Page 108 of PS: I Hate You
But when Dom and Rosaline exchange smiles at shared recollections, I try to find something else to look at.
Eventually, we end up at a rooftop bar, Mr.Perry opening a tab and telling us to order whatever we want before pulling his wife onto the dance floor.
But all I want is a moment to practice some breathing exercises because my throat feels tight with an emotion I refuse to dig into. I order a soda water with lime and mentally list off the work tasks I need to complete tomorrow on the flight back to Seattle.
Dom excuses himself to the bathroom, and when Rosaline leans over the bar to order her drink, I mutter a quick “Going to get some air” and slip away to a glass door that leads to an open viewing deck.
Alone, finally, I hold my drink in one hand and place the other on my belly, practicing my diaphragmatic breathing. One technique of a handful my breathing specialist has coached me in for addressing my asthma with more than just medication. I scheduled a series of appointments with her in the lead-up to our Idaho trip.
“Hey, Maddie.” Rosaline appears beside me at the railing, and I try not to flinch away. “How are you doing?”
“Uh, fine.” I drop my hand, pretty sure I look weird during my exercises. “Good. Just, yeah. Fine and good.” When I speak to her,the ease of childhood familiarity is missing. She was close with Josh and Dom, but not me.
I can’t remove my cordial mask and show her my petty temper or even my snarky teasing side. Talking with Rosaline is like meeting with a helpful coworker who is better qualified for my job and likely to get it simply by existing.
Rosaline smiles, her eyes soft, and I can swear she sees right through me. “Okay.” She glances out over the city, then back at me. “If you ever want to talk, I’m here.” A little blush gives her face the perfect amount of color. “I know we don’t do that. Talk. But we could. If you want. Talk about J-Josh.” She stumbles over my brother’s name, and I clutch the cold glass of my drink, wishing I’d opted for booze. “It was nice today. Talking about him. We could do that.” Her manicured nails fiddle with the stem of her wineglass. “Tell stories about him or something. If that helps. To remember him.”
“Oh. Uh, thank you.” I swallow hard and breathe through my nose. “That’s…a kind offer.”
And it is. So fucking kind. Because that’s what Rosaline is. Kind and gracious and caring.
Which is one of the many reasons I find it so hard to be around her. Because with every sweet, thoughtful gesture she makes, I’m reminded of the surly, sarcastic troll person I am at my core.
Just the thought of reminiscing with her about my brother makes me queasy because I know most of her recollections will involve Dom, too. It was the three of them for years, best friends.
What good would those walks down memory lane do?
Remind me of all the times I didn’t see my brother?
Remind her of all the happy moments she spent with Josh and her ex-husband?
Maybe the diagnosis fractured something in their marriage, but I can’t get past the idea that one day, Rosaline will realize her mistake like she did that summer, show up on Dom’s doorstep, and he will take her back.
Excuse me if I don’t want to witness the moment she has that revelation.
“Hey, Maddie.” Dom’s voice pulls me out of my dark thoughts, and I turn to see him standing at the patio door. “I’m beat. You ready to head out?”
“Yes.” I try not to sound desperate, setting my drink down on an empty table and hurrying his way.
“Bye, Ros.” Dom nods to his ex-wife, using his cute nickname for her.
“See you, Dom,” she replies with warm affection in her voice. “Bye, Maddie. Please call me. If you want to talk.”
I nod and force a smile her way without meeting her eyes. Then I dodge around Dom, heading toward the exit. He catches up to me in two steps, placing his hand on my lower back.
“Are you alright?” he asks once we’re in his car. Dom makes no move to start driving, only waits for my response.
“Yep. Just tired.” I manage a yawn that I think is pretty convincing.
But then Dom continues to stare at me, and I know I didn’t fool him.
“Maddie,” he says, voice deep on my name, and I hear the hidden command to tell him what has me in a self-esteem nosedive.
“Dominic.” I mock him with an equally low delivery, trying to use snark to avoid what I cannot say.
Something shifts in the air between us, his attention more intense as he leans toward me. “I did not invite Rosaline,” Dom says, the words heavy between us. “My mom did. Because she knows even though we’re divorced, we still get along. There’s no betrayal or animosity. There’s friendship.”
“That’s good,” I grit out because logically I know it is. “That’s healthy.”