Cindi Madsen - Cinderella Screwed Me Over

I sniffed and started for the door.

Jake was faster.

He blocked the exit. “I’m not letting you leave until you allow me to explain a few things.”

“I’m sure your explanation will be charming and full of crap. So no thanks.”

Jake crossed his arms, not moving from his spot in the doorway. “Shannon and I had only been engaged a few months when I decided to leave my dad’s company and open the restaurant. She moved to Denver with me, but she missed New York, her friends, and her family. We started fighting about everything. From how to load the dishwasher, to coasters under glasses, to how loud I was in the morning. I couldn’t do anything right.”

Jake ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying it was all her fault. I was putting everything into opening the restaurant, gone all the time, and she and I grew apart. The little bit of time we spent together, we hardly talked. I always had to guess what she was thinking, because she wouldn’t just tell me, and when I couldn’t figure it out, she’d get even angrier.”

He reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “That’s why I like that you tell me how you feel. When we fought about my being on the phone last night, I was frustrated, but you were right. Sometimes I get so focused on work, I neglect everything else in my life. I don’t want to do it again.” He ran his hand down my arm. “Not with you.”

“So you’re telling me that it doesn’t matter that you called off your engagement because it just wasn’t right?”

“It wasn’t right. It’s lucky we realized that before we committed to spending the rest of our lives together.”

A mirthless laugh escaped my lips. “That’s the thing. People think everything will magically work out with someone else. But it’s the same, no matter who you’re with. Passion fades, problems arise, the world gets in the way, or you meet someone else new and exciting. Then everyone justifies that they tried, making it okay to cheat or to walk away.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little hypocritical to lecture me on commitment when you have a problem with it, too? How many failed relationships have you had?”

“None that ever went as far as engagement,” I shot back.

“And with all the walls you throw up, you never will.”

I stared at him, jaw clenched, for several seconds before I found words to respond to that. “I’ve always said that relationships aren’t meant to last. You’re the one who insisted that as long as there’s love and commitment and all that other bullshit, you could make it work.” I couldn’t look at him anymore. I paced the tiny place, mad at him for doing this to me, mad at myself for building him up so much in my mind that I thought he’d be different.

“I was willing to try to fix my relationship with Shannon,” Jake said. “Even though things were bad between us, our families were old friends, she and I had a long history, and she’d moved to Denver with me.” The muscles along Jake’s jaw tightened. “But she’d already met someone else. According to her, she never cheated on me—physically, at least—but she fell in love with him. So we broke up and I moved out.”

His eyes locked onto mine. I stared back, not knowing what to say. “You’re not the only one who’s been hurt before,” he said. “It sucks, I get it. But the giving up on everybody option sucks, too.”

Yes, it did. But it was the safest option as well. “She’s out there in the restaurant right now, Jake. That doesn’t say you’re over her.”

“Because of her credit, she had trouble getting a loan. Our old place was in my name, so I rented it to her. She and Andrew—who’s her fiancé now—just bought the house from me. We’re heading over to the realtor’s office to take care of all the closing stuff as soon as he gets here.” Jake stepped forward and put his hands on my hips. “I swear I was going to tell you, but I knew admitting I had been engaged before would scare you. I wanted to wait until you knew you could trust me.”

Tears blurred my vision; my throat tightened. “This just proves I can’t trust you.”

“No, you’re looking for a way to prove your theory instead of really listening to me. You never gave this a chance because you wanted to find a reason.” He held my gaze for a few beats and then dropped his hands.

“I tried.” I wrapped my arms around myself, wishing I could curl up in a ball until none of me was left. “I just need some space right now.”

Jake hung his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s never going to change, is it? I thought…” He shook his head, and then he looked at me as if he was waiting for something. He let out a rough exhale. “I’ll make it easy and give you plenty of space. Good-bye, Darby. I hope you find what you’re looking for someday.”

A heaviness entered my chest, and no matter how many times I swallowed, the tears lodged in my throat wouldn’t go away.

Jake hesitated in the doorway, and without looking back said, “Maybe if you’d have looked for a reason to be with me instead of dump me, you would’ve found one.”

The days after my talk with Jake had gone horribly wrong weren’t pretty. I moped, watched hours of the most skuzzy, awful reality TV, and cursed all happy couples—real and fictional. Panicked I’d bump into him, I rushed in and out of my building like a paranoid lunatic. Having to go through that stress every day was why I had a rule about getting involved with people I couldn’t avoid. I’d outdone myself with Jake. I could avoid Blue, but I couldn’t really avoid where I lived.

Relief filled me at the end of the day when I was tucked into my condo with nowhere else to go. I’d poke at whatever I managed to make for dinner—usually a frozen microwave meal with more frost than food—and feel sorry for myself. It was ridiculous, considering Jake and I had only known each other a couple of months.

On Friday, I dug the Post-it with Porter’s number out of my purse and stuck it on my fridge. Every time I saw it I’d stare at it for a few seconds. Then I’d walk on.

Saturday afternoon—after a tube of uncooked cookie dough and a Lifetime movie—I broke down and called Porter.

“It’s about time,” he said when he answered. “So when are we going out?”

…

I’d tried to organize Stephanie’s bachelorette party, but she kind of took over, and it ended up being more structured than I’d planned on making it: drinks at Tryst, no cutesy bridal stuff, and no males anywhere close to her.

Laura, a girl from Steph’s work, tried to slip on a tiara-veil-thing as we followed the hostess to our table. “It’ll be so cute, and then everyone will know that you’re getting married.”

Steph shot me a look, and I knew I was supposed to take care of it. I took the veil and put it in my purse. “I’ll just set it aside so Stephanie can have it as a keepsake.”

The seven women in our party settled into a large booth in the back. Out of the seven, two weren’t married—Stephanie, the bride-to-be, and me. That, paired with the fact we were in an isolated area of Tryst, made this night more of a girls’ night out than a party.

I thought back to some of the crazy bachelorette parties I’d attended in my twenties. Compared to those, Stephanie’s was pathetic. Women told stories about their husbands; I heard stories about their kids. One about potty training was especially detailed and painful to sit through. All the women gushed about Anthony and what an amazing couple he and Stephanie made, while I started tossing back drinks. When the waiter came by, I asked for a sex on the beach and told him to keep them coming. The party got more interesting from there.