Not again—not ever again.
And I would not allow his presence to ruin my life.
* * *
“This weeks of not seeing each other thing? It has to stop—you’re my best friend and I feel like I barely know you. It’s been ages…ages, woman! So, come on with the details. Tell me, how are you?” Sarah asked, her words all strung together like the chaotic strand of pearls she wore wrapped around her neck. Every color imaginable, without rhyme or reason. That was Sarah. A hurricane wrapped in pink ballet tights.
We settled into the cozy corner booth at the local coffee shop I’d been working at for the past two years. I unwrapped my apron, which resembled a large burlap sack, and sank into the cushions a few more inches. My feet hurt from standing all day and sitting felt like the most amazing luxury in the world.
“It hasn’t been ages. Stop being so damned dramatic. And I’m fine,” I said, waving her off as I stretched my aching back.
Her critical brown eyes searched mine. “If I had a dollar for every time you said the word ‘fine,’” she said, raising her eyebrow in challenge. I ran my tired hands down the front of my plain white shirt, a stark contrast to the vibrant flowery dress she was wearing. Sarah’s personal taste was a tad diverse. Having formerly been a perfect ballerina the majority of her life, dressing in whatever she was told to wear from frilly tutus to sparkling tiaras, she now tended to steer clear of anything that had crinoline or lace and hovered closer to the outlandish.
“I know. Tabitha would have my head if she heard it, too. She hates the word ‘fine.’ She says people use it far too often and it generally means the opposite of what it’s used for.”
Sarah placed her strong arms on the table and bent forward, her lean muscles bulging from years of training.
“So, is that what you’re doing then? Saying you are fine when you’re actually not?”
“No. Yes. Maybe,” I said all at once, hating that she saw underneath all my protective icy layers. It was impossible to lie to her. I don’t know why I tried.
“That’s better.” She grinned. “Confusion is at least an emotion.”
I shook my head as my coworker Trudy brought over our coffee and I checked my watch. I still had most of my break left. Trudy gave me a quick wink before running back behind the counter, her way of telling me to take my time. She didn’t know how badly I suddenly wanted to get back to work.
Talking about my feelings seemed to be the highlight of everyone’s life lately. Except mine.
“I know you don’t have much time, so start talking. I want to know everything.”
“Everything? Starting where?” I asked, trying to appear cool and levelheaded. Because I was definitely anything but.
“The beginning,” she said, stirring a packet of zero calorie sweetener in her plain black coffee, but adding nothing else. She’d come far since her purging days, but she still watched every calorie she put into her body and probably would until the day she died.
Some habits were hard to shake.
Much like my past—it just sat there, over my shoulder, reminding me of my failures and regrets. Knowing it would always be there if I let it, I took a deep breath and decided to tell her about the phone call and Tabitha’s words of advice.
“She was right, you know,” Sarah said between sips. “It might help you move on.”
“Let me finish,” I said. “This is the part I left out from our phone conversations. I guess I was still coming to terms with it myself.”
Her face fell as worry took over.
“He wants you back.”
“No,” I shook my head. “Or at least I don’t think so. I already went to the hospital.”
“And you’re just telling me now?” Her voice rose and then fell again as she looked over her shoulder, suddenly remembering where we were.
“What happened? What does he look like—I bet the fuckwit isn’t nearly as threatening with his ass hanging out the back of his robe!”
“Sarah! Would you focus for just one second and listen! He doesn’t remember me. He came out of that coma and doesn’t remember a damn thing.”
Her expression remained neutral as she slowly stirred a wooden stick around the edge of her mug. The silence started slowly driving me insane. Sarah was never quiet and hardly ever kept her opinions to herself for long. As the wooden stick went round and round, I began to regret even mentioning August’s condition.
Of course she would have seen through that, too.
“He’s lying,” she stated, knowing just what kind of man August Kincaid was—or had been. She may not have known me when I was with him, but she’d been there for the aftermath. Tabitha and Sarah and been there for me when I picked up every single scattered piece of my life, but unlike Tabitha, there was still much I hadn’t shared with Sarah.