I'll Never Finish This Book

TWENTY-TWO

January 5:

Eli barely spent time at the apartment, and when he did get home, I went to sleep to avoid hearing about Emily. He had been spending a lot of time with her. I didn't understand why he asked before doing so. Of course, I always insisted he saw her. It wasn't like he needed my permission, anyway.

Being alone gave me some time to work on my book. There was something about getting my heart broken that let me write a lot. How's that for a silver lining? We barely spoke when he was home, and when he texted me, I ignored his messages. It was difficult facing him again after waking up New Year's Day to realize he left early to see Emily.

That night, he was asking me out to dinner. It was after the fifth phone call that I picked up.

"Hello?" My voice was strained.

"We're going out."

"I'm swamped."

"It's just dinner."

"I can't."

"I'm already outside. Get ready and come out."

"I'm not coming out."

"I'm not leaving." He hung up.

I threw my phone on the bed and sunk into the mattress. I covered my face with a pillow, kicked my legs around, and screamed. After some time of staring lethargically at my ceiling, I heard a long beep.

Still wearing flannel pajama pants and a black sweater, I trudged up, ran my fingers through my hair, and put some sneakers on.

I began heading for the passenger seat. When I was about to open the door, I saw the silhouette of someone sitting there. I swiftly moved my arm to open the back door, slid into the seat, and took a better look at the passenger side.

"Emily, this is Elaina." Eli introduced us.

My heart sunk. Emily turned around in the seat and extended her perfect arm out. She had burgundy nail polish on- the same color I painted Eli's on the drive back from his grandma's. I sat quietly for the remainder of the car ride. My eyes fell to the traffic cone in the seat beside me. It took me back to the day we got pretzels at the mall. That was a lifetime ago.

We went to the diner near my apartment. The torture continued when we sat in the booth Eli and I always sat at. I sat across from them, engaging in forced conversation. As she spoke, I inspected her outfit. She had on a pink sweater, light-washed jeans, and high-heeled boots. Self-conscious, I smoothed my shirt, wishing I had changed into something else. Maybe that was why he chose her over me.

He ordered salads for the two of them, which was different than his usual two hamburgers, large fries, and milkshake combo. I hated how he was around her. It all felt forced: his posture, his words, his actions. He was there, but I missed him. I missed the real him. He tried too hard to impress her.

They lost my attention halfway through dinner. I played the game that Eli and I would play there when we worked on my book. Instead of trying to figure out others at the diner, I tried to figure out Emily. She had great hair, fantastic skin, and a perfect smile. When Eli told a joke, she laughed for the right amount of time. It was as if every move she took was on purpose.

I listened to stories of their past. They had so much history. How could I have been so reckless? How could he lead me on? How could he go back to her? He probably took her to all the same places we went to. I wondered if she met his grandma too.

He held her hand, and she ran her fingers through his hair.

I took two bites out of a French fry. I couldn't stomach a thing.