She reeled back. “Jeez. If that’s your version of a smile these days, then don’t do it again.” She jangled her keys. “Let’s get out of here!”
I followed her outside. It was the third week of October, and fall had come. The sky was a pale turquoise and crows cawed in the distance, likely bullying some poor robins or cardinals out of a tree.
I took a deep breath and blew it out, testing my jaw. “I needed this.”
“What, being able to open your mouth?” Ceci joked as she unlocked the minivan.
“No—well, I mean, yes. But really this.” I gestured to the air. “Thank you for bringing me.”
“It’s the least I could do since you stayed,” she said. “I mean, you’ve not done anything but melt into the couch, but at least you’re here.”
“Damn, Ceci. Taking shots at me already?”
She pursed her lips as she stopped at a red light. “You can take it, Devon. You’re stronger than you were three months ago, for one, but also, I’m a mom. It’s my sacred duty to push buttons. So this is me, pushing yours.”
I considered her. “I think I’m touched.”
“You should be,” she sniffed haughtily, trying to inject some levity into the conversation. “I only push you because I love you.”
I flushed with warmth. “I love you, too.”
“Good. And here’s the next part: How are you going to fix things with Aaron? I mean, you did get your jaw unwired, after all.” She leered at me.
I groaned. “I don’t know yet.” I massaged my jaw muscles, which were already sore from the talking. “Can we not talk about it?”
She glanced at me. “We have to talk about it, Devon. It’s the only way you’re going to fix it.”
I slumped down in the seat and fought the tears. “He probably hates me. I broke his heart, Ceese. He can’t want anything to do with me.”
She hummed thoughtfully. “We’ll see.”
Samson was waiting for me on the porch when I got home. He pranced around, licking my outstretched hands and bolting inside when I opened the door. I followed him, angling for the kitchen even as I catalogued the work that still needed to be done.
Not counting the week of wallowing, I really had been making progress. With everything that I’d been dragging out of the house, from clothes to unnecessary junk, the house was beginning to feel lighter, as though everything I’d pulled out had been weighing it down.
But for as ruthless and efficient as I’d been with everything—and as meticulous, because I was looking at every piece of paper and ephemera—there was still one glaring weight that practically screamed at me every time I passed by: the wedding album. It sat in the living room, where I rarely went, taunting me.
It was entirely possible that Gigi planned it this way.
Well, she had planned it this way, all the way down to meeting Aaron, or at least hoping I’d meet him. I couldn’t even be mad at her for it. More than anything, I felt like I’d let her down.
Gigi had always understood what I needed to feel better. Whether it was a skinned knee from a bike fall as a kid, or the heartache of an unrequited crush as a teenager, Gigi had been a continuous source of wise comfort. So why, then, had I steadfastly refused to come home for half a decade?
The truth was, I didn’t know. Maybe I wanted the pain. Maybe I felt I deserved it, since Jason had died after an argument.
In the kitchen, I eyed the giant, beautiful bag of Doritos I had waiting for me. I’d blown my life to smithereens, definitely, but I’d promised myself weeks ago that Doritos would be the first thing I’d eat when I got unwired.
I opened the bag, and the smell of processed cheese and spices wafted up at me. I grabbed a chip and took in its orangey perfection. A triangle of crispy, salty, flavorful, crunchy deliciousness.
Hell yes.
I debated taking a little bite, but no. I opened my mouth as wide as I could—which was only enough to slide the entire chip in—and bit down.
It was practically a religious experience. The sensation of biting down and chewing was its own revelation, but feeling the flavors burst on my tongue was ah-maze-ing.
I giggled, overwhelmed with the silly happiness of it all, and popped another chip into my mouth.
“Oh, god,” I moaned. “So gooood.”
Samson hopped and circled on the tile floor beside me, and I shrugged and gave him a chip. No need to keep the glory all to myself. “Don’t get used to it,” I warned him sternly, instantly regretting giving it to him as he turned his big brown eyes on me, licking his chops and panting.
Rick barged in later that night, sent by Ceci and demanding I tell him the whole sorry story, including the Mrs. Withers part and breaking up with Aaron part. Because apparently Ceci thought he should hear it all from me.
Recapping it felt like giving him a highlight reel of all my screw-ups.
“So you don’t want the house, either,” he said.
“That’s your take-away?” I asked. “No wonder I don’t talk to you more.”
“Be serious,” he said, unimpressed with my pathetic attempt at humor.
I buried my face in my hands. “I don’t know, Rick.”
“Seems like you need to know,” he said, taking a drink of the beer he’d brought with him and popped open the second he’d walked in.
