“I don’t know.” She sniffed. “Ben called me last night, and things are just so fucked up, and today this shit happens, and I know you’re happy. I know you are. But . . . I mean, this is—”
I put my hand up as if she could see it. “Don’t tell me anything else, okay? I’m good.” I looked at my reflection in the mirror from the bed into the adjacent bathroom. Nothing had changed. I wasn’t leaking. I was fine. “I’m okay. I’m glad you told me. I have to leave for the airport now, or I’ll miss my flight.” A slew of questions was on the tip of my tongue. Did he look happy? Was she beautiful? And more questions I hated myself for that Lexi would never be able to answer. Still, my head and heart refused to keep those questions bottled.
Was she prettier than me? Did he look at her the same way? Did he propose to her with half his heart? Did he think of me when he did it? Was any part of him thinking of me now? Was I in his dreams the way he drifted through mine sometimes?
All my thoughts were selfish. All of them. And of all the thoughts I could have had that day, self-loathing was not the one I expected to nudge its way front and center. I forced myself to speak.
“Stay.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, of course. I’m fine.”
“This freaky shit always happens. Always with you.”
“I know.”
“It’s like karma or God or someone hates you. It’s so fucked.”
I laughed ironically, though inside my heart was pounding.
Silence passed over the line as we both waited for some sort of solution that wasn’t coming.
“Stella, God, I’m so sorry.”
“About what? Stop. You know I would have told you if the situation were reversed. I should go. Love you.”
“Love y—” I hung up the phone before she could finish, frozen in the middle of the hotel room.
I stared at the large, bronze Buddha that sat behind the front desk while my noisy phone pinged in my tiny backpack. The water behind me trickled down the stone path in the lobby.
Every voice was a blur. Every sound faded as I stared at the statue. The suitcase handle gripped in my hand seemed to be the only thing keeping me from walking toward the inviting Buddha.
“Ma’am.”
Drawn out of my daze, I stared at the man in front of me. He had neatly trimmed, dark brown hair and light brown eyes. He gave me a white smile. “Did you enjoy your stay?”
He wanted words. I only had to give him a few.
“I did, thank you.”
“Where are you headed today?”
“I need a car to the airport.” I realized I hadn’t answered his question, but I could not, for the life of me, bring myself to care.
“The bellman outside will get you a car. Do you have any more bags?”
I shook my head slowly and reverted my gaze back on Buddha while my phone rattled on in my backpack.
“Looks like a busy day for both of us.”
My eyes found his again before he looked past my shoulder to the line that was forming behind me.
Married? Of course, he got married. Why wouldn’t he?
“Have a great flight.”
The front desk clerk carefully dismissed me. That desk clerk had no answers for me. Neither did Buddha. I pulled myself together enough to make it to the curb, where a heavily-coated bellman greeted me.
“Airport?”
“Yes, please.”
“How was your stay?”
A gust of the North’s version of spring air hit my face as I remained guarded behind a new set of eyes and forcefully collected myself to speak.
“It was great, thank you.”
The older man studied my features, and I averted my gaze, the tension heavy in my body and oozing into my frame. Shoulders slumped and head swirling, I knew he could see the rip in me. I was sure of it. My mother always told me my facial expressions gave me away. But could that bellman see my shame? I had no right to feel the way I did. Absolutely no right. But it didn’t matter. I felt it anyway—the jealousy, the ache, the sharp twist of the knife that repeatedly dug in my chest and refused to be ignored.
His wedding.
I choked on another gust of freezing wind as the bellman stepped off the curb into a patch of dirty snow and opened the cab door for me. The driver took the bag from my hand, and in seconds, we were speeding toward the airport, while the skyscrapers disappeared out of the foggy window.
“Where are you going today?”
My phone erupted again in several distinct chimes, and I reached into my purse to silence it.
“Home.”
He eyed me in the rearview briefly before he took the hint. I was unapologetically rude. My face was burning, my chest on fire.
Get a grip, Stella.
I unbuttoned my tweed coat, suddenly in need of more brisk air. I wanted to be covered in it. I wanted to numb myself, but even in sub-zero temperatures, I knew I would still feel the burn.
Minutes later, at the airport entrance, I studied the people rushing past me to take cover from the bone-chilling wind. Moving at a snail’s pace, I walked through the sliding doors and stood in the center of the chaos. A wave of noise pulsed through the air: voices, the click of heels next to me, the beep of the baggage scanners. I focused on one of the flight attendants, who was whizzing past the chaos, her stride long, her hair in a tidy bun on top of her head. Her perfectly packed luggage glided alongside her. I wondered briefly where she was going as she beat the strollers to the checkpoint. At least fifty people were waiting to be screened, and I didn’t want them to look at me. Any of them. I was incapable of smiling, incapable of polite conversation. Eyes down, I took a step forward and then forced another.
He’s married. Good for him.
Keep walking, Stella.
I pushed out a deep breath, kicked my shoulders back, and figuratively brushed off the dust. I was so incredibly good at doing that. I’d done it my whole life.
Lexi had been right. The coincidences, the happenstance, the cruelty of life, and fate’s sick sense of humor had always played a huge part of everything that had to do with him. With them both. Maybe it was life’s way of letting me know that on this day of all days, I was in the right place in my journey.
So why did it sting so damn much?
I’d come so far from the place where every one of those signs mattered. Where I’d analyzed and overanalyzed to the point that I drove myself insane, until, finally, I just let things be as they were.
And I could do it again. I could do it again so easily if I could just push past this. The life I lived was my consolation.
Because Lexi was right.
I was happy.
Satisfied that I may have been through the worst of it, and no doubt slightly overdramatic, I reached into my purse for my ID. And that’s when I heard the first few notes of the song ring out over the airport speaker.
“MOTHERF—” Stopping myself, I cupped my mouth in horror. Every single head in the line was turned in my direction, as hundreds of eyes swept over me in scrutiny. A few mothers gripped their children tight with disgusted faces, and I saw the smirk of a few guys grouped in front of me. Paralyzed as the song drifted into my ears and detonated in my chest, I mouthed a quick “I’m sorry” before I gripped the handle of my suitcase and scurried away like I’d just screamed “Bomb!”