5.
Sydney
We don’t interact much while we eat. We’re both sitting in the booth with our backs to the wall and our legs stretched out in front of us on the seats. We’re quietly watching the restaurant crowd, and I can’t stop wondering what it’s like for him, not being able to hear anything going on around us. I’m probably too blunt for my own good, but I have to ask him what’s on my mind.
Me: What’s being deaf like? Do you feel like you’re in on a secret that no one else knows about? Like you have a leg up on everyone because the fact that you can’t hear has magnified all your other senses and you’ve got superhuman powers and no one can tell just by looking at you?
He almost spits out his drink while reading my text. He laughs, and it occurs to me that his laugh is the only sound I’ve heard him make. I know that some people who can’t hear can still talk, but I haven’t heard him say a single word all night. Not even to the waitress. He either points to what he wants on the menu or writes it down.
Ridge: I can honestly say I’ve never thought about it like that before. I kind of like it that you think of it that way, though. To be honest, I don’t think about it at all. It’s normal to me. I have nothing to compare it to, because it’s all I’ve ever known.
Me: I’m sorry. I’m being one of those people again, aren’t I? I guess me asking you to compare being deaf to not being deaf is like you asking me to compare being a girl to being a boy.
Ridge: Don’t apologize. I like that you’re interested enough to ask me about it. Most people are a little weirded out by it, so they don’t say anything at all. I’ve noticed it’s kind of hard to make friends, but that’s also a good thing. The few friends I do have are genuine, so I look at it as an easy way of weeding out all the shallow, ignorant a*sholes.
Me: Good to know I’m not a shallow, ignorant a*shole.
Ridge: Wish I could say the same about your ex.
I sigh. Ridge is right, but damn if it doesn’t sting to know I couldn’t see through Hunter’s bullshit.
I put my phone down and eat the last of my cake. “Thank you,” I say as I put my fork down. I honestly forgot for a while that today was my birthday until he offered to take me out for cake.
He shrugs as if it isn’t a big deal, but it is a big deal. I can’t believe after the day I’ve had that I’m actually in a semidecent mood. Ridge can take credit for that, because if it weren’t for him, I don’t know where I’d be tonight or what kind of emotional state I’d be in.
He takes a drink of his soda, then sits upright in the booth. He nods his head to the door, and I agree that I’m ready to go.
The buzz from the alcohol has worn off, and as we make our way out of the restaurant and back into the dark, I can feel myself beginning to succumb to the heartache again. I guess Ridge sees the look on my face, because he puts his arm around me and briefly squeezes my shoulders. He drops his arm and pulls his phone out.
Ridge: For what it’s worth, he doesn’t deserve you.
Me: I know. But it still hurts that I ever thought he deserved me. And honestly, I’m more hurt about Tori than I am about what happened with Hunter. I’m mostly just pissed at Hunter.
Ridge: Yeah, I don’t even know the guy, and I’ve been pretty pissed at him. I can’t imagine how you must feel. I’m surprised you haven’t retaliated with some evil revenge plot yet.
Me: I’m not that clever. I wish I were, because I’d be all about revenge right now.
Ridge stops walking and turns to face me. He cocks an eyebrow, and a slightly wicked grin appears. It makes me laugh, because I can tell by his smile that he’s mapping out a plan.
“Okay,” I say, nodding my head without even knowing what he’s about to propose. “As long as it doesn’t land us in jail.”
Ridge: Do you know if he leaves his car unlocked?
? ? ?
“Fish?” I ask, crinkling my nose in disgust. We’ve made a pit stop at a local grocery store next to the apartment complex, and he’s buying a huge, scaly whole fish. I’m assuming this has to be part of his elaborate revenge scheme, but he could just be hungry.
Ridge: We need duct tape.
I follow him to the hardware aisle, where he grabs a roll of heavy-duty duct tape.
Fresh fish and duct tape.
I’m still not sure what he has planned, but I sort of like where this is headed.
? ? ?
When we’re back at the apartment, I point out Hunter’s car. I run up to the apartment to grab his spare car key out of my purse, where I still have it, while Ridge wraps the fish with duct tape. I come back downstairs and hand him the key.
Me: So what exactly are we about to do with this fish?
Ridge: Watch and learn, Sydney.
We walk to Hunter’s car, and Ridge unlocks the passenger door. He has me tear off several pieces of duct tape while he reaches under the passenger seat. I’m watching closely—in case I need to seek revenge against anyone in the future—and he presses it against the underside of the seat. I hand him several pieces of duct tape, trying to contain my laughter while he secures the raw fish with it. After he’s sure it won’t come loose, he slides out of the car and closes the door, looking around innocently. My hand is over my mouth, stifling my laughter, and he’s as cool and composed as can be.
We casually walk away from the car, and once we’re on the stairs to the apartment, we begin laughing.
Ridge: His car is going to smell like death in a matter of twenty-four hours. He’ll never find it.
Me: You’re kind of evil. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’ve done this before.
He laughs as we make our way back inside. We kick off our shoes at the door, and he tosses the duct tape onto the counter. I use the bathroom and make sure to unlock the door to his bedroom before I walk back out. In the living room, all the lights are out, except for the lamp by the couch. I lie down and check my phone one last time before turning it on silent.
Ridge: Good night. Sorry your birthday sucked.
Me: Thanks to you, it was better than it could have been.
I place the phone under my pillow and cover up. I close my eyes, and my smile immediately fades when the silence takes over. I can feel the tears coming, so I cover my head with the blanket and brace myself for a long night of heartache. The respite with Ridge was nice, but I have nothing to distract me now from the fact that I’m having the worst day of my life. I can’t understand how Tori could do something like this to me. We’ve been best friends for almost three years. I told her everything. I trusted her with everything. I told her things I would never dream of telling Hunter.
Why would she risk our friendship for sex?
I’ve never felt this hurt. I pull the blanket over my eyes and begin to sob.
Happy birthday to me.
? ? ?
I have the pillow pulled tightly over my head, but it doesn’t drown out the sound of gravel crunching beneath shoes. Why is someone walking on a driveway so noisily? And why can I even hear it?
Wait. Where am I?
Did yesterday really happen?
I reluctantly open my eyes, and I’m met with sunlight, so I pull the pillow tighter over my face and give myself a minute to adjust. The sound seems to get louder, so I lift the pillow from my face and peer out with one eye open. The first thing I see is a kitchen that isn’t mine.
Oh, yeah. That’s right. I’m on Ridge’s couch, and twenty-two is the worst age ever.
I lift the pillow all the way off my head and groan as I squeeze my eyes shut again.
“Who are you and why are you sleeping on my couch?”
My body jumps, and my eyes flick open at the deep voice that can’t be more than a foot away. Two eyes peer down at me. I pull my head back against the couch to put more space between me and the curious eyes to get a better look at who they’re attached to.
It’s a guy. A guy I’ve never seen before. He’s sitting on the floor directly in front of the couch, and he’s holding a bowl. He dips a spoon into the bowl and shoves it into his mouth, then begins the loud crunching again. I’m guessing that’s not gravel he’s eating.
“Are you the new roommate?” he says with his mouth full.
I shake my head. “No,” I mutter. “I’m a friend of Ridge’s.”
He cocks his head and looks at me suspiciously. “Ridge only has one friend,” the guy says. “Me.” He shoves another spoonful of cereal into his mouth and fails to back out of my personal space.
I push my palms into the couch and sit up so that he’s not right in my face. “Jealous?” I ask.
The guy continues to stare at me. “What’s his last name?”
“Whose last name?”
“Your very good friend, Ridge,” he says cockily.
I roll my eyes and drop my head against the back of the couch. I don’t know who the hell this guy is, but I really don’t care to compete over our levels of friendship with Ridge. “I don’t know Ridge’s last name. I don’t know his middle name. The only thing I know about him is that he’s got a mean right hook. And I’m only sleeping on your couch because my boyfriend of two years decided it would be fun to screw my roommate and I really didn’t want to stick around to watch.”
He nods, then swallows. “It’s Lawson. And he doesn’t have a middle name.”
As if the morning could get any worse, Bridgette appears from the hallway and walks into the kitchen.
The guy on the floor takes another spoonful of cereal and looks at Bridgette, finally breaking his uncomfortable lock on me. “Good morning, Bridgette,” he says with an odd, sarcastic tone to his voice. “Sleep well?”
She looks at him briefly and rolls her eyes. “Screw you, Warren,” she snaps.
He turns his gaze back to mine with a mischievous grin. “That’s Bridgette,” he whispers. “She pretends to hate me during the day, but at night, she loves me.”
I laugh, not really trusting that Bridgette is capable of loving anyone.
“Shit!” she yells, catching herself on the bar before she trips. “Jesus Christ!” She kicks one of my suitcases, still on the floor next to the bar. “Tell your little friend if she’s staying here, she needs to take her shit to her room!”
Warren makes a face as if he’s scared for me, then turns his head toward Bridgette. “What am I, your bitch? Tell her yourself.”
Bridgette points to the suitcase she almost tripped over. “GET . . . YOUR . . . SHIT . . . OUT . . . OF . . . THE . . . KITCHEN!” she says, before marching back to her bedroom.
Warren slowly turns his head back to face me and laughs. “Why does she think you’re deaf?”
I shrug. “I have no idea. She came to that conclusion last night, and I failed to correct her.”
He laughs again, much louder. “Oh, this is classic,” he says. “Do you have any pets?”
I shake my head.
“Are you opposed to porn?”
I don’t know how we just began playing Twenty Questions, but I answer him anyway. “Not opposed to the principle of porn but opposed to being featured in one.”
He nods, contemplating my answer for a beat too long. “Do you have annoying friends?”
I shake my head. “My best friend is a backstabbing whore, and I’m no longer speaking to her.”
“What are your showering habits?”
I laugh. “Once a day, with a skipped day every now and then. No more than fifteen minutes.”
“Do you cook?”
“Only when I’m hungry.”
“Do you clean up after yourself?”
“Probably better than you,” I say, taking in the fact that he’s used his shirt for a napkin no fewer than three times during this conversation.
“Do you listen to disco?”
“I’d rather eat barbed wire.”
“All right, then,” he says. “I guess you can stay.”
I pull my feet up and sit cross-legged. “I didn’t realize I was being interviewed.”
He glances at my suitcases, then back to me. “It’s obvious you need a place to stay, and we’ve got an empty room. If you don’t take it, Bridgette wants to move her sister in next month, and that’s the last thing Ridge and I need.”
“I can’t stay here,” I say.
“Why not? From the sound of it, you’re about to spend the day searching for an apartment anyway. What’s wrong with this one? You won’t even have to walk very far to get here.”
I want to say that Ridge is the problem. He’s been nice, but I think that might be the issue. I’ve been single for less than twenty-four hours, and I don’t like the fact that although I should have been consumed with nightmares about Hunter and Tori all night, instead, I had a slightly disturbing dream involving an extremely accommodating Ridge.
I don’t tell Warren that Ridge is why I can’t stay here, though. Partly because that would give Warren more ammunition for questions and partly because Ridge just walked into the kitchen and is looking at us.
Warren winks at me, then stands up and walks with his bowl to the sink. He looks at Ridge. “Have you met our new roommate?” Warren asks.
Ridge signs something to him. Warren shakes his head and signs back. I sit on the couch and watch their silent conversation, slightly in awe that Warren knows sign language. I wonder if he’s learned it for Ridge’s benefit. Maybe they’re brothers? Warren laughs, and Ridge glances in my direction before walking back to his bedroom.
“What did he say?” I ask, suddenly worried that Ridge no longer wants me here.
Warren shrugs and begins walking back toward his bedroom. “Exactly what I thought he’d say.” He walks into his room, then comes back out with a cap on and keys in his hand. “He said you two already worked out a deal.” Warren slips a pair of shoes on by the front door. “Heading to work now. That’s your room if you want to put your stuff in it. You might have to throw all of Brennan’s shit in the corner, though.” He opens the door and steps outside, then turns back around. “Oh. What’s your name?”
“Sydney.”
“Well, Sydney. Welcome to the weirdest place you’ll ever live.” He shuts the door behind him.
I’m not sure I’m comfortable with this, but what other choice do I have? I pull my phone out from under my pillow. I start to text Ridge, because I don’t recall closing a deal last night regarding my living arrangements. Before I finish the text, he sends me one first.
Ridge: Are you okay with this?
Me: Are you?
Ridge: I asked you first.
Me: I guess. But only if you are.
Ridge: Well, then, I guess that means we’re roommates.
Me: If we’re roommates, can you do me a favor?
Ridge: What’s that?
Me: If I ever start dating again, don’t be like Tori and sleep with my boyfriend, okay?
Ridge: I can’t make any promises.
A few seconds later, he walks out of his bedroom and goes straight to my suitcases. He picks them up and carries them through the other bedroom door. He opens it and nods his head toward the room, indicating that I should come with him. I stand up and follow him into the bedroom. He lays the suitcases on the bed, then pulls his phone out again.
Ridge: Brennan still has a lot of stuff in here. I’ll box it up and put it in the corner until he can get it all. Other than that, you might want to change the sheets.
He shoots me a wary look regarding the condition of the sheets, and I laugh. He points to the bathroom.
Ridge: We share the bathroom. Just lock the main door to the hallway and both doors to the bedrooms when you’re in there. I obviously won’t know when you’re in the shower, so unless you want me barging in on you, make sure to lock up.
He walks to the bathroom and flips a light switch on the outside of the door, which turns the lights on and off inside the bathroom, then turns his attention back to the phone.
Ridge: I added switches on the outside because it’s an easy way for someone to get my attention, since I can’t hear a knock. Just flip the switch if you need to come into the bathroom so I’ll know. The whole apartment is set up this way. There’s a switch outside my bedroom door that turns my lights on and off if you need me. But I usually have my phone on me, so there’s always texting.
He shows me where clean sheets are and then cleans out what’s left in the dresser while I put the new sheets on the bed.
“Do I need furniture?”
Ridge shakes his head.
Ridge: He’s leaving it. You can use what’s here.
I nod, taking in the bedroom that has unexpectedly just become my new home. I smile at Ridge to let him know I appreciate his help. “Thank you.”
He smiles back.
Ridge: I’ll be in my room working for the next few hours if you need anything. I have to go to the store this afternoon. You can go with me and get what you need for the apartment.
He backs out of the bedroom and gives me a salute. I sit down on the edge of the bed and salute him back as he shuts the door. I fall back onto the bed and let out a huge sigh of relief.
Now that I have a place to live, all I need is a job. And maybe a car, since Tori and I mostly shared hers. Then maybe I’ll call my parents and tell them I moved.
Or maybe not. I’ll give this place a couple of weeks in order to see how things turn out.
Ridge: Oh, and btw, I didn’t write that on your forehead.
What?
I run to the dresser and look in the mirror for the first time today. Written across my forehead in black ink, it says: Someone wrote on your forehead.
Ridge
Me: Morning. How’s the thesis coming along?
Maggie: Do you want me to sugar-coat it, or are you honestly giving me an opening to vent?
Me: Wide open. Vent away.
Maggie: I’m miserable, Ridge. I hate it. I work on it for hours every day, and I just want to take a bat to my computer and go all Office Space on it. If this thesis were a child, I’d put it up for adoption and not even think twice about it. If this thesis were a cute, fuzzy puppy, I’d drop it off in the middle of a busy intersection and speed away.
Me: And then you would do a U-turn and go back and pick it up and play with it all night.
Maggie: I’m serious, Ridge. I think I’m losing my mind.
Me: Well, you already know what I think.
Maggie: Yes, I know what you think. Let’s not get into that right now.
Me: You’re the one who wanted to vent. You don’t need this kind of stress.
Maggie: Stop.
Me: I can’t, Maggie. You know how I feel, and I’m not keeping my opinion to myself when we both know I’m right.
Maggie: This is exactly why I never whine to you about it, because it always comes back to this same thing. I asked you to stop. Please, Ridge. Stop.
Me: Okay.
Me: I’m sorry. . . .
Me: Now is when you return a text that says, “It’s okay, Ridge. I love you.” . . .
Me: Hello? . . .
Me: Don’t do this, Maggie.
Maggie: Give a girl a minute to pee! Dang. I’m not mad. I just don’t want to talk about it anymore. How are you?
Me: Phew. Good. We got a new roommate.
Maggie: I thought she wasn’t moving in until next month.
Me: No, it’s not Bridgette’s sister. It’s Sydney. The one I was telling you about a few days ago? After I decided to break the news to her about her boyfriend, it left her with nowhere to go. Warren and I are letting her stay here until she finds her own place. You’ll like her.
Maggie: So I guess she believed you about her boyfriend?
Me: Yeah. She was pretty pissed at first that I didn’t tell her sooner, but she’s had a few days to let it sink in, so I think she gets it. So what time will you be here Friday?
Maggie: Not sure. I would say it depends on whether I get enough work done on my thesis, but I’m not mentioning my thesis to you ever again. I guess I’ll get there when I get there.
Me: Well, then, I guess I’ll see you when I see you. Love you. Let me know when you’re on your way.
Maggie: Love you, too. And I know you’re just concerned. I don’t expect you to agree with my decisions, but I do want you to understand them.
Me: I do understand, babe. I do. I love you.
Maggie: Love you, too.
I drop my head forcefully against the headboard and rub my palms up and down my face out of sheer frustration. Of course, I understand her decision, but I’ll never feel good about it. She’s so frustratingly determined I seriously don’t see how I’ll ever get through to her.
I stand up and put my phone into my back pocket, then walk to my bedroom door. When I swing it open, I’m met with a smell that I’m positive is exactly what heaven will smell like.
Bacon.
Warren looks up at me from the dining-room table and grins, pointing to his plate full of food. “She’s a keeper,” he signs. “The eggs suck, though. I’m only eating them because I don’t want to complain, or she might never cook for us again. Everything else is great.” He signs everything he’s saying without verbalizing it. Warren usually verbalizes all of his signed communication, out of respect for others around us. When he doesn’t verbalize, I know he wants our conversation to remain between the two of us.
Like the silent one we’re having right now while Sydney’s in the kitchen.
“And she even asked how we liked our coffee,” he signs.
I glance into the kitchen. Sydney smiles, so I smile back. I’m shocked to see her in a good mood today. After we got back from our trip to the store a few days ago, she’s been spending most of the time in her room. At one point yesterday, Warren went in to ask her if she wanted any dinner, and he said she was on her bed crying, so he backed out and left her alone. I’ve wanted to check on her, but there isn’t really anything I can do to make her feel better. All she can do is give it time, so I’m glad she’s at least out of bed today.
“And don’t look right now, Ridge. But did you see what she’s wearing? Did you see that dress?” He bites the knuckles on his fist and winces, as if simply looking at her is causing him actual physical pain.
I shake my head and take a seat across from him. “I’ll look later.”
He grins. “I’m so glad her boyfriend cheated on her. Otherwise, I’d be eating leftover toothpaste-filled Oreos for breakfast.”
I laugh. “At least you wouldn’t have to brush your teeth.”
“This was the best decision we’ve ever made,” he says. “Maybe later we can talk her into vacuuming in that dress while we sit on the couch and watch.”
Warren laughs at his own comment, but I don’t crack a smile. I don’t think he realizes he signed and spoke that last sentence. Before I can tell him, a biscuit comes hurtling past my head and smacks him in the face. He jumps back in shock and looks at Sydney. She’s walking to the table with a Don’t mess with me look on her face. She hands me a plate of food, then sets her own plate down in front of her and takes a seat.
“I said that out loud, didn’t I?” Warren asks. I nod. He looks at Sydney, and she’s still glaring at him. “At least I was complimenting you,” he says with a shrug.
She laughs and nods once, as if he just made a good point. She picks up her phone and begins to text. She glances at me briefly, giving her head a slight shake when my phone vibrates in my pocket. She texted me something but apparently doesn’t want me to make it obvious. I casually slide my hand into my pocket and pull my phone out, then read her text under the table.
Sydney: Don’t eat the eggs.
I look at her and arch an eyebrow, wondering what the hell is wrong with the eggs. She casually sends another text while she holds a conversation with Warren.
Sydney: I poured dish soap and baby powder in them. It’ll teach him not to write on my forehead again.
Me: WTH? When are you going to tell him?
Sydney: I’m not.
Warren: What are you and Sydney texting about?
I look up to see Warren holding his phone, staring at me. He picks up his fork and takes another bite of the eggs, and the sight makes me laugh. He lunges across the table and grabs my phone out of my hands, then begins scrolling through the texts. I try to grab it back from him, but he pulls his arm out of my reach. He pauses for a few seconds as he reads, then immediately spits his mouthful back onto his plate. He tosses me back my phone and reaches for his glass. He calmly takes a drink, sets it back down on the table, then pushes his chair back and stands up.
He points to Sydney. “You just messed up, little girl,” he says. “This means war.”
Sydney is smirking at him with a challenging gleam in her eye. Once Warren walks back to his bedroom and shuts his door, she loses the confident smirk and turns to me, wide-eyed.
Sydney: Help me! I need ideas. I suck at pranks!
Me: Yeah, you do. Dish soap and baby powder? You need serious help. Good thing you have the master on your side.
She grins, then begins eating her breakfast.
I don’t even get my first bite down before Bridgette walks out of her room, sans smile. She walks straight to the kitchen and proceeds to make herself a plate of food. Warren returns from his room and sits back down at the table.
“I walked away for dramatic effect,” he says. “I wasn’t finished eating yet.”
Bridgette sits, takes a bite of bacon, then looks over at Sydney. “DID . . . YOU . . . MAKE . . . THIS?” she says, pointing at the food dramatically. I cock my head, because she’s talking to Sydney the same way she talks to me. As if she’s deaf.
I look over at Sydney, who nods a response to Bridgette. I look back at Bridgette, and she says, “THANK . . . YOU!” She takes a bite of the eggs.
And she spits them right back out onto her plate.
She coughs and rushes to take a drink, then pushes away from the table. She looks back at Sydney. “I . . . CAN’T . . . EAT . . . THIS . . . SHIT!” She walks back to the kitchen, drops her food in the trash, and heads back to her bedroom.
The three of us break out into laughter after her door closes. When the laughter subsides, I turn to Warren.
“Why does Bridgette think Sydney is deaf?”
Warren laughs. “We don’t know,” he says. “But we don’t feel like correcting her just yet.”
I laugh on the outside, but inside I’m a little confused. I don’t know when Warren began referring to himself and Sydney as we, but I’m not sure I like it.
? ? ?
My bedroom light flicks on and off, so I close my laptop and walk to the door. I open it, and Sydney is standing in the hallway, holding her laptop. She hands me a piece of paper.
I already finished my homework for the rest of the week. I even cleaned the entire apartment, excluding Bridgette’s room, of course. Warren won’t let me watch TV because it’s not my night, whatever that means. So I was hoping I could hang out with you for a little while? I have to keep my mind busy, or I’ll start thinking about Hunter again, and then I’ll start feeling sorry for myself, and then I’ll want Pine-Sol, and I really don’t want to have any Pine-Sol, because I don’t want to become a raging alcoholic like you.
I smile, step aside, and motion her into my bedroom. She looks around. The only place to sit is my bed, so I point to it, then take a seat and pull my laptop onto my lap. She sits on the other side of the bed and does the same.
“Thanks,” she says with a smile. She opens her laptop and drops her eyes to the screen.
I tried not to take Warren’s advice this morning about admiring the dress she had on today, but it was hard not to look, especially when he so blatantly pointed it out. I’m not sure what kind of weird thing he and Bridgette have going on, but it rubs me the wrong way that he and Sydney seem to have hit it off so well.
And it really rubs me the wrong way that it rubs me the wrong way. I don’t look at her like that, so I don’t understand why I’m sitting here thinking about it. And if she were standing next to Maggie, there wouldn’t be a doubt in my mind that Maggie is more physically my type. Maggie is petite, with dark eyes and straight black hair. Sydney is the complete opposite. She’s taller than Maggie—pretty average height—but her body is a lot more defined and curvy than Maggie’s. Sydney definitely fills out the dress well, which is why Warren liked it. At least she changed into shorts before showing up at my bedroom door. That helps a little. The tops she wears are usually way too big for her, and they hang off her shoulders, which makes me think she took a lot of Hunter’s T-shirts with her when she packed her bags.
Maggie’s hair is always straight, whereas Sydney’s is hard to figure out. It seems to change with the weather, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. The first time I saw her sitting on her balcony, I thought she had brown hair, but it turns out her hair was just wet. After playing guitar for about an hour that night, I looked at her as she was walking back inside her apartment, and her hair had dried completely and was in piles of blond waves that fell past her shoulders. Today it’s curly and pulled up into a messy knot on top of her head.
Sydney: Stop staring at me.
Shit.
I laugh and attempt to brush away whatever the hell that internal detour was I just took.
Me: You look sad.
The first night she showed up here, she seemed happier than she does right now. Maybe it just took time for reality to sink in.
Sydney: Is there a way we can chat on the computer? It’s a lot easier for me than texting.
Me: Sure. What’s your last name? I’ll friend you on Facebook.
Sydney: Blake.
I open my laptop and search her name. When I find her profile, I send her a friend request. She accepts it almost instantly, then shoots me a message.
Sydney: Hello, Ridge Lawson.
Me: Hello, Sydney Blake. Better?
She nods.
Sydney: You’re a computer programmer?
Me: Already stalking my profile? And yes. I work from home. Graduated two years ago with a degree in computer engineering.
Sydney: How old are you?
Me: 24.
Sydney: Please tell me 24 is a lot better than 22.
Me: 22 will be good for you. Maybe not this week or next week, but it’ll get better.
She sighs and puts one of her hands up to the back of her neck and rubs it, then begins typing again.
Sydney: I miss him. Is that crazy? I miss Tori, too. I still hate them and want to see them suffer, but I miss what I had with him. It’s really starting to hurt. When it first happened, I thought maybe I was better off without him, but now I just feel lost.
I don’t want to be harsh in my response, but at the same time, I’m not a girl, so I’m not about to tell her that what she’s feeling is normal. Because to me, it’s not normal.
Me: You only miss the idea of him. You weren’t happy with him even before you found out he was cheating. You were only with him because it was comfortable. You just miss the relationship, but you don’t miss Hunter.
She looks up at me and cocks her head, narrowing her eyes in my direction for a few seconds before dropping them back to the computer.
Sydney: How can you say I wasn’t happy with him? I was. Until I found out what he was doing, I honestly thought he was the one.
Me: No. You didn’t. You wanted him to be, but that’s not how you really felt.
Sydney: You’re kind of being a jerk right now, you know that?
I set my laptop beside me and walk to my desk. I pick up my notebook and a pen and go back to the bed and take a seat next to her. I flip open my notebook to the first set of lyrics she sent me.
Read these, I write at the top of the page. I set the notebook in her lap.
She looks down at the lyrics, then takes the pen. I don’t need to read them, she writes. I wrote them.
I scoot closer to her and put the notebook in my lap, then circle a few lines of her chorus. I point to them again. Read these as if you weren’t the one who wrote them.
She reluctantly looks down at the notebook and reads the chorus.
You don’t know me like you think you do
I pour me one, when I really want two
Oh, you’re living a lie
Living a lie
You think we’re good, but we’re really not
You coulda fixed things, but you missed your shot
You’re living a lie
Living a lie
When I’m certain she’s had time to read them, I pick up the pen and write: These words came from somewhere inside you, Sydney. You can tell yourself you were better off with him, but read the lyrics you wrote. Go back to what you were feeling when you wrote them. I circle several lines, then read her words along with her.
With a right turn, the tires start to burn
I see your smile, it’s been hiding for a while
For a while
Your foot pushes down against the ground
Your world starts to blur, can’t remember who you were
Who you were
I look at her, and she’s still staring at the paper. A single tear trickles down her cheek, and she quickly wipes it away.
She picks up the pen and begins writing. They’re just words, Ridge.
I reply, They’re your words, Sydney. Words that came from you. You say you feel lost without him, but you felt lost even when you were with him. Read the rest.
She inhales a deep breath, then looks down at the paper again.
I yell, slow down, we’re almost out of time
The road gets rough, have you had enough
Enough
You look at me, start heading for a tree
I open up the door, can’t take any more
Any more
Then I say,
You don’t know me like you think you do
I pour me one, when I really want two
Oh, you’re living a lie
Living a lie
You think we’re good, but we’re really not
You coulda fixed things, but you missed your shot
You’re living a lie
Living a lie.