picture Alex’s expression if he gets wind that Trevor and I have broken up. He’ll come to the conclusion that (1) he was right all along and I’ve been longing for him pathetically, (2) he was right about Trevor and me not being a good match, or (3) nobody wants to be with Romina.
“Trevor, if we break up right after we told your dad that we’re each other’s one true loves, he’s never going to take anything else we say seriously. Do you think he’d still give us a loan? He didn’t seem to be leaning in that direction to begin with.”
His face falls. “Hm.”
I collapse back against my pillows, exhausted. “If you have serious feelings for Teyonna again, if you see a future with her, then you should explain what happened. Tell her we only said we were dating because Allison was taunting you, that it got out of hand. Hopefully she’ll keep it under wraps.”
“She will.”
“You think you’ll get back together for real?”
“I hope so.” He jumps into bed beside me, helping himself to my bowl of apple slices. “It helps that we’ve got a wedding coming up. Women love weddings. They get emotionally horny.”
I flick his cheek.
“By the way, Kristin wanted me to pass along that the bachelorette party is tonight.”
I groan. “No way. Tell her I’m sick. I can’t think about anything but the fact that it takes two days to install a new sewer line, and May first is, like, two seconds away. I’m very busy sitting here feeling anxiety about things out of my control.”
“See, that’s exactly why you should go. There’s going to be a masseuse. The ladies are doing a spa thing, real tame shit. Dad’s got a guy coming in to teach us manly menfolk how to laser our initials into wooden keychains, so you’re getting the sweeter end of the deal. Dad and Kristin originally wanted to do a joint potluck in a church basement instead of traditional bachelor and bachelorette parties.” He rolls his eyes. “This was the best I could talk them into.”
A massage sounds amazing. My tense muscles deserve some love. Alex won’t be there, so how bad could it be? “Maybe. What time?”
“I’ll find out and text you.” He lands a kiss on my cheek. “Thanks for giving the all clear to tell Teyonna what’s up. This doesn’t mean I love you any less, you know.”
“I’m bereft.”
“The two of you can be sister wives, if you want. There’s always room for more love.”
“Stop. Your sweet talk is seducing me too much.”
He laughs, helps himself to a sip of my tea. “Get outta bed. You should be over there making King miserable, not over here making yourself miserable.”
“Eh, what do you know?”
“How to pull off Hammer pants.” He slaps a hand against the window as he flies past it, then is off to throw himself at Teyonna’s mercy.
Godspeed, my friend.
I do get up, to huff a hot breath onto the glass. An exhale, a wipe of my shirt, and the handprint smudge is gone. The motion takes me back to other smudges I wiped, from hallway portraits, in someone else’s house. Sweeping up crumbs from kitchen counters, cleaning the oven, dusting cobwebs from where wall meets ceiling, scrubbing grape jelly from a refrigerator shelf. Invisible work that nobody noticed, that nobody said a thank-you for, but that if I were to cease doing it, someone would certainly notice then. And then I’d hear: What do you even do around here all day?
I happen to glance down, noticing a white flower laid across the doorstep, half trampled from Trevor’s shoe. I twirl it in my hand in wonderment. Wherever this flower came from, it wasn’t my garden.
You know, it’s interesting, the situations we will tolerate for ourselves but would hate to watch our loved ones endure. Reading the transcript of my relationship with Spencer is a sprawling kingdom of red flags, even if at the time I thought, This is probably the best it’s going to get for me now.
If you were to ask Spencer, he would absolutely tell you that we broke up over Kleenex. She’s crazy! She dumped me with no warning, over some tissues. Who does that?
What really happened was this: Spencer never picked up after himself, ever. And while this mess was not restricted to our bedroom—he would routinely walk over toys left lying on the floor rather than pick them up, and leave his dirty plates on the coffee table, and get aggravated with me when he had no clean underwear (which he wouldn’t put in the laundry basket or wash or put away)—it was the small trash can next to his side of the bed that was ultimately my last straw, atop a Matterhorn of straws.
While emptying all of the little wastebaskets throughout the house, one day I paused before emptying his, and wondered how long it would take for him to simply do it himself. I watched as the days passed and it overflowed. When the three of us caught a cold, and he was being pathetic—I’m so, so sick, Romina. As if I wasn’t, too!—his trash can got so full that he didn’t bother aiming used tissues at it anymore, letting them pile all around it. I was already disgusted with him, but it was this that tipped me over the edge. This disrespect, this laziness, this refusal to be a partner, to be responsible for himself. I’d been holding out as long as I could, for Adalyn, but I could not put up with his shit for one minute longer. And Spencer, who’d been banking on me tolerating it because he was Adalyn’s gatekeeper, was completely shocked. Everyone in our social circle couldn’t believe that this kind, generous, sweet man had been left by a partner twice. Either he hadn’t been listening when I asked him twelve million times to help out more, or he had decided, twelve million individual times, that it was easier to not do anything and hope I’d eventually wear myself down enough that I’d stop asking for help. I’m sure he thought, if he thought about me at all, She’ll learn it’s just easier to do it by herself.
And you know what? He was correct. Everything was easier without him.
We’d discussed ironing out a custody arrangement, because that forty-year-old child had no interest in parenting, but he reneged when Adalyn’s bio mom reentered the picture. So, yes. Very easy to hate him.
Conversely, at the end of Alex and me, I couldn’t summon any anger. In spite of how we ended, pain was what burnt me up because he had taken himself away from me, and the absence of Alex was hell. It was hell.
I am so skull-poundingly angry with him right now, though, that it rises off my body like fever, curling into the steam that wafts from the hot towel lodged behind my neck. Green goop rests heavily on my face, cucumbers cooling my eyes. We’re in Kristin’s bridal suite, ten massage tables crammed in wherever they can fit (two are in the hall, along with some furniture that had to be removed). A heavy-duty essential oils diffuser is expelling a mist so pervasive that even my saliva tastes like lemongrass. The masseuse has permeated the room with whale noises meant to relax us until our “bones turn to gelatin.” But I’m lying here tense, stewing. My bones are brick.
How dare he leave in the middle of an argument.
How dare he think I’m here for him.
How dare he leave me a flower—and I’m certain he’s the one who did—that, upon my research, is a tuberose, which expresses that one feels wounded. He must have bought it at Budding Romance. Every time I picture Alex striding into that shop for the sole purpose of buying a nasty little woe-is-me message and then driving over to my house, deliberately placing it on my doorstep—I am livid and astounded in equal measure. Of all the overdramatic nonsense! I returned the gesture by leaving a basket of dandelions with Half Moon Mill’s reception, his name written on an attached card. I’ve never scavenged for dandelions so viciously before. Only wish that I could’ve seen his face when he recalled the meaning behind them: Your pretentions are ridiculous. He’s got to be so vexed right now.
I’ve always found his boldness appealing.
“Not anymore,” I mutter to myself. “I miss when you were a freshman and too scared to talk to me.” I was intimidating as a fourteen-year-old, probably due to the dark eye makeup. Now I’m a pip-squeak. I wear milkmaid braids and petticoats. I spend time thinking about what type of butterfly I would be (I want to say sunset moth, but let’s face it, I would never be a butterfly at all because I might get caught in somebody’s net; nay, I would be a toadstool. Hunkered down in an unreachable cave).
“You say something?” Kristin asks drowsily from the next massage chair over.
I open my eyes, thin green slices slipping off. From my other side, Teyonna replies, “She said she misses scared freshmen.”
“Haven’t had a man get fresh with me in a long time,” one of Trevor’s aunts laments.
“Romina,” one of Trevor’s cousins calls. “Tell us more about you and Trevor.”
Allison groans. “Tell us less. Remove what I already know. I’m still recovering from the Nissan Cube revelation.”
I look over at Teyonna, expecting to see her laid out like the rest, eyes closed. But she’s playing on her phone. When she notices me watching, she offers a small smile, then turns her attention back to her screen. Types on it, then shows it to me.
Trevor told me the truth.
I get out my phone, drumming up the notes app. I’m sorry for lying.
She replies: I understand. Kinda. He asked if I want to date him again.
I type: Not to be nosy, but . . . ??
She makes a so-so gesture, half-smiling, half-grimacing. I don’t know, she types. He’s so much fun and I’ve missed that, to be honest. Every time Trevor and I have seen each other one of us has been in a relationship so we’ve been on different pages. But this time it just felt like we clicked again, like it was the right time even though it should’ve felt like the wrong time bc I thought he was your bf. Does that make sense? I’ve been trying so hard to suppress my feelings! So now they are exploding out of me! And he’s SO HOT, right!!!
I’ll give him that. Oh, he’s beautiful for sure. Not to persuade you one way or the other but the second he saw you here I could tell he was really into you.
I watch her eyes brighten as she reads, then she falls dramatically backward and hugs her phone, gazing dreamily up at the ceiling. Kicks her feet.
Ok yeah that’s what I wanted to hear, she types, then looks sideways at me.
I text Trevor: Hey how’s it going with Teyonna? When he replies immediately, I lean over so that she can watch the frenzied fleet of messages roll in.
I DON’T KNOW IF SHE LIKES ME MAN
I TRIED TALKING TO HER
I TOLD HER EVERYTHING
SHE LOOKED SUSPICIOUS WHAT DO I DO
WHY ARMPIT YOU ANSWERING
*ARENT
ARE YOU THERE WITH HER
RO IF SHE TURNS ME DOWN I’M THROWING MILF INTO A HOLE
*MYSELF
DON’T TELL HER THAT THOUGH, TELL HER I’M WELL ACCOSTED
*ACCOSTED
FUCKING SHIT MAN ADJUSTED I am well adjusted
We giggle madly.
“What are you people doing over there?” Allison calls from across the room, propped up on her elbows. Then I laugh at Teyonna, who’s snapping a picture of my phone to save a copy of Trevor’s texts.
“Please don’t judge me for wanting documentation of this.”
“It’s adorable.”
“He’s adorable.” She sighs. “Just stupid gorgeous, I swear. Makes my brain cells trickle out of my ears when I talk to him. And there’s more to him than everybody sees. I know he comes off as this goofball, which he is, but there’s depth to that goofball. I notice more of his layers as we get older.”
“Plus, he’s so well-adjusted,” I point out with a grand sweep of my arm.
She laughs. “Okay, I need to lie back and let this facial do its work. Gotta be hot later.”
I lie back, too.
“Romina?”
It’s Kristin, speaking softly.
“Feeling pampered?” I ask.
“Like a baby.” She frowns. “That’s a lie. I can’t enjoy any of this because I’m stressing over the arrangements I’ll need to make if it’s still raining on Sunday.”
“I’m sorry. Anything I can help with?”
“Oh, honey, you’re sweet.” She pats my arm. “But I wanted to ask, how are you? How’s it going?”
I try not to squirm. “I’m doing good.”
“You’ve been talking to Alex again. Has it been . . . Is this the first you’ve talked since . . . ?”
I’m torn between a compulsion to confide in her and holding every Alex-related detail private. I settle for an island in-between, responding honestly before changing the subject. “Yeah, it’s been a long time. What does your dress look like?”
“Simple, you know me.” She gestures down her front, features expressive. Kristin talks with her whole body. Alex used to wave his hands wildly all around, eyebrows dancing in an exaggerated imitation while she regaled us about her day over dinner, which she’d then pretend to be insulted by. “Still don’t know how I let that consultant talk me out of sleeves, but I guess it’s too late now. I hope nobody criticizes me for wearing strapless.”
“Why would anyone criticize you?”
“I’m an older bride, I’ve been married before. I asked my pastor if it’s dishonest for me to wear white, and he didn’t think it was a problem at all, but I still worry. Do you think I should’ve picked a different color? There was a champagne dress I saw, maybe it was at Georgina’s Bridal up in Toledo—you ever been to Toledo? They have great seafood.”
“Kristin.” She has not changed a bit. “No one’s going to judge you for wearing white. Almost every bride in the country wears white, regardless of how many times they’ve been married.”
“I know, Alex thinks I’m being old-fashioned, too. My first dress was beautiful. Alex thinks it was heinous, with the big puffed sleeves, but I loved that dress.” Her gaze is far away.
“Your new one’s every bit as lovely, I’m sure.”
“It is, it is. Better suited to who I am now, but it’s a good thing I’ve got a red jacket to go with it. Strapless! Who am I, Madonna? But anyway, that’s not what we were talking about—we were talking about you and Alex, together again. The universe works in interesting ways, doesn’t it?”
A jolt wracks me; it only lasts a second, but I’m positive that Kristin sees. “Uh.”
“You and Alex . . . I know that was long ago,” she says gently, trying to be discreet. “But I hope you don’t mind if I say you and he were wonderful together.”
All of the sweat on my body cools. I open my mouth, then close it. My throat has gone so dry that my eyes water with the urge to cough.
I think about Kristin and Alex holding me while I cried after getting my rejection letter from OSU.
“We’ve only been dating two years,” I had told him. “I don’t know if we can survive so much distance, hardly seeing each other. You’d barely have time for me even if I did go to OSU.”
Alex had cupped my face in his hands, eyes bright with panic. “Don’t talk like that. I don’t care that we’ve only been together for two years, Romina, I have loved you since I was fourteen. Nothing’s going to come between us. I won’t go to OSU. I won’t go. We both got into Hocking. We’ll go there. Being together is more important to me than where I get my degree from.”
I recall Kristin’s bloodless face. Her shock painted in stark black and white for me that, as much as I knew she loved me, she’d want what was best for Alex even if it damaged our relationship, because he could go on to have any number of girlfriends in his future but he only had one shot to get into his dream university. Their dream university.
Her son, her perfect angel who was going to be valedictorian, who hadn’t gotten a B on his grade card since sophomore year. And me, the girl who climbed onto his lap to make him forget all responsibilities while he was trying to study, who kept him tied up on the phone late at night, who was going to derail his immaculate future because he was young and in love, and unable to appreciate the long-term ramifications. In hindsight, I know Kristin must have been thinking about her own high school boyfriends, how fleeting love is when you’re a teenager, even though in the moment you think it’s serious; you think it’s forever.
But she couldn’t verbalize this, because she wasn’t the number one woman in Alex’s life anymore and she knew that if she pushed him too hard she would end up being the one he alienated, not me. I was the girl he’d loved since he was fourteen, long before he ever registered on my radar.
I’d never deserve him. I would always win.
Wonderful together. If we were so wonderful together, then why’d she try to break us up?
A month after we decided we’d go to Hocking together, Kristin pressured us to change those plans, putting Alex back on the Ohio State path while I settled on Columbus State Community College. But since Columbus State didn’t have dorms, we announced we’d get an apartment together. Kristin flipped out. Said he was going to get me pregnant, that we’d both end up dropping out. And that was when she started telling us we were too young to be so serious about each other, that we hadn’t seen the world yet, that we should go experience life separately and, if it was meant to be, we’d find our way back to each other again someday.
I’ve been imagining all this time that she celebrated our breakup with champagne and confetti—surely it was a relief for her, to send him off to Ohio State without me there to distract him. Telling me eleven years later that she thought we were good together is a shove backward off a cliff.
“You and Trevor are serious, then?” she goes on. I force myself to meet her stare with neutrality. She’s rooting for information, and that gleam in her eyes tells me she wants to hear no.
I stiffen. It requires all of my control not to snap at her.
“I hate to pry, but . . .” She drifts off, whatever she was about to say overshadowed by my jerky standing. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I have to use the bathroom.” I pat her arm and fix on a smile. It feels like swallowing blood. “Thank you for inviting me! So relaxing. I really needed this.”
