Page 38 of Sunday's Best

“It’s not just about the cheating. It’s…” My fingers curl into the cushion under me as I search for a way to bury the lede. “It’s everything. I’m not in love with you. I haven’t been in a long time.”

He lets out one sharp, dry, humorless laugh. “Well thanks for letting me think we were all good.”

“I let myself think we were, too, because it felt easier.” In hindsight, it wasn’t easier. It was merely a level of pain I was used to handling. “I spent too long feeling like what we had—the way you treated me—was what I deserved, and I needed permission to want more. But I don’t.”

“So that’s it then?” The beer bottle hangs loosely at his side, millimetres from slipping from his fingers and crashing on the tile. “You’re not even going to discuss this with me? I just have to accept it?”

“I’ve been discussing it with myself. That’s what matters.” My voice wavers when I look up at his face and see pain splashed across his light-blue eyes. “So, yeah… you’re going to have to accept it.”

“You’re a real piece of work—you know that? You know how important this next rodeo is, if we want to get into the finals in October. And now I’ve got this shit hanging over me?”

I sniffle. “I’m sorry.”

He looks me up and down, and I swear I catch a hint of remorse in his expression—though maybe it’s my own wishful thinking getting the better of me. Maybe if he’d taken the time to study me before tonight, he would’ve seen me. If that had happened, this conversation wouldn’t have caught him off guard the way it has.

“I’ll go stay in the trailer at Holden’s.” He tosses back the nearly-full beer and plunks the bottle down on the coffee table, right next to my candle. “I should leave before I say something I’m not going to be able to take back.”

“This is your house, if you want⁠—”

“No.” He shakes his head and reaches for his keys. “We’ll be back on the road after this weekend, anyways. Stay here for now. You and I can talk about this later.”

“Okay. Thank you.” The edge gone from my voice, I let him believe he’ll still get the final say. I never wanted to fight. All I set out to do was voice my opinion and demand he hear it, even if he’ll never care enough to understand where I’m coming from.

I stare down at my hands folded neatly in my lap, and when the door clicks shut behind him, I take the first full breath on my own.

The tears dry in sharp, itchy streaks down my cheeks, and I scrub them away with cold water in the kitchen sink before pouring a glass of red wine from the box inside the fridge. The grocery situation is dire around here, but I manage to find a package of Oreos. I light the candle with a contented sigh, and sink into the well-worn couch with cookies, wine, and a plan to watch cute puppy videos on my phone until my heart doesn’t ache anymore.

Holden

I just talked to Logan

Are you okay? I’m coming over.

Sunday

What if he comes back?

Holden

He won’t.

Not twenty minutes later, the sound of Holden’s pickup rumbles through the night and his headlights beam in the front windows. I chomp on an Oreo—effectively finishing off my second row of them—and wash it down with a hearty gulp of wine. It’s a weird combination, but it feels appropriate for a post-breakup binge.

A beat of silence passes before Holden walks through the front door.

He looks so good. Better somehow than when I last saw him just over an hour ago. That doesn’t seem fair when I’m sitting here shoveling cookies and wine down my gullet, eyes puffy and face streaky. He’s changed into sweatpants since getting home, and his hair looks the same way it did after I teased it with my fingertips in the back seat of his truck. I’m actually kind of pissed off about how good he looks.

Before he’s even kicked off his shoes, he remarks, “I swear to God, if you tell me you’re dipping those cookies in wine, I’m calling the police.”

I glance down at the half-empty glass. I hadn’t considered dipping, but that might speed the process up.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“Well, the kitchen’s low on food, and I needed a snack for my depression cocoon.”

An amused burst of air blows out of his nose. “I meant with Logan. He sent me a text to say he’s sleeping in the trailer tonight.”

“Oh, him.” I nibble at the chocolatey edge of a cookie. “I broke up with him. For good, this time.”