“I know, right?”

“Thanks for talking, Ed,” Antonia said as she returned to her bedroom. She turned the music off. Apparently, Aiden was not ready to stop his attempt at drowning her out. He had switched to The Rolling Stones. “I’m glad you’re my buddy.”

“I’m glad you’re my buddy. By the way, while I’m sure Beyoncé appreciates your use of her album, I think it should be used as a weapon sparingly.”

“Noted.”

“I have to get going, Toni. Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I will, Ed. Bye.”

When she hung up, she flopped back onto her bed, listening to the steady bass line of “Paint it Black.” Had he created a music playlist especially for the women who annoyed him? Antonia thought about her friend’s words. Perhaps she still had a rage in her that should have been spent on Derek. The memory of leaving his apartment flashed in her mind. She had been so afraid of what she wanted to say to him, the fight-or-flight response in her brain had pushed her out of the door before she could confront him. She hadn’t gotten a chance to ask him why or tell him about the pain he caused her. Even in their last phone call, Derek had tried to talk over her with his excuses while she quietly listened. While Antonia had reiterated that marriage would never happen, there were still so many other things she could have told him. You damaged my self-worth. You made me think that I was lucky to share your space. I made myself smaller for you.

“I shrunk myself to fit,” she said to her ceiling, her voice trembling. Aiden was right, her self-doubt was endangering her future. Antonia had to get out of this rut before she was stuck for good.

Chapter Nineteen

With the help of Eddie’s phone call, Antonia eventually switched on Solange at a lower volume. She pulled herself together and faced the heap of baking ingredients in her kitchen. The grocery bag had sat on the counter, daring her to prove that she had the confidence to assemble its contents into something remotely edible without Aiden’s promised help. I can do this. With her tablet propped up on the kitchen counter, Antonia followed the recipe she found as best as she could. It was the last few steps that were tripping her up...

“Fucking hell,” she whispered as she smeared icing on the side of the cake. The task was like spreading cold peanut butter on fragile bread. A chunk of warm cake broke apart and stuck to her spoon as she dragged along the surface. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She licked her chocolate-covered finger and wiped it on the towel hanging from her shoulder. Carefully pushing the chunk of cake back into place, she spackled it with another dollop of icing. She wondered if she should have waited for the damn thing to cool off. No, it was too late to think about that. She’d made her bed and she’d lie in it if it meant she could finish this one stupid task.