We Go Way Back

chapter thirteen

SAINT VALENTINE'S DAY — a day of love, friendship and absolutely loathing every single couple I see on the street. It feels like every person in this godforsaken city has found their partner this year, and, as I walk down the road towards Angie's, everyone around me has their hand clutched in their loved one. I swear they stare at me, mocking me. Look at what you could've had, they say with their eyes, look at you now.

By this time last year, I was lounging at a hotel pool with my hunk of a man William swimming leisurely or kissing in the jacuzzi. Maybe we'd be having brunch in bed, spreading whipped cream on each other's noses, wrapped in fluffy robes. We'd have sex, so much sex, and we'd go out to dinner, and he'd pull my chair and kiss my hand and order us a fancy new wine to try.

This year, I'm walking to my workplace with much less to toast to, much less to be thankful over. I did get rid of Will, who turned out to be not everything I hoped he was, so that's a positive, and because of it I met Ellie, whom I love. And everyone complimented me on my new short hair. The downside of the successful haircut is that now, every time I look into a mirror or pick the strands between my fingertips, I think of Corbin, and that's really not cool.

Since my little drunken and afraid meltdown, Corbin and I have exchanged maybe a total of five words. At first, we tried to pretend like everything was fine and even tolerated being in the same space together, but as of the last couple of days, it's radio silence. When I enter the apartment, he's usually on the kitchen island, so I make my way to the bedroom pretending I don't know he's designing my ex's house and pray that I'll fall asleep before he slides under the covers. I even stopped drinking coffee to see if it would make me fall asleep faster.

I don't regret what I did, though. If I hadn't snapped, I would've slept with him again and that would truly devastate our relationship. Not that there's much of it left anyway.

Despite loathing the day, I willingly go into the café before my shift to help finish up the decor. I stayed here for most of the night yesterday, but there are still a few details left to do this morning. When I walk inside, Rachel doesn't even look in my direction, she just points at the windows.

I grab a stepping stool left abandoned in the center of the room and prop it in front of the large windows. The letter-shaped stickers are waiting for me to apply them on a table. One by one they go up, spelling Happy V-Day. On the other side of the room, the room that's left normal for those who, like me, have learned to hate the day, the stickers read Happy Sunday instead.

I help my colleagues set up the rest of the decorations and cringe when I'm given a pink apron. I've been awarded the displeasure of waitressing the lovey-dovey side with Vicky. I unwillingly put it on and the headband.

I can't help to notice that, for a woman who was so excited for Valentine's Day just a few days ago, Rachel is in an awful mood. She grumbles at everyone, complains about everything, and sighs every two seconds. Something tells me that her assumption that she'd be proposed to today isn't coming true. I don't mention the topic afraid that she'll decapitate me with a cupcake tray.

We are about to open when my mom calls me. I answer before Rachel can hear and yell at me, and hurry to the back.

"Hi, mom," I whisper, trying to go unnoticed. "How are you?"

"Happy valentine's day, baby." The voice belongs to my dad and it's so sweet I'm sure I'll get a cavity. "How's your day going?"

"It's alright," I tell him, a smile instantly on my face. I'm a certified daddy's girl, there's no way around it. "What are you guys doing this year?"

"Well, you know we usually go to New York," he says, and I nod. It's one of their many annual traditions. My parents are creatures of habits. "There's no money to go to New York and Seattle, so we're delaying the celebration until then."