Chapters (59)
- COVER
- About the Author
- DEDICATION
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- Acknowledgments
- THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING
Hey girl!
Sorry for the last-minute notice, but I’m going to miss dinner tonight! I’ve decided to go back to Seattle for a few months. I’m going to finally go through my parents’ storage unit and try to actually make progress on my freelance career somewhere that’s slightly less expensive than Brooklyn. In addition to thinking, WTF, you’re probably wondering about what happened with Davis. I’m sad to say we’re going our separate ways. I wanted to tell you in person, but I just couldn’t bear it. I’m sorry.
Love you dearly, and I hate to bail without saying bye, but it all came together really fast. When I’m settled, let’s plan a West Coast reunion, pretty please?
Xxoo
L
Before I could doubt myself, I hit Send.
TWO
You’d think it would be easy to cut ties with a man like Davis, a natural reaction for a forward-thinking woman like me. But it wasn’t. Instead, he was like any other addiction, far easier to return to, to rationalize, than to give up completely. Just. One. More. Little. Sip. If only there were an AA for shitty boyfriends, for the women who found them impossible to leave.
It was nearing four, and my first glass had been drained, before I got up the nerve to email Davis.
I went back to Seattle. You can’t control us anymore.
Then I attached the photo, my insurance against any future punishment. The only one I had.
Inside me, I could feel it, the hatch opening up, just a crack, anger brewing at all that had happened between us, but I shut it tight, as I knew I had to, took a deep breath, and hit Send.
For a split second, I imagined him reading it, his knuckles turning white against the edges of his phone. Then I imagined the alternative, and I prayed he was okay, my stomach tying itself in knots as my heart beat mercilessly.
Pushing the fear aside, I logged out of my old email and back into my new one, [email protected], filled with only the back-and-forth about the cottage, a ‘Welcome to Gmail’ message, and a few errant pieces of spam.
Then I did what I’d been doing for more months than I’d like to admit, to cope – I drank.
When I’d run out of internet black holes to fall into, when the second glass had become the third, when Dusty whined for food and I realized it was almost nine, I opened a can of dog food and ordered a pizza for myself, from one of the only places in town that delivered. Then I drank some more.
Dusty pawed at my face.