She was openly crying now, and it was torture knowing I could make her stop. But the words wouldn’t come—something inside me held them captive. Fear? Guilt? Shame? All of the above?
“Jack,” wept Margot, “I can’t do this. I want to be with you, but not unless you’re ready to move on. I don’t know what that would take, but it’s something you have to figure out.”
She was right, of course. It was on me to find a way out of the cold, lonely dark and into her light. But I felt immobile, chained to the past and unable to break free, even for her.
A moment later, she whispered goodbye.
Cursing, I set my phone aside and dropped forward, elbows on my knees, head in my hands. Instead of feeling better, I felt worse. Sad and angry.
What I wanted was one thing; what I was capable of was another.
Why the hell couldn’t she see that?
Thirty-Two
Margot
If I’d made any progress getting over Jack in the last few days, the phone call set me back that much and then some.
What was he trying to do to me? To himself?
The tone of his voice, tender and sorrowful, told me how miserable he was. The things he’d said tore me to shreds—I miss you, I want to see you, I want to feel alive again. It was agony knowing we both wanted to be together and it was just his stubborn head getting in the way. Never in my life had I simultaneously wanted to hug someone and hit him with a scone at the same time. Did he just need more time?
But how much? How long would I be willing to wait? At some point, it would be pathetic rather than patient to keep holding out for someone who was never going to want me that way.
I had to get over it. Pick myself up, dust myself off, and try again with someone who wasn’t so hell-bent on being alone forever. Someone who wanted everything I had to offer. Someone who recognized that the kind of chemistry we had didn’t come along that often in life.
I started to get angry.
Damn him for not seeing what we could be. Sitting up in bed, I reached for a tissue from the box on my nightstand. Damn him for being a coward when I need him to be brave. Damn him for being stubborn when all he wants is to give in. I blew my nose, threw the tissue on the floor, and grabbed another.
I hope you’re even more miserable than I am, Jack Valentini. Because this is your fault. I never rushed you. I never pushed. The only thing I did was care, and fuck you for being too scared to care back. I deserve better.
By the time I fell asleep that night, my nose was raw, my eyes were puffy, and my head ached, but I made up my mind not to waste any more time crying over Jack. Yes, it was sad that he didn’t think he deserved to be loved because of his past, but that was his choice.
Plenty of people don’t get to even make that choice, Jack. They never experience what we have.
Damn you for giving it up so easily.
My anger simmered throughout the day Sunday. I felt like I needed to keep busy so I wouldn’t think about Jack, and I spent the day doing things like laundry, cleaning out the fridge, reorganizing kitchen and bathroom cupboards, and grocery shopping. It kept me occupied, but it didn’t necessarily take my mind off Jack. Clothing I’d worn at the farm reminded me of him. Food and drinks reminded me of him. My bubble bath and shampoo reminded me of him. The damn produce section at Kroger reminded me of him.
Later in the afternoon I went to the bookstore and bought some beginner cookbooks, and for dinner that night I attempted lemon chicken. It turned out pretty well and gave me a dose of confidence, even if I did feel a little lonely celebrating my first culinary triumph by myself.
Later that night, I was in bed reading a new romance I’d picked up at the bookstore (which I’d chosen for its premise and not because the guy on the cover looked like Jack, I swear) when my phone rang.
Jack Valentini calling.
I refused to answer it. It refused to stop ringing.
“Fuck you,” I said. But my heart throbbed. I wanted to hear his voice so badly.
What if he’d changed his mind? What if he was calling to apologize? What if he’d realized we deserved a chance?
I grabbed the phone. Whoa. Stay calm. Summoning Old Margot, I took a breath and accepted the call.
“Hello.”
“Hey.” His voice cracked, and so did some of my composure. “How are you?”
Be strong. No tears tonight. “Fine,” I said coolly.
“That’s good.”
Silence. My patience wore thin. “What do you want, Jack?”
“Just to hear you.”
I closed my eyes and swallowed. So this wasn’t an apology call. Damn him! “Why? To torture yourself?”
“I guess.”
“I’m not playing these games, Jack.” My voice wavered. “If you want to wallow in your own pain, you go right ahead, but I will not contribute to it. It hurts me too much.”
“I’m sorry, Margot. I never meant to hurt you. I want so fucking badly to be someone else right now.”
I bit my lip so hard I expected to taste blood. “I wouldn’t want anyone else! How can you not see that?”