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Chapter 28

Kitty

A zombie looked back at me in the dim light of the airport bathroom. I didn’t warn Mom that we’d broken up. I didn’t tell her that Guy proposed. But when she saw me at baggage claim in our tiny little hometown airport, she knew I wasn’t okay.

With a big hug, she just whispered, “I’m sorry, sweetie,” in my ear, took me home, and made me a cup of tea while I bawled at the kitchen table.

I held it together for that whole flight home. I felt like I was drugged. I wasn’t even old enough for the first-class booze, though the flight attendant was kind enough to offer me some anyway. No amount of Bloody Marys could cure what was wrong with me. I’d walked away from the greatest love I’d ever known, knowing that we both still loved each other down to our bones.

The distance just wasn’t worth the stress of it. We both had big things to do and needed the freedom to do them. Long-distance doesn’t work if you can’t even find a way to talk once or twice a day. We needed connections we weren’t getting.

Mom put a steaming mug of tea in front of me. I warmed my hands with it but didn’t drink it.

“Tea’s disgusting, Mom,” I grumbled. “It’s just watery leaves.”

Mom cackled. “Glad to see you’re still funny in your misery. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

Later, Frank knocked on my door. He sat on my bed, where I was curled up in a pile of used tissues. His tone was gentle, something he rarely employed.

“Hey, sissy,” he said, a name he rarely used. “Guy wanted me to check on you.”

That started me sobbing again. “I can’t believe it’s over.”

Frank twisted his lips to chew on them. “I know it’s hard, but you made the right choice.”

“It doesn’t feel that way. He still wanted to try.”

“Well, he wasn’t doing great, either. Not being able to talk to you enough was killing him.”

“Yeah, but now we’re not going to talk at all,” I moaned.

“Maybe you can talk again soon. But you probably do need to grow up a little on your own.”

I sniffed. “How is he?”

Frank raised his eyebrows and blew out a breath. “Bad.” I whimpered, hating to hear that. “But that doesn’t mean you made the wrong choice.”

I lay there, lifeless, both of us just sitting.

“Wanna go see a bad movie?” he offered.

I blew my nose. “I’ll go if you let me get extra butter.”

“Fine.”

* * *

Back at school, Violet was my co-pilot through those first awful weeks. She let me stay in when I needed to but also pushed my ass to go out when she could tell I should. She and Colton had split up long ago, even before the prior school year ended. She got annoyed with him and it was just for the best.

Violet let me play all the sad breakup albums on loop. But even those didn’t feel right. Guy hadn’t wronged me. He was the best thing that ever happened to me. Our timing was just bad.

One night when I was drunk and feeling sorry for myself, I texted Guy while I was in the bathroom at a party. In ever so collegiate melodramatic fashion, I sent him Holy Ground by Taylor Swift. No explanation. Just the song. I bawled as I did it. My makeup was already questionable from being intoxicated, but it was wrecked from my bathroom antics.

I walked back into the party and as luck would have it, immediately ran into Mikey.

“Kitty, long time no see,” he bellowed, until he caught my expression. Almost everything Mikey did was loud, whether it was loving or fighting. He softened his voice. “Oh, shit.”

He’d already heard from Guy that we broke up. Mikey let me cry on his shoulder and made the executive decision that I needed to go home. Part of me was concerned that Mikey was hitting on me, as that was his typical way of relating to women. But in reality, he was just super sweet.

“I’m sorry y’all had to split,” he said as we walked. “I was always jealous of what you two had.”

I shot him a skeptical stare. “Really? The king of the casual encounter was jealous of my relationship ?”

Immediately, I felt bad, because I could tell my words stung. Something else was going on there. I didn’t push.

By the time we got back to my room, I wasn’t nervous about his intentions anymore. He made sure I had water and ate a snack, staying to chat for a few minutes before he left me to my peace.

“I miss him, too, babe,” was all he said when we hugged goodbye.

Pathetically, I turned my phone off silent for the first time in like, ever, hoping I’d hear if Guy texted me back.

When I was posted up in bed, dozing off, Guy responded. He sent the song our moms sometimes put on when they were having their wine nights: Jewel’s You Were Meant for Me. They’d both put their heads back on their respective Adirondack chairs and belt out the bridge, Eva in her signature Quebec-tinged rasp and my mom in her gritty country accent.

It was a good memory. Our moms, happy. And the song itself, sad and longing. Was Guy rubbing in the idea that we were meant for each other?

GUY-GUY FRENCHIE

Miss u Birdy

My drunken tears started up again, cut with hysterical laughter thinking back on the good times we’d had when we lived on the same street. Guy was my person. He was sitting in Seattle or wherever the fuck he was that night, being sad over me, and I was in Cambridge, being sad over him. I hesitated, but I was awake anyway. He was texting. He was on the other end. And I was still pretty drunk.

Miss you too

Saw Mikey tonight. He misses you

Bet he does, that dirty boy

He try to fuck u

Ew Guy-Guy yuck

Actually he was really sweet

Sweet how

What, was I supposed to admit that I was sobbing over him at a college party? Texting him Taylor Swift songs from the toilet while I was supposed to be out living it up and dancing with my friends? Five minutes passed while I debated whether or not I’d be throwing up that night or if it was just me stressing over Guy.

Sweet how Birdy?!

I started dozing off, the drunkenness outweighing my excitement that we were actually talking. It had been a long month of cold turkey No Guy, my heart hurting every day. My phone rang in my hand.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Kitty Bird,” Guy crooned. “You okay over there?”

It was miraculous hearing him talk like everything was fine, not mad or sad. Just sweet Guy. His accent with all of its “d” for “th” sounds. His warm voice. Him.

“I wish you were here,” I whimpered.

Guy didn’t speak for so long that I thought we’d been disconnected. “Me, too, Birdy.”

He paused a lot longer. Embarrassment set in that I was drunk and he was seemingly sober. I was a fool for texting him.

“How was Mikey sweet? Is he hitting on you? Because I’ll fly out there and take care of it if I need to.” Guy’s voice went borderline enraged.

“Oh, calm down, you thug. He was a good friend.”

“How?” Guy demanded.

“I was crying over you, okay? Jesus,” I ground out. “He saw me right after I sent you that song. He sat with me while I lost it and walked me home. He misses you, too, by the way.”

“Kitty, it doesn’t have to be like this,” Guy pleaded. “Just come back.”

“I want to,” I said, starting to cry again. “But I can’t.”

“Do me a favor, then, and don’t drunk text me,” Guy said, his voice cold.

“Guy,” I protested.

“It kills me, Kitty,” he ranted. “Every fucking day, I’m miserable without you.”

“I am, too.”

“Then come back!” he yelled. He’d never once raised his voice with me. The only time he’d ever even been directly mean is if we were playing around in bed and it was part of the game. He wasn’t being fair. I thought our decision was mutual, but he was pushing that it was my choice again.

“I can’t, okay? We have to choose to be happy alone. Don’t be cruel about this. We chose this together.”

“That doesn’t mean I like it,” he snarled.

“Well, I don’t either. I wanted us to work out, Guy. I still do. But we need to give ourselves time to grow and maybe later . . .”

“Maybe later,” his voice a quiet, low rumble. “I’m living for maybe later.”

“Me, too.”

“I love you, Kitty Bird.”

“I love you, too, Guy.”

* * *

Life went on. The things I wrote that first semester after we broke up weren’t overly funny. They were actually pretty dark. Even though I’d told Guy to choose happiness without me, I struggled to be happy without him.

Choose happiness. It was some phrase I’d seen on a mug that some overly optimistic girl in one of my classes carried. I hated it. And yet, I weaponized it and used it on my best friend. The love of my life.

Guys hit on me, but it didn’t feel right. I was too wounded. I knew what real love looked like. Why would I waste time with someone who wasn’t The One? Guy was The One.

A cute guy from one of my classes, Evan, kissed me at a party. I gave off all the right signals. I didn’t not want him to kiss me. I didn’t push him away. I pushed myself to like him back. But I just couldn’t.

When Evan kissed me, I cried. Mikey happened to be at that party, and he shoved Evan against a wall asking what he’d done to me. I just looked at Mikey and shook my head.

“Him?” he asked. I nodded.

Mikey apologized to Evan, who never sat next to me in class or even looked my way again. I appreciated Mikey’s big brother attitude, but ultimately, I was relieved when he graduated and got drafted to the Princes’ system. The sooner the boys who had known me and Guy as an item were gone, the sooner I could move on.

I did my best to keep my chin up and bury myself in my craft. And mostly, I succeeded.

Eventually, I was able to kiss other men and not cry. I had a good sense of humor going into my first time fucking someone new. I knew it would be weird. My last partner had known every quirk of my body, every single secret about me. How could this guy ever measure up to my Guy?

“Don’t compare him,” I chanted in my head, but how could I not? The man between my legs seemed to have no idea that the vagina and clitoris are in fact not the same. I ended up taking charge of that encounter, holding my hand over his mouth to shut him up and closing my eyes as I rode him. He thought it was the hottest sex that either of us had ever had. Sadly, that was only true for one of us. I was literally going through the motions and left as soon as I could.

Guy’s ghost lurked everywhere, waiting to remind me exactly how good I’d had it.

I lived, but I was haunted.