She eyes me sympathetically. “Don’t worry, your life will get better.”
I tilt my head and take a closer look at her face. Had I met her before? I didn’t think so, but something about the way she said that my life would get better—it was almost as if she knew me and knew what happened. But how?
She slides the mocha across the counter and I meet her eyes again, now certain I have never seen her before. God, I have already lost my fiancé, am I losing my mind too?
“You’re going to be okay,” she says as I grab the hot cup and slide a sleeve over it.
“Thanks, but I’m fine,” I finally say more sharply than I intend, wanting to believe my own words, to escape this woman who seems to be able to see right through me. I swivel and walk away quickly, not looking back, even when I swear I hear her laugh and say, “Whatever you say, Kate.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Feeling blindsided and stupid. How could I have missed the warning signs?
I mentally compose the status update I wish I could post as I climb the stairs to my front door, painted fire-engine red based on the recommendation of the feng shui consultant I hired after Max moved in with me. She had floated through the house like a fall breeze, shaking her head slightly every few minutes and making notes in her gold notebook. Several hundred dollars and paint colors later, she had finally given her chi blessing and convinced me that my happily-ever-after with Max was just around the corner despite the fact he’d been tight-lipped about his plan to propose.
As I hear the flutelike sound of the wind brushing against the chime I’d hung outside, my mind wanders to the delicate pink crystal hearts I’d hid in the love corner, which happened to be our laundry room—the ones I’d dangled from a nail in the back of the linen closet behind my bulk purchases of tissue boxes and Dove soap. The same gems I’d smashed to pieces last night, feeling like the universe had let me down. I had unflinchingly given all my faith, painstakingly put together a vision board, and religiously chanted my daily affirmations, yet here I was—alone. As I’d ripped up every last inspirational photo and motivational quote that I had so carefully pinned to the manifestation corkboard that I had hung over my mahogany desk, I decided it was a sad moment when you realized there really was no magic in this world.
I find Jules and Liam huddled on my couch. “Hey,” they say in unison with feigned smiles painted across their faces.
“I’m glad you got out of the house,” Jules says as she materializes at my side and gently takes the cup from my hand. “Thanks for this.”
“Where’s mine?” Liam fake whines, and I shrug.
“Sorry, I didn’t know you’d be here,” I say as he protrudes his lower lip excessively before smiling. “But I’m really glad you are,” I add, hugging him tightly, breathing in the smell of Irish Spring soap.
“It’s probably for the best anyway . . . I brought my own comfort drink.” He holds up the same flask he had in the bridal suite. For a moment, the night comes crashing back like a wave slamming hard against a rocky coast, but I shake my head slightly to dispel the thoughts and instead conjure a memory of the two of us sitting in the back of a movie theater sipping peppermint schnapps as we laughed hysterically at whatever silly rom-com I’d convinced him to see, always with the agreement that we’d both pretend he didn’t love it as much as I did. He reaches down and pulls out a pint of Ben & Jerry’s from a plastic Ralph’s bag at his feet. “Forget your no-foam soy whatevers. Why don’t you join me in this kind of comfort?” He holds up the flask in one hand and the carton of ice cream in the other. “C’mon, pick your poison!”
Deciding I’ll opt for high-fructose sugar over whatever mystery alcohol he’s holding, still nursing a headache from last night’s wine bender, I grab the carton of my favorite flavor, Chunky Monkey, from his hand and a spoon from the kitchen.
We sit in silence in a row on the couch— with matched solemn expressions, like three kids waiting for the principal—me stuffing my face with walnut, banana, and chocolate chunks, Jules drinking her mocha, and Liam sipping his liquor. “So I’ve been thinking,” Liam finally says. “What if we make Max pay for what he’s done to you the good old-fashioned way—you know, by giving him a nice ass-kicking?”
“Are you volunteering?” I ask as Jules and I dissolve in laughter, the tightness in my chest temporarily surrendering. “Because you don’t even like to watch boxing on TV!”
“Maybe. But that doesn’t mean I couldn’t take him.” Liam balls his hands into fists and jabs his toned arms in the air. “He hurt my girl—that’ll help any guy find his inner Tyson!”