My knees give out, and I’m grateful for my strategic standing spot as my butt hits Kierst’s sectional with an audible thwack.
I have to remind myself that this was supposed to happen. Dax and I were supposed to have gone back to being friends. It is what I wanted, right?
“You are starting to worry me, Gems.” Kiersten sinks down next to me, her cool hand finding my wrist.
“It’s nothing. I’m just in love with Dax. And he is not in love with me, and it’s just a little bit overwhelming right now because although this was the plan, I didn’t quite account for how bad it was going to feel.”
The waterworks come. I don’t even try to stop them. There’s no point. The tears fall, coating my face and the backs of my hands as I attempt to gain some semblance of composure.
“Well, at least you’re admitting it now.” Kiersten’s hands find my back, rubbing slow, comforting circles.
“You knew?”
“I think everyone knew.”
“Even Dax?”
“Well, maybe not Dax, although I have reasons to believe your feelings may not be so unrequited.”
“But he left. And I don’t think we’re on the greatest of terms right now.”
Kiersten produces a wad of Kleenex from within the pocket of her robe. “You and Dax have been through a lot lately. You ended a relationship. It takes time to grieve. And collect your thoughts. It wouldn’t have been good for the two of you to fall into bed immediately.”
She makes a point. Not one I really want to hear right now, but a tiny consolation. I’m starting to piece together the last four weeks of the life I missed. But there are still some gaping holes I need to figure out or explain, like: “Why the hell am I living in the basement?”
At this, Kiersten starts to laugh.
“What?”
“Aunt Livi and I call it your mid-twenties crisis. About a month ago, you decided that you were done living a life you didn’t love anymore. You quit your job. You listed your condo. You moved into the basement because you claimed you needed to save money. When we questioned you about it, you told us you were working on something big. Your secret project.”
Wilde Beauty.
“Our secret project.” The words feel right the moment I say them. I grab her hand and hold it in mine. “I’m starting my own store. It’s going to be beautiful. Clean beauty products. I’m going to work my ass off until I get it right. And you’re going to market it. Launch your business with me. This time we’re doing it together.”
Kiersten goes very still. “How did you…”
I wave her off. “It’s a very long story. The important thing is that I’m not gonna screw it up. Or take you for granted. I meant what I said earlier, Kierst. I owe you everything and I’m gonna make your dreams happen alongside mine.”
Her eyes narrow. “I’m going to say thank you but I’m still very confused.”
I throw my arms around her again and squeeze. “I will make an attempt to explain the best I can later, but right now, I need to go.”
“Where?”
“To Dax’s place. To water his plants.” To solve another missing piece of the puzzle.
Kiersten walks me to the door. “It’s gonna be okay, Gems. I have a feeling it’s all going to work out.”
Again, I get an eerie sense of déjà vu. She said the same thing less than forty-eight hours ago. In a different timeline. In a different life.
A feeling settles over me. At this moment, I know that no matter where I am, my sister will always be there for me.
I reach my arms around her waist and lay my head on her boobs. “I want you to know I love you with my whole heart.”
She strokes the back of my head. “Let’s take this as a learning moment, and maybe next time lay off the tequila.”
Chapter 31
Ten minutes later, I’m pulling up in front of Dax’s building.
God, I missed owning a car.
Dax’s spare key is on my Dr. Snuggles keychain, exactly where it should be.
As I take the stairs up to his apartment two at a time, my heart seems to boom louder with every step.
First floor. Kaboom.
Second floor. Kaboom.
Third floor. It’s a drum line all the way down the hall to his door.
This is it.
I have a plan. If I walk in there and it looks like Dax’s old place, it means everything worked out as it was supposed to. His store is still a huge success. I haven’t screwed it all up for nothing. If it looks like it did in the other reality, well…I haven’t quite figured out what I’m going to do in that case.
I slip my key into the lock, but as I go to push the door open, a last-minute thought crosses my mind and I freeze in panic.
What if Dax decided to come home early? What if he’s in there now? What if he has continued dating that vet’s assistant for the last month and is half in love with her already?
They could be in there.
They could be naked.
His big beautiful penis could be in her magical vagina and I could be walking into something I’ll never, ever be able to unsee.
The idea makes me want to throw up.
I knock. “Hello, it’s me, Gemma. Everybody decent in there?”
There’s no answer. Still, I cover my eyes as I push open the door. “Still Gemma here. I’m coming in. Speak now or forever make things awkward.”
I splay my fingers enough to see his far wall. The painting he bought at last year’s Art Gallery of Hamilton auction hangs on the wall and there are no naked bodies.
This is a good sign.
I continue my half-hindered glance around the room.
The big screen he insisted was an integral pièce de résistance for any bachelor pad is on top of the Pottery Barn console. The tan leather couch that cost as much as I take home after taxes in a month is sitting on top of the genuine Persian rug we drove all the way to Toronto to buy from a guy who only sells them by appointment from a warehouse in the furniture district.
These are all very good signs.
I breathe out a long sigh of relief. He’s okay. The store is okay. I made the right choice.
As my heartbeat returns to an even, steady rhythm, I settle into the second task I came here to do.
Grabbing a juice pitcher, I fill it with water and get to work on the plants along the windowsill, then fill the jug a second time to tend the plants in his bedroom.
But as I step through the door, my heart completely stops.
His bed sits perfectly made. Not a single crinkle in the sheets.
Even though he’s supposedly been gone for days, the room still smells like him. Irish Spring soap and the faint scent of his cologne.
I’m struck by this terrible feeling. Like longing or homesickness or grief. It’s hollow. As if someone has scooped out all of the good memories from my chest and thrown them splat on the floor in front of me.
See this? It isn’t yours anymore.
I have this urge to climb into his bed and suck in all the Dax-like smells that still linger on his pillow. To slide between his sheets and close my eyes and pretend he’s there beside me. As if at any moment he’ll roll over, lace his fingers through mine, and remind me that we’re forever.