Love Me for Me(59)

Those last three words hung in the air as she felt the sting of heat crawl up her neck. She thought about all of the times they’d snuggled together, watching television or reading books, the times they’d laughed during drinks in the evenings, the way he looked at her… and then how easily he’d left her. Anger bounced around inside her like a runaway ping-pong ball. Her stomach felt acidic, her head beginning to pound. He had some nerve thinking he could call her and tell her that he missed her and expect a reaction that was anything other than complete rage.

There was a time when she’d been sad about it, but not now. Now she was incensed that he’d not been there for her. Things were good now; she had a job opportunity. Now he thought he could slide back in, avoid the hard times. Well, he was completely wrong.

“Say something.”

“What do you want me to say, Wade? Do you really think that I’ll jump with excitement at your admission that you miss me? That I’ll come running back to you after you’ve hurt me like you have? Who are you kidding?”

There was silence on the other end for quite some time before he said, “Libby. I just realized how much I missed you once you were gone. That’s all.”

A loud laugh escaped her lips, and she tried to calm her drumming heart. She could hear a buzz in her ears as the anger rose up inside. Wade had lived a very sheltered life, he’d always had the best of everything, and he’d been denied nothing. That was going to change right now. There was no way she was going to take him back.

“Can we at least talk about it?” he asked.

“I’d rather not.”

But he started talking anyway. “I was terrible to leave you when I did. I was scared. You’d lost everything. I didn’t know if I could be everything you needed me to be in that moment, and I wondered if maybe I wasn’t strong enough and you needed someone stronger than me.”

For some reason, she thought of how Pete took care of Pop. It was an odd thing to think about, given the conversation, but she couldn’t help it. Pete would never give up on anyone. He was one of the strongest people she knew. He was kind, like his grandmother, happy, like his mother, and loyal, like Pop.

“You’re right,” she said. “I do need someone stronger.”





Chapter Twenty-One





“Eeeeee!”

Libby spun around to the sound of heels against the bare floor and the whine of her friend coming toward her. As she did, she was nearly knocked over by Trish, the scent of her Bois perfume assaulting Libby’s senses. She only recognized it because they’d shopped for it together.

“I have missed you so much! How are you?” Trish pulled back. “You’re tan!”

Libby was in her element. She had a job and she was coming back. She felt strong and happy and full of energy. No more one-to-one if she could help it. “I’m fantastic! Can’t wait to hear all about you,” she said, pulling Trish’s arm in the direction of a waiting taxi. The benefit of meeting at the hotel was that there were taxis available since they were always waiting for potential travelers. “Let’s go so that we can get you there on time.”

“I’m so excited!” Trish said, sliding into the taxi. “How many are coming today?”

“Twenty-six of your closest friends.”

“You are a doll! Love you!”

As they made small talk—mostly Trish chatting about the drama surrounding the planning of a wedding—Libby took in the musty scent of the taxi, the gray buildings darting past her window, the sun on the faces of pedestrians as they stood at the corners of intersections waiting for their turn to make their way through the city. It all felt exhilarating. It was good to be back.

The taxi pulled along the curb outside a small bistro where Libby had reserved a room for the bridal shower guests. She handed the fare to the driver and led Trish inside. The staff had set up a small table for presents; a few gifts, exploding in silver and white ribbons, were already on the table. A handful of women she knew from around town waved from their seats, the wait staff dutifully filling their champagne glasses. Their clothes, their hair, the way they sat straight up in their chairs—the slight formality of it calmed her. This was what she was used to.

A few at a time, the ladies arrived and took seats at the tables, and after a couple of bridal shower games, everyone had settled into friendly chitchat. Libby sat next to Trish, and Trish had been telling her about how difficult it was to get china patterns years down the road unless one opts for a very well-known pattern, which was why she had chosen Mottahedeh, a word that Libby had to phonetically butcher just to try and say it. It would cost her wedding guests more money, but in the end it would be easier to replace, and thus a better investment in general and worth the money paid. When there was finally a lull in the wedding planning conversation, Libby decided to share the news of her new job.