Un-Tying the Knot {h.s.}

Chapter 48

All I could do was nod and apologize. That seems to be what I do a lot, lately.

Maybe it's guilt.

Either way, my fuse is only so long when it comes to handling pressure, so I've found disconnecting to be a much easier way to process things.

But honestly, that's what I've had to do. It's been nearly a week and not one mention of the "incident," as I've come to call it. Because calling it anything else -- a fling, a tryst, an affair -- was too painful. Acknowledging that such an act of passion had passed between me and...him...only caused his casual hellos and surface ribbing to rip the hole in my chest a little wider.

He's said nothing. No admonition, no apology -- not even an acknowledgement since the morning after when he cut his hair and walked out on me again in the most brutal of fashions.

Which has taught me that he's really great at pretending things never happened. He could probably write a book on being a hypocritical, double-talking asshole. Maybe I could buy it. He could teach me a thing or two, obviously. I mean, according to Eleanor, there's a reason the two of them are successful and engaged. Apparently I don't have whatever "it" is that seems to work for them from a societal perspective.

Maybe I just wasn't good enough. Or pretty enough. Or funny enough. Or...just enough, really.

Stop, Olivia.

I can't think like this. Which is why I'm doing the only thing I feel like I can do -- pretend he doesn't exist.

I know. I know that it's terrible. I should be better than him and not stoop to his level and all that bullshit advice that people give you to try and help you get through situations that they know are too difficult to get through alone. But honestly, it's the only way to get through this shitty phase of my life. And at this point, I don't even know why I'm still here putting up with this bullshit.

I should leave.

Yet, every time I go to type my resignation, I can't. And I don't know why. So I keep avoiding it. Because it's easier.

Avoiding him has been somewhat easy because I hadn't really seen him for more than a minute or two since he walked out. So whenever Eleanor asked me to run something to his office, I sent Isabelle instead. On Wednesday, Eleanor insisted that I go talk to him about the table decorations for the reception, but I phoned Hannah and asked her to do it. Thankfully, she let me meet her for lunch later to discuss the outcome. The younger woman probed lightly about my absence, but I merely brushed it off, steering us into conversations about the wedding. I counted myself lucky that Hannah was easily distracted.

The worst part was that I had to force myself not to ask her how he was. Did he ask about me? Did my absence hurt him as much as his hurt me?

But I refrained.

There's nothing between me and Harry. After all, he's engaged. To my boss. And he doesn't even want to be on an airplane with me, so...

"Olivia?"

I jump, broken from my reverie as the sound of my name comes muffled from behind the door. I stand, smoothing my hands over my skirt, subconsciously wiping away the wrinkles before my fingers wrap around the cool metal of the door knob. I push it open cautiously, peeking inside with slight trepidation.

Eleanor sits next to Calley on one of the leather couches in the center of the room, yards and yards of fabric in every shade of purple and gold are flowing across the coffee table. Boxes of china and silverware sit at their feet, and a few plates and forks are scattered along the fabric to give them an idea of the design potential. Magazines are fanned out around them, some bent back in places -- and I can't help but think that it looks like CB2 exploded in here.