Page 37 of Another Love, Another Time

River

I wake up to my phone alerting me to a message. It had been buzzing constantly when I got home, so I decided I probably should turn it off if I was going to get some sleep. I had woken up in the middle of the night and turned it back on.

I have a slight headache, even though I took some Aleve with a full glass of water when I woke up.

After I got home last night, I called Baxter.

Luckily, he answered my call. He pushed me into talking to Auggie about everything and to quit putting it off.

He reminded me of who I am and that I’m not a coward.

I close my eyes and let out an exhale. I quickly thank God for waking me up for another day.

I’m in a hazy state, but I am already feeling and smelling the consequences of not following my nightly routine.

I still have the layer of makeup on, and there is crust in the corners of my eyes.

I can feel the pressure of my puffy eyes from all the crying I did.

Worst of all, I can smell my own breath, like something crawled up in there and died.

The events of the night before come rushing back, and I can feel myself start to tear up again. It hurts to know he’s been with her, living with her, but what did I expect? I completely cut him out of my life.

I go back and forth from being mad at him to being pissed at myself. I guess I expected him to try harder.

I knew she would sink her claws into him and the lengths she would go to. I saw it at my dad’s funeral. I should have known it then, when he neglected to support me after my dad died.

I had thought I saw something in his eyes, like he wanted to talk to me as much as I needed him to. I guess I was wrong. So. Fucking. Wrong. I came back for him to build a relationship again.

Now that I know he’s with Melissa, I can’t live in the same town as him. My mom wants me here, but I can’t be here any longer.

Another text comes through while I’m unlocking my screen. It’s Auggie. I need to talk to him, but not in this state. Shower first, and then I’ll talk to Auggie.

I roll off the bed and drop down to the floor. Anything else would require too much work. I crawl to my bathroom. I know I’m being a little dramatic, but it’s only for myself to witness, so who cares?

I pull myself up against the vanity and take a good look at myself.

My hair is shooting out in all directions.

Mascara, eyeliner, and blush make my face look like a Jackson Pollock painting.

It’s even in my ears. How does one even do that?

Beyond that, my eyes are bloodshot, and my under-eyes are swollen.

I grunt in frustration, grab my toothbrush and toothpaste, and begin scraping the remnants of last night’s food off my teeth.

I hobble into the shower, grateful it’s a walk-in and not a tub-shower combo.

I pull my shirt and shorts off and throw them over the shower doors.

I turn the water on and screech when the ice-cold water hits my skin, but almost immediately, it becomes a welcoming punishment, a challenge, even.

I don’t know how much time passes, but I finally decide I’ve had enough and rotate the handle to “hot.” I finish cleansing myself of everything from last night.

I still don’t understand why I’m so shocked by Auggie’s choice. I knew this would happen. I knew this would happen, but somewhere in my fucked-up head, I thought he’d choose me.

Growing up, he was always my best friend.

We always hung out when we could and talked daily.

We were both each other’s first, but maybe I didn’t know him like I thought I did.

Maybe he was closer to Melissa than I thought.

He knew how much I despised her, yet he’s still with her.

If he’s with her, I can’t be in his life.

I won’t give her another opportunity to hurt me.

I turn the water off and then hear a knock at the door. “River, are you okay?”

“Yeah, Mom,” I call.

“Okay, honey. There’s a Hardee’s biscuit and some coffee out here when you’re ready.”

“Thanks. I’ll be out in a minute.” Her footsteps recede.

I go to my closet where I find a pair of sweatpants and a worn T-shirt, one of Auggie’s that I stole when we were in high school.

I should probably have one of my husband’s, but we have never really been in one place at the same time long enough for me to even steal one.

I slide on my flip-flops and head toward the smell of coffee.

I turn the corner, expecting to find my mom alone. Instead, I find her with company. I guess I know why my phone stopped chirping. Auggie turns around in his chair and makes eye contact.

“Hey, River,” he greets. “I was hoping you and I could talk this morning.” As much as I want to go crawl under my covers, I can’t do that. We need to talk about this.

I pull my hair tie from my wrist and pull my wet hair up into a messy bun; I’m stalling.

I turn toward the cabinets and pour some coffee.

I like mine black. I go over to the Hardee’s sack and pull the remaining biscuit out.

I turn to Auggie and say, “I’m assuming that you are the one who brought these with you? ”

He nods. “Stop trying to delay this. We need to talk.”

My mom hops up from her seat. “I’m going to run some errands.” She looks at Auggie. “Thank you for breakfast. I’ll see you later.” Then, she walks over to me and leans in. “Give him a chance to explain.”

I nod, not knowing what else to say. It feels like they’ve ganged up on me. She just needs to stay out of my business. I grab my coffee and sandwich and then take the seat my mom just vacated. I mutter, “Okay.”

“Okay,” he states hesitantly.

“Okay,” I say again.

“Okay,” he confirms. I roll my eyes. “You’re ready to talk? Do you want to go first, or do you want me to?”

I purse my lips. “I’ll go first. Let me finish my breakfast first.” We sit there in silence, the only noise my chewing.

I take a sip of my coffee to wash the rest of the biscuit down, wipe my mouth, and look into his eyes.

They’re still the prettiest I’ve ever seen.

They’ve always been filled with happiness.

Cockiness. But right now, they are filled with fear.

The last time I saw that look was the day of my dad’s funeral, and the only other time was the day I kicked him out of my hospital room. This conversation is not going to be a happy one. We’ve been avoiding it since I walked into the station.

“I’ll go first,” I say, “but if we start, we put it all out there. No sugarcoating; feelings are going to be hurt. It’s the only way we can move forward. Okay?”

“Okay,” he responds quietly.

“Where do you want me to start?” I ask.

“The night of the attack,” he answers.

I swallow hard. This will be harder than I thought.