What hurts the most is that everything I thought I wanted was within my grasp. Had I not called off the wedding, would Hanna have said yes? Would we be married right now?
I shove the what-ifs back inside of me and remember how I felt when Hanna was around Jameson. Her ex, the father of her child, and the love of her life.
I wish I could say the failed wedding blindsided me, but it didn’t. I felt it the second Jameson walked back into town. I knew the second her eyes landed on him for the first time after all the years they were apart. It doesn’t make it less painful, though, because I loved her and still love her.
I’m just fucking sad.
It hurts to feel like you weren’t enough and that what you spent years building was meaningless in the end. It’s just hard to sit here and picture a future without them. A life without Hanna’s strawberry blonde hair glowing under the sun when we’d take the boat out. A reality where Ellie’s stomping doesn’t echo through the house when she runs.
I push myself to my feet and into the bathroom, where I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I try to look past my appearance, but I don’t see myself anymore. I’m just an empty shell of who I used to be: sunken eyes and a caveman beard. I honestly couldn’t even tell you how many days it’s been since the wedding, but I guess I can blame that on the bourbon.
Truthfully, there isn’t enough alcohol in the world to fix this or to fix me. If she’s gone, I just wanted to be gone too. The problem is that the drinking didn’t make me forget, and it was like it heightened my feelings until I finally reached a point where I’d pass out. Now it’s whatever day of the week, and I’m still not okay.
My family left the wedding confused. My mom has barged in a couple of times since that day to clean, aka check on me. Hanna has reached out, though. She practically blew my phone up the day of the wedding, but I didn’t want to talk. She needed the time to see if what she was feeling for him was real, and I was sick of interfering because that’s exactly what it felt like. I felt like some sort of obstacle that she needed to cross to get to her dream.
I splash some water on my face, using the towel next to the sink to dry it off. It doesn’t make me look any better, though. The only thing that could help me at this point would be a razor and maybe some deodorant. I hear the doorbell and tiptoe to the window to peek out because I might crawl back into bed, depending on who it is.
I’m relieved when I see that it isn’t Hanna, and I pull the door open.
“You look like shit.”
My sister pushes past me, setting a couple of cups of coffee down on the counter.
“It’s nice to see you too, Emma. You look,” pausing, I search my brain for the right word, “tan.”
She just got back from Hawaii with her husband, Ty.
She rolls her eyes, “Thanks. I think?”
“I just mean you’re glowing,” I ramble.
“Well, I might be glowing, but you are growing things, I’m pretty sure.”
I step back, embarrassed. “I should shower.”
She giggles, “Yeah, you should shower. Maybe brush your teeth while you’re at it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
She picks up her coffee from the counter and turns it up, making herself right at home. Obviously, she isn’t going anywhere, so I slip into the bathroom and freshen up.
Emma is the baby. Our parents only thought they were done having kids, but I got a baby sister and a football for my tenth birthday. She and Ty met in college; the second they graduated, they got hitched. He’s a cool dude and loves my sister too much as he should. So we’re cool, hell, we’re even friends. He’s kind of like the brother I wish I had.
My actual brother, Ethan, is nothing but a self-righteous asshole. We don’t exactly see eye to eye on anything. He cheated on his wife a few years ago, and my niece Lainey took it pretty hard. Apparently, the woman he was boning over his desk at the church was one of her classmate’s mom. That’s right. The pastor was unfaithful to his wife. How he still stands up there and preaches every Sunday is mind-blowing. So I try my best to ignore Ethan unless it concerns Lainey or our parents. Emma does the same.
I let the water roll over my shoulders and down my back, washing the days of neglect from my skin. I know it’s gross, but I can barely manage to open my eyes, let alone shower. I just feel completely dead inside.
Hurt.
Broken.
I step out onto the mat and dry myself off. Making good use of my toothbrush, I rub it across my teeth and decide to leave the beard for now. I’ll shave it when I go back to work, which is going to be soon. I can’t put that off forever. Not if I want to pay my bills.
When I return to the kitchen, Emma is busy spreading some avocado on a piece of toast.
“That’s disgusting,” I growl, opening the fridge.
“There isn’t anything in there that isn’t growing mold,” Emma snaps, taking a bite.