Thanks to my gals for all their help on this chapter!
My homegirl RMacaroni posted a new Surferward story this week - Breaking Waves! Go check it out and leave her some looove. :)
THANKS for sticking with me, you guys. Means so much! Hoping to update Monday.
Chapter Six
It's petty on my part, but I unfollow Edward and the band on social media.
I feel good about my choice for half a day, and then I resort to looking at the band's Instagram account, anyway. I'm constantly checking in on what they're doing, where they're playing. When Jasper posts a video of Edward playing guitar while wearing a splint, guilt nags at me. The caption is praising him for being a badass and playing through the pain. I "like" and "unlike" the photo in a matter of seconds, and read every single comment attached to the snapshot.
My heart hurts a little more each time I see Edward in photos. I stare too long and too hard, and in the end, I decide he doesn't even look sad. He doesn't look the way I feel—heartbroken, deflated, and fucking depressed. No, in every photo he's laughing, drunk, the life of the fucking party.
Rose tells me about his hand, even though I don't ask. She says he broke the bones above his pinky and ring finger, but luckily, he can still strum. I don't respond to this, but deep down, I'm relieved. I'm able to let go of some of the guilt I felt from the night he punched that brick wall.
Then, a weird sort of resentment sneaks in. He's fine. He's going to heal. He's going to be okay, with or without me.
June is pretty busy with the end of the school year wrapping up, but it's a nice distraction and a valid excuse to avoid Rose and Alice for a few weeks. Leah, the friend of a friend, moves into the spare room. I box up the shit that Edward left behind, the stuff that I forgot to give Rose, and I throw it in the dumpster. A day later, I fish it out but leave it in the garage because I don't want to see it.
Finding a new normal, one that doesn't involve Edward, is hard. I still love him, and I know I always will. But after a few weeks of no contact whatsoever, even I can admit we weren't in a good spot when he left. We weren't good to each other. Everything was always so extreme, especially recently. The lows were suffocating, but the highs were reviving. Even though my heart is heavy, I'm able to admit that maybe this time apart is for the best.
I start moving on after that. Not easily, and not without the hope that our relationship isn't over for good. But one day, I wake up and decide I need to stop wallowing. I need to stop feeling sorry for myself. I know I wasn't innocent in any of this, and the sooner I accept my role in our breakup, the sooner I can start to move on.
And then one night, he texts me. At three in the morning.
Edward: I fucking miss you so much.
I don't see it because I'm sleeping. And when I do read it, I'm unsure of what to say. This is what I wanted for weeks. For him to say something. Anything. To acknowledge that this fucking sucks. To tell me he's sorry and wants to try again.
Instead of replying to his text, I draft an email and apologize for everything. The nagging, the fighting. Holding things against him. Not trying harder. Letting the resentment build up so much, like an entity of its own, that we couldn't work through it. I say I'm sorry for merely wanting a life with him, but I delete that part. It feels petty, and I'm trying to avoid that. I end it on a hopeful note that when he's back in town, we can work through some of this. Or at the very least, be civil and talk. I tell him I love him, and though I second-guess it, I don't delete that part.
I'm nervous, so the email sits in my drafts for an entire day before I send it.
My expectations that he'll write back immediately are crushed when he doesn't. Days pass. Not a single word. Not a text. Nothing. Not even when I message him back asking if he got my email, and expressing that I miss him so fucking much, too.
Ben does reach out, though. It's just a text, letting me know that his grandpa passed away. I reply with my condolences, and an hour later, Ben calls.
"Hey. Is this a bad time?"
"Hey, no. It's okay," I breathe out. "I'm so sorry, Ben."
"Yeah. Thank you. It's been rough. My mom is taking it really hard."
"I bet," I mumble, swallowing a lump in my throat. "Are you doing okay?"
"Fine. I mean, considering. I'm just trying to be there for her."
"Yeah, good. Please send my condolences to her?" I say, but I'm already making a mental note to send her a card and maybe even flowers.
"I will. The service is this weekend. If you… I don't know. If you wanted to come or something. I know everyone would love to see you, and it would be nice to have you there."
I hesitate. "Would that be something Angela is okay with?"
It's his turn to pause. "This has nothing to do with her. You were a part of our family for years, and I'm inviting you."
"Will you just check with her? Please? I would feel better about it if you did."
"Okay," he sighs. "Yeah. I'll talk to her."
"Thank you."
XXX
The next day, Ben shoots me a text, saying I should come to the service if I want to, and that Angela doesn't have a problem with it. I'm a little surprised, but chalk it up to the fact that death has a way of bringing people together. Maybe focusing on what truly matters during times like this outweighs past insecurities.
When the weekend arrives, Alice agrees to attend the funeral with me. We sit in the back, offering support from afar. After the service, Ben and Angela find us outside and invite us to his mother's house for the reception. It takes a little convincing from him, but Alice and I agree to go for a little bit.
It's weird at first, being back in his mother's house, surrounded by people who I spent holidays and family events with for five years. It's good to see everyone, though, and their welcoming attitude makes me feel better about coming.
I'm filling a plate with some snacks when Ben comes over to me again. This time he's alone.
"Thanks for coming," he says, and we hug briefly. "It really means a lot."
"Of course."
"My mom is ecstatic you're here." His voice is soft, his eyes kind and bright.
"Yeah, we were catching up a little. She said she's retiring soon?"
He nods. "She's super stoked about that. But now she wants a grandkid to keep her busy," he laughs, like he's embarrassed.
"I bet." I smile. "You and Ange better get on that."
"Yeah, I don't know…" His expression grows uncomfortable in a different way, so I look away and add more food to my plate. "How's Edward?" he asks, shifting the topic.
It's my turn to feel uncomfortable, the edges of my heart still tender. "Your guess is as good as mine," I say, unable to look at him.
"Oh, no."
"Yeah. We broke up. He's on the road right now, so… I don't know."
"I'm sorry."
I settle for a slight nod and nothing else.
Angela comes over then, staring at us. My smile is friendly, but hers is forced. I tell her I like her dress because I do, and she compliments my hair. The conversation is stilted with her around, but soon enough she's pulling Ben away, and I'm left alone with the finger sandwiches.
I don't run into Angela again until I'm in the kitchen helping Ben's aunt, Jane, with the dishes.
"What are you doing?" Angela asks, acid in her tone.
Jane shuts off the water, handing me another plate to dry.
"What?" I ask, confused.
"I said, what are you doing?" She repeats herself, eyeing the plate and towel in my hand.
"Jane asked me to help—"
"We don't need your help," Angela retorts. "We don't need your condolences, or you lingering around like the desperate ex-girlfriend that you are."
It would be so easy for me to put her in her place, but it would feel wrong. Clearly she's hurting and insecure, but I probably would be too. Fuck, I am the same way when it comes to Tanya. I'm not trying to overstep, though, and Ben said she was fine with me being here. Now I wonder just how true that was and if he even asked her at all.
"Angela, we were running low on dishes, and I asked her to help me," Jane replies, trying to smooth things over.
"She's overstepping," Angela says coolly. "And she needs to leave."
Jane goes to speak again, but I just nod in agreement.
"It's fine. We'll leave. I'm… sorry," I say softly, avoiding Angela's glare. "Let me just grab Alice."
I find Alice talking to Ben's mom and linger politely until there's a lull in conversation. The back of my neck pricks with embarrassment, and the realization sinks in of just how inappropriate it is being here.
"I think it's time to go," I tell Alice, trying but failing to convey a purposeful look.
Ben's mom tries to get us to stay a little longer, but I lie about being busy and keep the run-in with Angela to myself. It isn't until we're hugging goodbye that his mom whispers in my ear: she's not you.