Delaney James seemed to have it all-a Manhattan townhouse, a thriving career as a fashion journalist, and a handsome, high-powered husband, but when he announces he's leaving her, Delaney's picture-perfect life unravels. Heartbroken and in need of a...
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After I find the strength to pull myself together, I stand up and walk through the front door. I feel significantly lighter and heavier at the same time. Lighter because the worst thing that could have happened between Greyson and I has happened, and now it's over. Heavier because I still know that no matter how many times I apologize to him, he'll never forgive me. He'll never feel the way he used to, not about me or us. He'll never look at me the way he used to. He was my best friend for twelve years, and although I married someone else, he's the one that got away. Besides my father, he's the only man who's ever made me feel whole, and safe, and loved unconditionally. No matter what.
When I get to the kitchen, my mother is at the counter reading the paper. Her strawberry blonde hair is a tangled mess and there are dark circles under her eyes. She looks like she hasn't slept in days.
"Hi, Mom."
She looks up, a tired smile spreading across her face. "Hey. What are you doing up so early?"
"I couldn't sleep, so I walked down to Dawson's Beach."
"I didn't even realize you weren't home," she says, closing up the paper and rubbing her fingers across her forehead. "Mother of the year."
"It was early, and you weren't awake yet," I say. I take a tentative step toward her. She was angry with me for what I did, and she went straight to bed when we got home, so in this moment, I don't know what to say to her. "Is dad at work?"
"No. He took the day off. Your sister and Jamie are back from London and after your father spilled the beans about your hospital stay, Adelaide insisted they see you as soon as possible. So, they're coming for dinner. Your father is at the grocery store."
"Oh. Okay."
I pull the Keep your Standards, Chin, and Heels High mug that Adelaide got me for Christmas one year from the cabinet and fill it to the rim with coffee. It's still not Starbucks, but it gets the job done.
I side eye my mother while I stand at the counter and sip my coffee. Her chin is in her hand as she stares into space, tapping the tip of her index finger against the countertop absentmindedly. The tension between us is getting thicker by the second, and frankly, I'm finding it a little hard to breathe. I don't know what to say to her, or how to act. We haven't talked about what happened, and I know we should, but I don't want to upset her by bringing it up, and I have a feeling she feels the same way.
"Did Addie say if they had a good time?" I ask.
"Yeah. She said the weather wasn't great, but it's London. She wouldn't care if it was torrential downpour every day. She'd still have fun."
"That's true."
"I'm going to make some breakfast. Do you want some?"
"Sure."
I watch her as she pulls a carton of eggs and a pack of bacon from the fridge and tosses them on the counter. Her movements are frantic as she travels around the kitchen – like it's her first time in it – and just as I'm about to ask her if she's okay, she slams the cutlery draw shut and wraps her arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug.
