He was just an asshole.
An asshole who, despite what I hoped, I don’t think ever loved me.
Ever.
“I made his groomsmen gifts,” I say, my voice low.
“I know,” Cami says, and I wonder if she sees it, the switch being flipped in me.
“I listened to John Mayer. After he was the world’s biggest douche.” Cami cringes but nods.
“I know, honey.”
“I didn’t have that bachelorette in Vegas because he said it made him uncomfortable, then he went to a strip club with his buddies while I stayed home and made his gifts.”
“I’d like it on record I told you I didn’t like you choosing a Sunday brunch as your bachelorette because of him but that I would love you despite your terrible decisions,” Cici says from where she’s sitting.
She did.
She so did, and I laughed it off because she just didn’t get it.
I thought that was just what you did when you were in love.
Why didn’t my brain ever think that if you’re in love, you shouldn’t have to give up things or sacrifice yourself for it?
It should be simple.
“I gave up peanut butter for him!” I say, panic creeping into my words.
“Why do I feel like of the things you just named, that’s what you’re most upset about?”
“Because it’s upsetting! Years without the peanut butter Christmas trees? Or eggs? Or pumpkins? Do you know how depressing that is?” I stare at the wall, the one across from the hotel room bed with the ugly, abstract art I was sure would be the first thing I saw the morning after I finally became Mrs. Bradley Reed. After I looked at my new husband’s smiling face, of course.
“I did everything for him.” I say the words low and filled with pain, but I don’t finish the sentence out loud.
I did everything for him and it wasn’t enough.
I gave up huge chunks of myself—my time, my ambition, my . . . personality, even—and it wasn’t enough to make him love me, not really.
What does that say about me?
Me, a person who so very profoundly wants to be accepted, wants others to like her and view her as valuable, wasn’t enough when I gave someone my all.
What does that mean?
My best friend breaks into my mild mental breakdown.
“You do everything for everyone, Liv. That’s your problem—you put everyone else first at the expense of yourself,” Cici says, a hand on my shoulder. “Maybe this is a sign to take care of Olivia.”
“Or maybe he was just always a piece of shit and you dodged a bullet,” Cami says under her breath.
“Cami!”
“Tell me I’m wrong,” she says with a bored expression.
Cici can’t defend him.
And I’m starting to realize right now that neither can I.
“But in all serious, Liv . . . maybe Cici’s right,” Cami says, moving closer as well. “Maybe you should take this as a sign. I’ve known you for three years and never, I mean never, Olivia, have you done something selfish. Never have you looked at the world and said fuck it, never have you put yourself first.”
“Cam, love you, but we met because I was terrorizing you.”
“And you sure as fuck weren’t doing it for yourself,” she says. “You were doing it to keep the twins content in order to keep your mom happy.”
I roll my lips between my teeth before opening my mouth to argue because that’s not totally true.
“And before you say you were doing that so you would get your trust, please remember you gave up any chance of getting your trust early in order to save your father’s business.” I shrug it off.
“I started a business with you—a lot of that is for me. My mother would have rather I became a socialite looking for a husband. I didn’t do that for her.”
“So not a single part of starting a business with me was to make your grandfather proud?”
She stares at me, knowing the truth, and goddammit.
“I’m not saying Event Press isn’t your passion, Liv. I’m just saying, when was the last time you did something for you and no one else?”
I stare back.
Then I look away because Cami’s gaze can burn a hole straight through your subconscious if you’re not careful.
But the damage has already been done.
Her words have hit their mark and I’m thinking about it, really taking it in.
When was the last time I was selfish? When was the last time the people pleaser went back into hiding, the last time I banished her to get what I wanted solely for myself?
My body breaks out in a cold sweat because . . .
I don’t know.
I don’t know.
Oh god.
Oh god.
The panic creeps in, starting in my chest and slowly seeping out, like blood in the ocean, before I shake my head.
Nope. I don’t have time for this. No way.
Slowly, I force it back into the bottle, imagining the strands as some kind of corporeal thing I can grab and stuff back in meticulously before putting the stopper back on. Because even now, even as I realize just how detrimental my people pleasing is and how I might need to make some kind of real and concrete change in my life, I know having another meltdown would hurt Cami and Cici.
It would hurt my dad.
And they don’t deserve that. The same way I don’t deserve being left by Bradley, they don’t deserve to have to worry about me.
Still, in this moment, I make a promise to myself.
I’d, at the very least, try.
Try to do things for me.
To put myself first, to be selfish.
A small smile pulls at the corner of my lips with this new resolution, and though the weight is still heavy—so fucking heavy—it’s like there’s some kind of hope, a light at the end of the tunnel.
If I’m brave enough to walk toward it, that is.
My smile must clue Cami into a break in the hurricane of my sadness. It might just be the eye of the storm, a bit of peace before the tail end hits even harder, but for this small moment in time, I’m . . . okay.
“Let’s have your dad order food and we’ll drink all the Champagne and you can get your tears out,” Cami says with a smile, standing up to get her phone.
I shake my head, reaching to grab her wrist to stop her.
“Oh, no, I’m done crying,” I say then stand, grabbing a few of the straggler tissues I missed to toss in the garbage. My movements aren’t dazed and slow anymore, but sure and assured.
I’m on a mission.
No more moping, no more sadness.
I’m on a mission for myself.
To find myself, maybe.
Because I think I just now realized I don’t know who I am when I’m being what everyone needs me to be.
“What?” Cami asks, confused.
“It’s totally okay to cry, Liv,” Cici says, clearly thinking I’m putting on a brave face for their benefit.
And I am, but also . . . I’m not.
“I know that. Crying is good, but I’m done.” I shrug my shoulders like it’s no big deal. “He’s not worth it.”
It’s true but also a lie.
The first plan of action in my prioritize Livi plan is, I need them out of here.
I need alone time.
I need time to think about what happened, about who I am now and how to move forward with this new version of me I’m determined to craft from the wreckage.