Page 87 of Drowning Erin

“Hair of the dog that bit you,” she says. “It’s the onlyway.”

“What does that have to do with your sluttyunderwear?”

“I wasn’t sure if you had any of your own. I’m saying you need to fix yourself up and get laid. Brendan isn’t the only hot guy in theworld.”

Except he’s the only one I want. I can’t imagine I’ll ever feel otherwise. And I can’t imagine how he was able to feel otherwise the minute Ileft.

* * *

Igetthrough the next days mostly by dreaming that Brendan will make some grand gesture. I picture him waiting on Harper’s steps so he can tell me he was wrong. Or standing outside my window, playing the song we danced to at the wedding loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. Except the guy who can’t even make a small gesture is unlikely to make a grand one anytimesoon.

I leave him a message about picking up my stuff—my running shoes, my favorite jeans—and he waits a full two days to return the call. Waiting two days to call is so casual it's almost as if he's had toforcehimself to do it. I can picture him frowning at the phone, sighing wearily, and deciding he needs to get it overwith.

"Hey," he says, his voice completely unworried, nonchalant. "Got yourmessage."

Oh my God. As if we barely know eachother.

I was hurt before. Now I’m enraged. He has no right to act like we were nothing—either that or he had no right to act like it all meant something when it didn’t. I’m so angry that it’s an effort to speak normally. My words emerge clipped and precise, as if I’m calling someone about getting my furnace lookedat.

"Yes. I need my running shoes. Is there a time when I can come by and getthem?"

He yawns. "I’m on my way out, but I can set them outside the door if you want to get themlater.”

For the first time in days, I’m glad I have plans tonight. "I can't. I'm getting ready to go out todinner."

"Oh yeah,” he drawls. “The big dinner with Rob. How's that going?" He doesn’t sound jealous. He barely even soundsinterested.

"Fine," I tellhim.

I feel spiteful, but it translates, in my voice, to enthusiasm. I’m not getting back together with Rob—I’m certain of it—but fuck Brendan and hisambivalence.

"That's awesome, Erin," he says. "I'm happy foryou."

I want to take the phone and smash it against the counter. Or against his head. "Thanks," I chirp.Fuck you, Brendan. Fuck you fuck you fuckyou.

"So that's it then, huh? 'Mission Make Rob Pull His Head Out of His Ass' worked like a charm," heconcludes.

"Yes, Brendan, I owe it all to you," I saysnidely.

"Hey," he says with a laugh. "You deserve a little credit too. You laid there sowell."

It felt like so much when we were together, and now he's laying it out in a way that makes it nothing if not ugly and cheap—as if I could have been a blow-up doll for all my contribution to theendeavor.

"Fuckyou."

He laughs. "I was just joking," he says, and then his voice grows earnest. "I'm sorry. It was just a stupid joke, babe. I'm really happy foryou."

I don’t want you to be happy for me, Brendan. Your happiness breaks myheart.

61

Erin

Present

Rob picksme up later that night, handing me the most gorgeous bouquet I've everseen.

"You didn't need to do that," I say. His every thoughtful action makes me feelworse.