Page 122 of Things I Overshared

“Yes, also you’re in Dallas. Do you know where you are? Have you hit your head?” Sally quips.

“Why are you singing?”

“For that, that smile.” Sadie points at me. “Good call, Suze. I wasn’t sure, I mean, could you imagine if we’d tried this with Skye?”

“She would’ve thrown sharp objects. Blood would’ve been shed.” Sally’s voice is ominous while Sky nods in agreement, a horrified look on her face.

“Sal? Susan? You’re in Dallas too? You drove down from Tulsa? What day is it?”

“We did, honey,” Susan says. Sally nods with a huge grin.

“So many questions—we should’ve guessed the second you sat up, it’d be a full-on SamStorm, depressed or not,” Skye says.

“It’s Friday night. I let you wallow for over a week.” Sadie starts to clean the tissue wads around the bed and floor.

“Wait. You’re all here? For me?”

“Of course.” Susan grins at me and pats my foot.

“Skye. You flew out here?”

“I’m also starting to wonder if you hit your head.” We all laugh. Skye continues: “Sam, if any one of us needed you, you would hop on a plane in a second. So. Here we are.” She shrugs, as if it’s normal for four adult females to totally cancel an entire weekend and drive for five hours—or fly across the country!—on a whim.

It’s especially not normal for her. Skye doesn’t like to change her plans, doesn’t like social get-togethers, and I know she wouldn’t want to leave Matt in the middle of wedding planning. I’m crying again, but this time, they aren’t just sad tears.

At the start of my crying, Skye and Sally climb into bed and drinks and snacks appear out of nowhere. Sadie and Susan pull the chaise lounge from across the room up to the edge of the bed.

“So, sweetie, can you tell us what happened?” Susan starts cautiously. “Sadie filled us in on the trip, but none of us know what happened, you know . . . after.”

“Oh, crap, Susan! I didn’t even tell Darrin I was leaving. I didn’t even think,” I realize, freaking out that I probably left my team and my COO sister in an awkward position.

“I sent an email to him from your account. You had a private, pressing issue you needed to attend to at home, and you’ll be taking an extended absence,” Sadie informs me casually. “I texted Susan, and she worked her logistical magic. You’re good.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“Quit worrying about everyone else and tell us about you, Bob. What happened?” Skye barks at me, tucking my wild hair behind my shoulders.

“Ugh. Well, either what we had was real and life-changing and earth-shattering, and he’s a big fat coward, or he led me on for some fun and then dumped me in time to come home.”

Sadie leans in. “What did he say, exactly? Like, the man’s exact words?”

“He said that it was the usual: ‘The sunshinyness, the constant oversharing, the romance, the drama.” I hold in the sobs. “He said he did want to marry someday, but . . . just not me. That it, that I wastoo much.”

“Asshole.”

“Fucking asshole.”

“Jerkoff fucking asshole.”

“Really with the language?” Susan looks at all of us.

“C’mon, Suze, you never drop F-bombs when everything goes wrong at the office?” Sally asks.

“No, I don’t.”

“And what about when your house is suddenly covered in glitter and the dog poops on the carpet and one of your lovely children drops a glass bowl and it shatters everywhere?”

“Jeez, okay, fine, he’s a fucking asshole.”