Page 10 of Returned Mail

I look down.

“He won't.” The words hurt more than I expected. “He’s been sleeping with someone else for months,” she continues gently. “And he ended a six-year relationship in one sitting. He was prepared to leave.”

My throat closes.

Ouch bitch.

That fucking hurts. But I know she's right. Lyann is never cruel to me unless I absolutely need to hear something harsh.

Apparently, this is one of those times.

Chapter Three

Mia

“Will I ever stop crying?” I ask Lyann as I walk around the living room.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“No idea.” I glare at her, and she shrugs. “What? I’m being supportive, but I’m not a psychic.”

A laugh escapes me. It was small, full of tears, but real.

I wipe my face again and stand. “I need a drink.” I walk to the little bar cart in the corner and grab a bottle of tequila. Lyann watches me. I sit beside her on the couch with the bottle in my lap. For a long moment, neither of us speaks.

“Are you opening that, or are you just holding it for emotional support?” She asks, looking at the bottle of tequila.

I twist off the cap. “Both.” I take a sip and immediately regret every decision I've ever made. “Fuck.”

Lyann takes the bottle from me. “Amateur.”

She takes a sip, makes the exact same face, and coughs.

I stare at her. “Amateur.”

“Shut up.”

For a while, we pass the bottle between us. Not enough to forget, but enough to make everything feel slightly farther away. “I’m tired of crying,” I say eventually.

Lyann leans her head against the back of the couch. “I know.”

“He doesn’t deserve me.”

“Nope.”

“I know my worth.”

“You do.”

“I've cried enough.”

She turns her head toward me. “That's not how grief works. You don't get to decide you're done just because you're tired.”

I look down at the bottle in my hands. “I hate when you're emotionally intelligent.”

“It's one of my worst qualities.”