I know what she’s doing. She’s being the good friend, the devil’s advocate, making me think with my head rather than a wounded heart that just wants to bleed.
“I don’t know. I doubt Lincoln really would’ve left work for that.” I frown, unsure if I believe it.
“Well, if you don’t talk to him, you’ll never know, will you?”
“If I do, I’m just giving him another chance to suck me back in. It’s pointless. He made my place in his life crystal clear. I’m not his plan B. His mom—his mom—felt the need to apologize before he did. That’s bonkers.”
Eliza nods. “Yeah, she knew about it, didn’t she?”
“Everyone knew. After Jay got all stabby and caused a scene, it wasn’t a big secret,” I say.
“Have you ever done something wrong and blamed it on somebody else for your mom’s sake?
“Um, hasn’t everyone?” I laugh.
“And did your mom believe you?”
“Yeah.”
“So, she wouldn’t have gone apologizing to the person you weren’t speaking to with a monster check in hand unless you admitted it was your fault, right?” Eliza leans back against the counter and stretches her arms.
“What’s your point?”
“I bet he told mama he blew it. That alone means he’s not Jay.”
I narrow my eyes at her.
“Whose side are you on?”
“Mine, of course,” she answers with a cheeky grin. The timer she set for the coffee goes off and she pours it into two mugs with a generous splash of vanilla cream. “Dakota, if you love him—”
“Love? I never said that!” Her tiny apartment suddenly feels like a sauna.
She cocks her head.
“You didn’t have to. You’re smitten. I’m just not sure what you get out of shutting him out. You have to go back to that office until you decide you’re done.” She takes a slow sip of coffee and says, “You’re not getting him out of your system like a bad bout of food poisoning. And it’s not like I care if he’s happy, but I hate seeing you miserable. Hearing him out might bring some closure.”
I stare down at my coffee, heavenly vanilla wafting up my nose.
“I just don’t get it. Why couldn’t he have texted before now? Why come crawling back after he swore we were done?” Tears brim my eyes and I swipe them away, pretending to scratch my nose. “Hell, I don’t even care. We knew the whole thing was a sham, but the sex was ludicrous and he started talking like it meant more. Maybe I set the bar too high. I hoped for too much when I should’ve just enjoyed the moment.”
Eliza nods slowly, my diligent therapist.
Technically, I suppose she is when food therapy works wonders.
“If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have gotten in your ex’s face before the little creep even pulled a knife. And as for playing it down...well, we know guys are dumb. He probably didn’t want his coworkers to know he’s whipped.”
“That would make sense if we were stuck in eighth grade,” I say sharply.
She purses her lips. “Dakota, I think he’s blowing up your phone because he doesn’t want you feeling cornered at your job. It’s kinda sweet if you think about it.”
“How can I be cornered if he doesn’t even work there anymore?”
“Did he actually resign? Or did he just take a leave of absence? Everyone is temporary, so—”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “It’s all the same to me. The email was just a goodbye without a lot of specifics.”
“Maybe he just doesn’t want you feeling trapped. He wants you to choose him,” she says.
“Maybe you’ve seen one too many bad movies. That’s not how the world works. People aren’t that pure with their motives.” Yes, I’m plunging into my natural pessimism right now, but I don’t care.
“What do you have to lose by talking?” she asks softly.
“My pride. What’s left of it, anyway.”
She holds up a finger. “A dark unfathomed tide, of interminable pride—”
“Eliza, no. Now you’re quoting Edgar Allan? I’m pretty sure my six-times great uncle is about to come back and haunt me for being so dumb.”
“Hey, just trying to help.” She gives me a pained smile.
I turn away. It’s too hard to say what’s on the edge of my tongue when she can see my face.
“I’m worried about my heart. He could trample it again, and I’m not sure I’d survive that. Since you’re so keen on reminding me I’m a Poe, you know what happened to Edgar Allan after his wife died, right?”
Eliza winces. “Yeah. Bad end.”
“Exactly. Love doesn’t treat us kindly. With Lincoln, it’s not even more rejection that would kill me. It’s having hope again, a future I buried years ago resurrected—only to be snatched away.” I sigh.
She stares into her steaming mug.
“If you’re a hundred percent certain he’ll break your heart again, you’re right. You can’t talk to him. I didn’t think we were ever going to get past the crying.”