Page 90 of June: Jess' Story

“And you weren't going to tell me?” Why does Jess walking away from me feel like the actual end of the world all over again?

“No!” she shouts back. “So you could pretend to feel some sort of way about it? Guess what, Alex? You’re the only one pretending! It’s real for me, all of it, and it’s fuckingkillingme.” She looks like she might fucking cry. “I’m nother. I’ll never beher. And trust me, I’ll walk away and it won’t be like her leaving, because I’m. Not. Her. The end.”

So she just gets to fucking leave? No skin off her back?

“No you certainly aren’t her. She would never leave without saying goodbye. You know what? I’m sorry I tried to help.” Fucking rue the day I ever talked to Jess. Because she’s done nothing but put me through a special kind of hell.

Turning to my sister, I tell her, “It’s not real for her either. She wouldn’t know the truth if it smacked her in the face. She tell you yet?”

“Yes, now shut the fuck up before you ruin everything,” Brit says to me coldly, but she doesn’t fucking intimidate me.

“Well, just in case, let me fast forward the process for you. That best friend of yours,” I nods towardsher.

“Alex, stop—”Screw you, Jess.

“Yeah, her. Well, she fucked your husband.” Brit and Jess both gasp in shock. The woman sitting at the table closest to them also gasps in shock. Sandy slams a tray of pastries on the counter and it jolts me to a reality I want no part in.

You could say it was then. You could say it was shortly thereafter, but I knew. I’d gone too far.

If it’s not real for me, then why can’t I stop being mad at you? Why can’t I stop wanting to make you hurt? When is enough enough!?I want to scream all these things at her. But then Eden actually starts screaming. This gut-wrenching, horrid scream. Like some sort of fucked up symbolism for what I just inflicted on her mom.

It’s also a fucking wake-up call. It’s official. I’ve officially lost the last thing I had to lose. I take a step away, and then another. And then I’m gone.

Jess

Eden is screaming.

Loudly.

So loudly.

“Honey, hand me the baby,” a sweet sounding voice with a southern twang says, then lifts my child out of my numb arms.

Everything is numb.

“Jess?” My best friend's voice finds me. (Ex best friend?) I blink. And blink. And all I can think isouch.That hurts.What hurts?Everything. Where?All over. Why?Because he hates me.

“Jess?” Brit’s hand takes mine and she rubs it back and forth over and over.

“I’m sorry.” I say it blandly. Not because I don’t mean it, but because I’m pretty sure I’m in shock and I can’t focus. And I can barely bring my eyes to meet hers.

“I know,” Brit says back in a soft, understanding tone. “I know you’re sorry.” She says again, while continuing to rub my hand. “Sandy, let’s get her a coffee!” Britain yells over to her mother-in-law.

And then Sandy is yelling at Jim. “Jim! Get this woman a coffee and a goddamn pastry already.” She says it like obviously the combination of the two things will make all of this better.

Who knows? Maybe it will. Maybe life is just that simple if you let it be. If youcut off the feelings and just accept who you are. (What you are.) And you just live simply, maybe a coffee and a pastry really can make it all better. (That’s called delusion, and honestly, maybe that’s where I am right now.)

A gruff-looking, cowboy-esque figure sets a steamy cup of coffee down in front of me, and also a weird looking sticky bun. He sees me eyeing it and says, “It’s a Queen-Ah-Mahn, dear.” And then he’s walking away.

“Brit,” I look at the woman still holding my hand. “I’m really sorry.”

She gives me a sad smile and says, “I know, babe. Drink your coffee, eat some food.” So I do. While she holds my hand, I take a sip. And then a bite. She holds my hand like that’s what's holding me together.

I think it is.

Sip. Bite. Repeat.

“He’s gonegonenow, isn’t he?” I ask Brit after I’ve finished the pastry. She gets a sort of strange look, her mouth shoved off to the side.