Stone Cold, page 13
I shoot Jude a glare.
“I’ll grab us a table,” she adds, leaning in to kiss his cheek before trotting off.
“What happened to that just being a one-time thing?” I ask. “Now you’re having breakfast with her?”
He rubs his eyes—the bags suggesting that he didn’t sleep a wink last night.
“What, I can’t have breakfast with her?” he asks.
“Breakfast can turn into a lot of other things real quick if you’re not careful.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m never going to see her again after this, so it’s not going to turn into anything.”
There he goes, qualifying his actions again.
“Your dad would be pissed if he knew you were fucking around on Jovie,” I play the guilt card with zero shame. Jude’s father is his Achilles heel. He idolizes the man. He worships the ground he walks on and then some.
“And how’s he going to find out?” He spoons a heaping serving of hash browns on his plate while we wait for someone to refill the scrambled eggs. “What, now you’re trying to blackmail me? You going to tell on me to my own father?”
“Of course not,” I say. I force a breath through my nostrils and re-strategize. I’m taking the wrong approach with him. “Sorry, I just … I don’t want you going home with an even guiltier conscience.”
He snorts. “Let me worry about that, not you.”
I’m not getting through to him.
“Maybe you’re right,” I change my tune, opting for some good, old-fashioned reverse psychology. If he can hear how ridiculous he sounds, maybe something will click.
He gifts me a sideways glance. “Oh, yeah? About what?”
“Everything,” I say. “You’re only twenty-two. This is really the only time you can be young and stupid and carefree before you’re saddled with a career and responsibilities … who cares if you put yourself first as long as no one finds out … we only live once.”
“Exactly,” he says.
My throat burns and my tongue is on fire with everything I truly want to say to my best friend right now.
“And yeah, I think you are settling for Jovie.” The words cross my lips with minimal effort, though I feel the sting of them deep in my chest. “From the outside looking in, it seems like things have gotten stale. I bet that’s why you’re getting restless. You two don’t really have that fire you had in the beginning. It’s more of a low flame.”
“You think?”
“I do,” I lie. Jovie still has that fire in her eyes when she looks at him, but his has long since died out. “I think you’re one wind gust away from being extinguished.”
A teenaged server dressed in all white refills the scrambled eggs. Jude takes two servings—one for him, one for the blonde.
“When you put it that way …” He nods and his dark brows lift, as if he’s entertaining a silent conversation in his head.
“Jovie’s loyal as hell,” I say. “I think she’s with you because she hasn’t had a reason to leave you yet—she hasn’t had a reason to think that there might be someone else out there who makes her feel alive again.”
He places two healthy scoops of fresh sliced strawberries, bananas, and pineapple onto his overflowing plate, taking the last of what’s left in the buffet serving bowl—never mind the ever-growing line of people behind him.
“Maybe you’re both holding each other back,” I say, twisting the invisible knife I inserted moments ago. It’s not easy speaking this way about Jovie, but it’s crucial to remind Jude that she could easily find love in the arms of another man. “Maybe it’s time you let her go so you can both be happy again.”
I’m straddling the finest line here.
Part of me wants to save Jovie from the heartbreak of being dumped by a man she’s loved with her whole heart for the past three years. The other part of me wants to save her from the heartbreak of marrying a man capable of fucking around behind her back and sleeping like a baby afterwards.
I’m straddling the finest line.
“You know what?” He turns to me, his sleep-deprived eyes suddenly crystal clear. “I think you’re absolutely right. Screw it. I’m going to have a fucking blast while I’m here, and when I get home, I’m going to end it with Jovie. Life’s too short, man.”
With that, he heads over to the table-for-two the blonde has claimed for them.
I take my breakfast up to the room, and I spend the remainder of the morning stewing over soggy oatmeal, dry bacon, and salty hash browns.
Later in the day, I meet up with some of the other guys for an afternoon of snorkeling and zip lining. I slap a smile on my face and try to convince everyone that I’m having the time of my life, but inside little pieces of me are dying.
It’s the strangest thing, standing amongst palm trees, vivid blue skies, a gentle rolling sea, and a soft-sweet breeze—and wishing I were anywhere but here.
Several days from now, when we’re back in Maine, Jude’s going to break Jovie’s heart, I’ll never see her again … and in a way, all of this will be my fault.
I planted the seed in fertile soil, knowing it would germinate all week until it would eventually bloom.
I remind myself it’s for the best, that Jovie deserves better than him, and then I tell myself that someday—if I’m lucky—the feelings I have for her will fade away until there’s nothing left; until the gaping hole inside my chest closes up once and for all.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Stone
* * *
I’m over halfway through my work day when I get a text from Jovie. Closing out of my email, I dedicate all of my attention to the single sentence displayed across my phone screen.
JOVIE: Guess who asked me to get coffee with him today?
ME: ???
JOVIE: Your best friend.
I drag my hand along my jaw, shaking my head. What the hell was he thinking? And why the hell would she tell him yes?
ME: How’d it go?
JOVIE: What makes you think I went?!
ME: Just assumed.
JOVIE: I have more important things to do than reminisce with an ex over some ancient relationship. For instance, I could do some laundry … Alphabetize my spice cabinet … Declutter my salad dressing collection … Outline my next book … Watch some mind-numbing PBS documentary on the Industrial Revolution. All of those things would take more priority over coffee with Jude.
ME: Burn …
JOVIE: You should have seen his face. He was almost too stunned to speak. I think he honestly expected me to jump at his invite.
JOVIE: Sorry. I know he’s your best friend and I’m totally making fun of him right now, but I’m far too amused by the whole thing. It was like five years’ worth of karma playing out in real time.
ME: You’ve never struck me as the type to take karma into your own hands.
JOVIE: Me neither.
ME: Where did you leave things?
JOVIE: I told him to take care and I walked away.
I’m in the midst of typing my reply when Jude calls.
“Yeah?” I answer.
“You’ll never believe who I ran into a little bit ago …”
Sinking back into my office chair, I swivel until I’m facing the window. “Who?”
“Jovie,” he says with more exhilaration in his tone than a husband-to-be should possess when speaking his ex’s name. “And she completely rebuffed me.”
“Rebuffed you?”
“I asked her if she wanted to grab a coffee and talk and she acted like she couldn’t be bothered with it.” His tone is laced with genuine hurt.
“Can you blame her?”
“I was trying to be the bigger person … I thought we could talk about everything and that maybe she could use some closure,” he says.
“Maybe you’re the one who needs closure,” I say. “From what I understand, she moved on just fine.”
“The whole thing with her tagging herself in the engagement photo … that was a cry for attention.” He ignores my statement. “I just wanted to let her know how sorry I am for the way things went down.”
“It’s been years, Jude. I think it’s a little late for heartfelt apologies.”
“Whatever.” He blows a breath into the phone. “Her loss.”
I bite my tongue.
“Anyway,” he says, “the real reason I was calling was to see if you wanted to get a round in this Saturday. Weather should be perfect for eighteen holes and I can get us an eleven o’clock tee time. Stassi’s dad and brother are coming. We just need a fourth.”
“Sure.” I’ll never turn down a round of free golf at Stassi’s father’s country club.
I end the call with Jude, unable to return to my text messages fast enough.
ME: Smart move.
JOVIE: I know.
ME: How’s Domino doing? Almost kind of miss the little guy … almost.
JOVIE: Really? I didn’t think you were a dog person.
ME: Neither did I.
JOVIE: I’m sure Ida would let you visit him.
ME: I don’t want to bother her. It’s not a big deal.
JOVIE: I’m glad he left a lasting impression on you. You’re not easy to impress.
ME: Says who?
JOVIE: Am I wrong?
ME: No.
JOVIE: Case dismissed.
JOVIE: Anyway, I just wanted to tell you about my run-in with Jude. I’ll let you get back to lawyer-ing.
ME: Speaking of, did you fire Ben Majors yet?
JOVIE: Not yet. I’m working up the nerve to send him a Dear John letter. Trying to find the right words as he’s been nothing but nice to me this whole process.
ME: Which is exactly the reason you should have fired him a long time ago. A good lawyer would’ve had this case settled months ago. A terrible lawyer will drag it out and rack up an exorbitant amount of billable hours in the process.
JOVIE: Where were you when I needed this advice last year?!
JOVIE: And how much do I owe you for it?
ME: My hourly rate is $400, but I’ll give you the friends and family rate.
JOVIE: Wait. Does this mean we’re friends???
ME: Define “friends.”
JOVIE: Merriam-Webster defines a friend as “a person who is not an enemy or foe.”
ME: Then I suppose that makes us friends.
She sends a gif next, some actress from The Office doing a happy dance.
JOVIE: That reminds me, you still haven’t answered any of my questions …
ME: Don’t hold your breath.
JOVIE: I wouldn’t dream of it.
JOVIE: But now that we’re friends … I have tickets Friday night to see this local band … they do covers of old pop songs but make them sound like … well, like indie rock. Anyway, Monica was supposed to go but she’s been sick all week. You want to come with?
I exhale and compose my thoughts for a few minutes, mentally weighing both sides of the argument. On one hand, it’s innocent. It’s simply two acquaintances going to a concert. On the other hand, Jude would be devastated. Hanging out with your best friend’s ex goes against the very tenets of our decades-long friendship. It’s an unspoken code no true friend would so much as think about violating.
JOVIE: You’re quiet.
JOVIE: No pressure, but I know you’d love this band …
JOVIE: Also, I have center seats in the third row.
She could have nosebleed section seats and I’d still want to go with fucking bells on.
ME: I’ll let you know by tomorrow.
I can’t believe I’m even considering this.
She sends me a link to some YouTube video next. I click to open it, landing on a four-minute cover version of The Postal Service’s Clark Gable… a song I introduced to her a lifetime ago—a song about wanting to believe that the kind of love you see in the movies can be real.
A song with a line about using a stand-in. It always made me think of her, Jude, and me.
I was always the stand-in.
JOVIE: This is the band … I mean, come on. They’re incredible. How can you say no?
She isn’t wrong.
JOVIE: I know I said no pressure, but here’s one more …
She sends another link, this time to a cover the band did of The Shins’ New Slang—a song that lyrically made little sense but put a slow, wistful smile on Jovie’s face the first time I played it for her. She called it “emotionally devastating in the best way possible.” We both agreed it was a song you played when you wanted to feel it and not simply hear it.
The truth is, this local band could be ruining Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin classics via god-awful screaming emo covers, and I’d still suffer through them just to spend a couple of hours next to her.
ME: I’ll think about it.
I tell her again. I need to buy some time—and hope to God I can talk myself out of what I really want to do.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jovie
* * *
Age 22
* * *
I wait on the other side of airport security, rising on my tiptoes to peer over the crowd of weary travelers lugging bags behind them, stepping off the escalator one by one like tired lemmings. My heart trips a little when I spot Jude’s signature neon orange Nike ball cap. I clap my hands together and wait patiently for him to spot me from his side of the crowd.
For the past week, he’s been in Tulum with spotty cell service. We probably talked a total of ten minutes combined. After the first couple of days, I told him not to worry about it, that I wanted him to have a good time and I’d be right here waiting for him when he got back.
Our eyes lock from across the room and I give him a smile and a wave. He makes his way toward me. Stone walks a couple of steps behind him, his chin tucked low as he scrolls through his phone.
“Hi, baby!” I throw my arms around Jude, breathing in his faded aftershave and the musky scent of his warm skin. “Look how tan you got … damn.”
Rising, I press my lips against his—only to be met with a quick peck.
I brush it off. It’s almost 10 PM, and they’ve been traveling all day. I’m sure Jude’s hungry and exhausted. Knowing him, he’s probably counting down the minutes until he can take a shower. He always feels grimy after flying.
“You two have a good time?” I ask them as we make our way to baggage claim.
No one answers me, though Stone has ear buds in his ears so he gets a pass.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I tease, elbowing Jude.
From the corner of my eye, I study my boyfriend. He yawns, his eyes watering, and he scans the crowd. Despite being right beside me, he somehow feels a world away.
Twenty minutes later, the three of us are piled into my car, and I’m driving them back to to the apartment they sublet for the summer. I moved out of the one we shared the week after graduation, opting to save some money and live at home for the summer (or until I land a full-time job). But the two of them stayed back. Jude’s dad had recently sold his house and moved to Florida, so it’s not like they had anywhere else to go.
It's a silent two-hour drive from the airport to their place in Orono. With Stone passed out in the backseat and Jude scrolling through his phone and clearly not in the mood for idle chat, I pull up a playlist on my phone and let that fill the background.
By the time we arrive, it’s close to midnight.
Stone climbs out of the backseat before I have a chance to shift into park. After a quick “thanks for the lift,” he heads inside, wheeling his bag behind him.
Jude hasn’t moved … he’s simply sitting there, staring blankly over the dash, his eyes unfocused.
“You okay, babe?” I rub his arm and lean closer.
He recoils. Or maybe it’s a flinch. It happened so fast.
Was he daydreaming?
“You mind if I crash here with you tonight?” I mentally calculate the time it’ll take for me to get back from here to Kennebunkport. I took a nap earlier today, knowing it was going to be a late night, but I also figured I could crash here.
“Actually, I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he finally speaks.
“What?” I laugh, certain he’s being sarcastic. But he isn’t smirking or winking. In fact, he isn’t registering an ounce of any kind of emotion that I can tell.
He gathers a breath and turns to me, his dark eyes hollow almost. “Jovie … I did some thinking this week.”
My stomach drops yet my mind is empty, like it’s suspended in a place of disbelief despite every fiber in my body knowing something’s not right.
“We’ve had a good run … but I think we can both agree things have gotten stale lately.” His words are mechanical, rehearsed. “The spark we had … it’s gone. There’s no fire in your eyes when you look at me anymore, and I think we’re both just waiting for someone better to come along.”
My jaw hangs for a second, but I straighten my shoulders. “You’re entitled to your opinions, but you don’t get to tell me how I feel.”
He lifts his hands. “Fair enough. But it doesn’t change the fact that our best years are behind us.”
His gaze drops to his hands, which are resting calmly in his lap. They’re not trembling, they’re not fidgeting. He’s not picking at his hangnails or a loose thread in his shorts. Nothing about this moment feels difficult for him, and yet my heart is shattering into a million pieces—and I feel the sting of every shard.
“We were literally window shopping for engagement rings, what, a month ago?” I rake my hand through my hair and gather a fistful. “You leave for one week to spend time with your friends and now it’s suddenly over? We don’t even get to talk it out? It’s just … over? Like that?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Wow. Nice,” I say. “And you had the audacity to let me drive you from the airport to your apartment—two fucking hours—and then you dump me?”
