Page 100 of Love Expert

She tried. And tried. And tried. And tried again.

So many men. So many first dates and the smell of new, strange colognes in my house.

The more she tried, the meaner she got, and the meaner she got, the more obsessedIbecame with proving true love still existed.

I stare down at my phone, watching as her name flashes, flashes, flashes for attention. But I don’t answer it. I can’t. Not while Jeremy’s loudtears penetrate the hall and my name on his tongue weaves through the newly closed curtain and wraps a vise around my heart.

I want Maggie. Not more cream! It hurts, Daddy. I want Maggie!

“Knock, knock.” A hand emerges on my side of the curtain, then Rose’s sweet, smiling face as she peeks around the material. “Hey. Can I come in?”

I back up until I feel the edge of the bed on my butt, then I drop, twisting on the hard surface and curling into a ball. And now that I’m down, I cry. I cry so hard, I can’t catch my breath. But that’s because I do it on the inside.Silent. I trap every morsel of sound inside my chest, because I refuse to allow my pain to become Jeremy’s pain.

I want Maggie.

“It’s gonna be okay.” Rose drags the visitor chair closer and peels my phone from my burned hand, powering it down so we don’t have to listen while my past actively haunts me. She presents a cold pack, already covered in paper towel, and lays it over my aching hand. “You’re way too accustomed to hurting alone.” She strokes my hair, something no woman has done since before my eighth birthday, and slides the tip of her finger along the bridge of my nose.

Besides Jeremy, no one has done that for me since before my dad died.

“I was so judgmental of Billy when I first came back to town,” I whimper. “It felt like Jeremy was always getting hurt and never properly supervised.”

“And then he went and got hurt tonight,” she sighs. “While under your supervision.”

I try so hard to clamp my jaw shut. Anything to stop the quivering. Anything to save me from how it trembles.

“He’s a normal little boy. He’s energetic and silly and adventurous. These are the things little boys do.”

“I should’ve watched him better,” I choke out. “I was so focused on me and Billy, I wasn’t paying attention to the most important thing of all.”

“It’s ok?—”

“I’ve become just like the person I moved here to escape,” I sob. “Single, bitter, working at a diner, and more interested in my love life than I am with the kid who deserves my attention.” I bury my face in the starchy pillowcase and pray it’s enough to stifle the sounds of my sorrow. “He deserves better.”

ROUND THIRTY-SIX

BILLY

2 weeks later

I saw the announcement in the newspaper earlier this week. Maggie’s having a yard sale.

Everything must go,the ad said.Furniture, decor, rugs, silverware, and more.

It was listed as a one-day sale.No reasonable offer would be refused.

Fuck.

I watch from my prime position on my porch as Maggie’s yard floods with scavengers begging to tear through another person’s private property. As little old ladies trample Maggie’s lavender garden and pick through boxes laid out on trestle tables. They find teapots I remember Patrice pouring from over the years. Cups and saucer sets I’ve drunk from. Wall paintings I personally watched Patrice paint herself. These people flick through her clothes, all hung neatly on a rack, and gossip noisily among themselves.

I remember when she’d wear this godawful dress to bingo! Don’t you?

She doesn’t even have nice things.

That girl is overcharging. Why on earth would anyone pay these prices for secondhand goods?

I wrap my hand around the armrest of my chair, grind the enamel from my teeth, and stare at Maggie most of all. Because I didn’t say goodbye to her that last time at the hospital. I just let her go. Like a fucking asshole, Ilet her walk away, even after Rose told me the statistics behind MV accidents to and from the hospital.

Like I haven’t already lost enough, I practically fucking dared the universe to take her from me. Without saying goodbye. Without asking her to stay.