An apology won’t mean a thing compared to his lost empire. I don’t think Hallmark makes a card for this kind of thing.
I lean over the side of my bed and grapple for the neck of a wine bottle. It’s empty—so is the next one I reach for, and the one after that. I don’t have to check the cookie bags or the pizza box on my floor. I know they’re empty, too.
Emily stands and starts to collect the trash. “You’ve gone on one hell of a broken-heart bender.”
“It’s not over yet.”
She bypasses the mountain of snot rags to grab my garbage can. “Believe it or not, you’ll get through this, Jules. Things like this just make you stronger.”
“How would you know?” It flies out of my mouth before I can take it back. Emily pauses a moment, then keeps cleaning. “I’m sorry,” I say quickly.” She doesn’t talk much about her romantic history, but I do know that some guy did a number on her a few years back, bad enough that she won’t even mention his name.
“It’s OK,” Emily says with a supportive smile. “I know that it gets better. Eventually.”
My bedroom door flies open, and Callie bursts in. “Ugh, you’re still wallowing? Come on, you’ll be a public health hazard if you don’t get out of those sweatpants.”
“So what?” I slump back down. “I don’t have anywhere to be, remember? I got fired.”
Callie rolls her eyes. “Dominic is a purebred asshole, and you don’t need him, Juliet. Fuck him. And not in the fun way.”
She disappears and comes back with not one bottle of cheap wine, but two. “You’re welcome.”
“You’re not helping.” Emily looks slightly disgusted. “She needs to get up and take a shower.”
“But failing that, she needs to get drunk until she’s ready to not be drunk anymore. It’s a rule of break-ups. Didn’t you read the girl code handbook, Em?”
I’m not about to argue with Callie’s wonderful logic. I open a box, pour some into a glass, and take a sip before they stop nitpicking each other and look at me.
“That’a girl.” Callie nods approvingly.
I try to drink more, but it tastes bitter in my mouth. I remember the sweetness of the wine Dominic and I drank while he fed me oysters in Paris. And the wild sex in the alley after that? What I wouldn’t give to turn back the clock and relive it again.
Just to have him next to me, to hear his voice.
I’m a hundred shades of pathetic.
“That sappy look on your face has to stop.” Callie opens a bag of chips and hands them to me. I know it needs to stop. But it’s too soon. Truthfully, I’m still reeling—and starving. A take-out container plops onto my lap. Pad Thai.
“I could seriously kiss you right now,” I say, and crack the top, reveling in the waft of peanut sauce and noodles.
I wolf down the Thai. This, I can do: eat, drink, repeat, until my food is gone. Now if calories would just take the pain away, I’d be all set.
That, and if Dom would just talk to me. He still might not forgive me after I explain, but I need to clear the air about everything. Thinking his name brings the sadness back and boom, just like that, I’m crying again.
“I can’t do this!” I gulp. “I need to talk to him.”
“He’s not ready, Juliet. You have to give him some time.”
There’s a noise from the living room. Emily turns. “What was that? Did someone knock?”