Never Getting Back Together

TWENTY-FIVE

My shoes squeak against the linoleum as I run out the cafeteria doors to the truck, idling at the curb. I grab as many folding chairs out of the back as I can carry. They clang together as I hustle back inside to add them to the rows we've already set up. The familiar scent of floor wax and fried food makes me want to gag.

We were supposed to have the karaoke night in the high school gymnasium, but someone in the administration forgot the event was tonight and had the floor re-finished this morning, making it impossible to walk on. We relocated to the cafeteria. But since the chairs in here are attached to the tables, I had to contact a party planning company about delivering an emergency stash of folding chairs. They just barely got here, and people will begin arriving for the festival in about—I glance down at my watch—ten minutes. Crap.

"Test. Test. Test." Chance taps the microphone. The speakers he placed around the room give a screech of feedback. I wince, clapping my hands over my ears. He's been unsuccessfully trying to get them to work for the last half an hour, which is consistent with how the rest of my day's gone so far.

Al's crew accidentally cut the power to the freezers at the cooking school without realizing it. The gourmet parfait popsicles Giselle was going to pass out tonight melted into a giant gooey mess, leaving us with no refreshments to serve. I put up a post on the town's Facebook page, asking everyone to bring their own treats, which received a slew of unhappy comments that I'm doing my best not to pay attention to.

To top it all off, I've had to handle everything myself since Ty is MIA. I've been calling and texting all day and have gotten no reply. At first, I was confused and hurt that he wouldn't answer after everything he said last night. But after a couple hours of total radio silence, I started getting irritated.

I'm already devastated over missing the deadline for the grant, especially since Liv put together such a fantastic video submission. My dad and I still haven't found any solutions to my prescription situation. The stress of trying to figure out how I'm going to navigate my impending financial crisis is overwhelming and terrifying. I really didn't need to deal with all of this alone today, especially when my supposedly on-again boyfriend should have been here, helping me.

I whirl on my heel to pick up another load of chairs and notice Giselle on the other side of the cafeteria. She's tying bunches of balloons to the end of each row. It's no easy feat to make a high school cafeteria look festive, but she certainly gets an A for effort. I give her a grateful wave as I jog past.

I'm out of breath, chest heaving, by the time I reach the cargo hold. Relief floods through me when I see there are only four chairs left.

"Thank God." I hoist them out of the truck, fully intending to bail the second this show is up and running. I'm going to go home, make myself some AIP cookie dough, and try to come up with a strategy to salvage my life plan.

"Can I help with those?" A voice says from behind me.

I freeze, squeezing my eyes shut. Last night, that voice was making promises to me about our future together. Promises that were clearly forgotten by this morning.

I turn to face Ty. His smile is heart-achingly genuine, like he's actually happy to see me when he hasn't replied to any of my text messages. My traitorous stomach flitters at the sight of him, which only makes me madder. How dare he show up here, acting like everything's fine after he spent the entire day pretending I don't exist?

"I've got them," I snap, brushing past him.

"Quinn, wait." Ty's fingers wrap around my shoulder.

"Don't touch me." I turn around, jerking out of his grasp.