The door slammed, and I closed my eyes, wincing at the sound. I fell back against the couch cushion and covered my eyes with my hands. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was pushing him away. Now that he was gone, I felt exactly the way Travis had described the first time I went to Eakins. It was like I was dying slowly with a little bit of crazy mixed in.

“I hate you,” I said to myself.

Monday morning, I trudged down the stairs, passing on the pancakes for a cup of coffee. It had been a little more than twenty-four hours since I saw Taylor, but I knew no matter how much time passed, the awful feeling that had come over me the moment he left wouldn’t go away.

The dining area was empty, except for Chuck, Phaedra, and me. Pete and Hector peeked out from the food window.

Phaedra and Chuck had matching expressions of concern.

“Still hasn’t called, huh?” Chuck asked, patting my shoulder.

“He texted late last night,” I said.

“Well?” Phaedra asked. “Good or bad?”

“He’s still thinking.”

“It’s your damn fault,” Phaedra said. “He didn’t ask for an easy out. Sounds to me like he didn’t even want it.”

“Dear,” Chuck said, a hint of warning in his voice.

“She’s right,” I said. “He might not need it, but he does deserve it.”

She grabbed a stack of menus. “Oh, baby girl, he’s been good to you. He didn’t deserve that.” She walked away, clearly angry with me.

I looked sheepishly at Chuck.

“She just wants what’s best for you. She hates to see you making things harder on yourself. So … what did his message say?”

I pulled out my phone and read the text aloud, “I can’t believe you dumped me and ruined our entire weekend over the off chance that I might want to dump you over something you can’t control.” I read the next message, “To be honest, I haven’t really thought about it before, but now that you’ve insisted there is a real possibility that children are off the table for us, you’re right. It’s an important decision that I should think about, but you didn’t have to kick me to the goddamn curb to make your point.”

Phaedra returned, impressed with what she’d heard. “He’s a smart little shit. I’ll give him that.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, exhausted. So many warring thoughts in my head hadn’t allowed for much sleep.

“He’s at least pretending to attempt to be objective.”

A scowl compressed my face.

Kirby breezed in, and we all immediately pretended there was nothing wrong. She saw right through our pathetic attempt and grilled me about the weekend every time we had a spare moment to chat.