Page 19 of Happy Ending
I’m romanticizing our time together because I don’t know if I have it in me to hate her.
I want to yell at her and tell her all over again how she broke my heart and left me with a pain that feels impossible to overcome.
How I can’t wait to get over her. How I can’t wait until I no longer fear that I won’t be able to find someone prettier than her.
But worst of all, I want to curl up in her arms and ruin another one of her shirts with my tears.
I want to feel the comfort in her smell, the familiar way her body feels against mine, the pressure of her bony, paint-stained fingers on my back as she gently scratches my favorite spots.
Once I finally decide to stop torturing myself with my camera roll, I go to her social media page.
I know I shouldn’t, and maybe it’s my own masochistic form of emotional self-harm, but I can’t help it.
I need to know what she’s up to, or if she’s doing okay without me.
I know there’s nothing new since the last time I checked, and I’m never going to heal if I keep the old what-ifs in my mind, but after a month of avoiding this, I feel like I deserve it.
Just one check. Even if I already know the answer, I need to make sure again anyway.
To my surprise—and detriment—there’s a new post. It’s a photo carousel of her time at Holy Trinity.
The first photo is of her standing next to the community gallery exhibit sign.
She’s smiling, the same gleam in her eyes from the photos in my camera roll.
The next photo is the very painting I despise, hanging on the filthy exhibit walls by a small, thin frame.
Next, she and a few other girls giggling in a circle, each with an open bible in their lap.
When I get to the final photo, my chest sinks.
It’s her, grinning with the same toothy grin I had grown to love.
Except there’s a blonde boy standing on the opposite side of a Valentine’s Day banner, a toothpick hanging from his mouth like he belongs out in the sticks instead of in Holy Trinity’s predominantly wealthy area code.
I immediately recognize it’s that Donovan kid she’d been talking about.
Because my mind hates me, it reminds me of the possibility that she probably still carves our initials together all over town, except the D stands for Donovan instead of Drew.
Instantly, any anger I had pent up in my stomach turns to straight-up numbness.
In her new post, I can’t help but notice pieces, remnants, of her that I fell in love with before.
Behind all the fake smiles, behind the bible clutched to her heart, behind her smile toward him so openly in the way that she never did toward me, I know the girl I love and the girl who once made me feel loved back is still in there somewhere.
I think that’s what hurts the most. Knowing she’s still her, but I’ve lost her to the Lord.
I click on the last photo slowly, careful not to double-click it, and pull up the tagged account.
Donovan’s profile picture is of him in a bulky jersey, holding out a football like it’s a trophy.
The bio includes his birth year, a fish emoji, a smiling emoji, and then a bible verse.
Right above the bible verse reads God first. Below the verse, he’s tagged Laine’s account, and there’s a heart next to it.
My anger returns as I think of what could possibly make this idiot football boy more deserving of getting the girl than me.
He loves God, then he loves her. I just love her.
I don’t want to believe in a God that tells me I can’t.
I sigh, clicking back to Laine’s original post. Just as I’m about to click out of the post altogether, I decide against my better judgment and open the comments.
I expect to find Donovan spamming cringey heart emojis or the girls from the giggle circle commenting so cute, girlie!
Instead, however, the comments are flooded with messages like I’m so sorry!
and You didn’t deserve any of that! and Why must awful things happen to such sweet people!
I scroll faster, but it’s only the same comments over and over again from different people who all share the same beach wave haircut and awful fake spray tan.
Immediately, my mind goes to the worst-case scenarios.
Laine got hurt. Someone spread a false, nasty rumor about her around the church.
Everyone found out about us and thinks I’m a predator who preyed on poor, sweet, innocent Laine.
Someone ran her over. Okay, maybe that last one is a bit far-fetched.
But still, any of the first three could have happened.
Just as I’m running through all possibilities, Tatum texts in the group chat, almost as if she’s reading my mind.
Tatum 2:52 pm DID YOU GUYS SEE WHAT HAPPENED TO LAINE’S PAINTING?
Jared 2:52 pm wait no???? what happened??
Greyson 2:53 pm Hey guys, touchy subject okay? Don’t poke the bear.
Me 2:53 pm the what?
Greyson 2:54 pm That came out wrong… I just meant that they should be respectful of your feelings when bringing up Laine. Tatum told us what happened.
Me 2:55 pm what? i don’t think i told tatum
Tatum 2:55 pm yeahhhh about that your car speakers are like really loud i happened to be in the parking lot during your little call but i figured id give you some space and let you tell us when you’re ready
Me 2:56 pm but you told jared and greyson?
Tatum 2:56 pm i just told them something happened between you two so they don’t bring it up
Jared 2:57 pm yeah she just told us what she knew which wasn’t much btw!
Greyson 2:58 pm Wait but what happened to the painting? If you don’t mind us talking about it, Drew.
Me 2:58 pm no, please do i’m not sure what happened either
Tatum 2:59 pm someone vandalized it!
Jared 3:00 pm WAIT WHAT?? DO YOU HAVE A PIC??
Tatum 3:00 pm they didn’t release a picture i just read it on the local community news
Jared 3:01 pm you and that damn community news page smh
Tatum 3:01 pm what?? i like to stay informed
As Tatum and Jared exchange banter, I turn off my phone and space out, staring intently at the ceiling, trying to process what this means. To be honest, after everything, I don’t even know how to feel.
Part of me is disappointed for Laine because I know how big of a project that was to her, and I can’t imagine someone just going in and destroying something that took over a year to create.
The other part of me is somewhat glad karma hit her, almost relieved that maybe this is a sign that the lifestyle she’s chosen to take isn’t what the universe had in store for her. Selfishly, I’m leaning more toward the latter.
After about an hour of quiet reflection, my phone buzzes. I ignore it, not really having the energy to socialize anymore. A few seconds later, it buzzes again. I reach for my phone to silence it, but as I turn it over and the screen lights up, my heart skips a beat at the notification.
Laine 4:07 pm Hey. Can we talk?
22
Laine
I ’m not at all a bold person. Maybe it’s out of fear of
rejection. Maybe it’s because I know if I don’t go for it, then I can’t be let down. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned this past month without Drew, it’s that even if you try to physically block out whatever you’re hiding from, you can’t escape it in your mind.
Sure, you can try new things in an attempt to forget the old. You can force yourself to look for the good in subpar situations. Sometimes, you can even find it. But you’ll always be stuck wondering what could have been. You’ll always be left with the why nots and the what ifs .
With Drew, however, I always find myself taking the leap, taking control of situations I normally would have just written off as not meant to be. As much as I’m a believer in the what’s meant to happen will happen mentality, I couldn’t just let what happened with Drew be what happened to us .
I’m sure, in time, I could get over her, but I could never get over our story. I could never get over how we left it. Most importantly, I could never get over the fact that I lost the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
She was the person who made me feel alive when I had been just surviving.
The person who added life to my days while I was only focused on getting through them.
In all the uncertainty in my life right now, the one thing I know I want is to start living every day, not just surviving, and I don’t want to live that life without Drew in it.
I suppose that's why I find myself at her doorstep right now, ready to do the boldest, most adrenaline-rushing thing I’ve ever done.
My hand is shaking as I reach toward the door, and I’m contemplating whether it’s too late to run back to my car and speed off. I could probably make it halfway back to California by tomorrow and never show my face in Georgia again.
Unfortunately, as appealing as that may sound, I know it’s too late. I’m already standing here at her doorstep, probably looking like the sickest, most pathetic idiot in love. So instead, I ring the doorbell and give four weak knocks to her door.
Instantly, I’m transported back to the memory of the first time I knocked on her door.
My hands were shaky then as well, but only from the nerves of seeing someone again that I hadn’t seen in a decade, hoping I could pull off one night of not being awkward and make small talk.
Now, they’re shaky from the nerves of seeing someone I’d seen for months straight every day until I decided she didn’t fit into my rigid plan for an average, planned-to-a-tee life.