Not the Marrying Kind Read online

  45

  Fiona

  Two weeks later

  I couldn’t believe I’d once been so cavalier about never having a broken heart before.

  Because my heart was currently shattered into a million fucking pieces, and I was certain it would never heal. A deep, unyielding ache had settled into that space to the left of my sternum. It never, ever abated.

  And I’d heard that breakups were something everyone eventually got over. I was getting worse every day though, like a cold I couldn’t shake.

  I had called and texted Max a number of times.

  All had gone unanswered. Which meant my regret—at how I handled things, at how I communicated—grew more and more intense until it was basically part of my everyday life now.

  I walked up to my parents’ door, overnight bag in hand. With the help of Roxy, they’d managed to convince me to stay over for the weekend. Edward would be there too, along with Matilda, Busy Bee, Apple, and Cucumber. They’d promised movies and good whiskey and too much pizza.

  I’d caved and said yes. Even though I’d spent the past fourteen days throwing myself into work with a dedication bordering on unhealthy. My body was breaking down in every single way—not just my bruised and broken heart. I was exhausted. Dehydrated from crying. Raw and impossibly tender.

  I knocked, and Roxy opened the door immediately, holding a cat. “Prepare for a weekend of animal therapy plus alcohol.”

  “I’ve never wanted anything more,” I said.

  Actually, that wasn’t true. I wanted Max more.

  She pulled me in for a long hug. My sister had dutifully taken care of me since I was no longer taking care of myself. She supplied meals and water and checked on me to make sure I was bathing semi-regularly. We had re-hashed the breakup to death, and she had listened, kindly, every time I wanted to go over the details again.

  “How many spreadsheets have you made today?” she asked.

  “None.”

  “Fiona Lennox Quinn.”

  I relented. “Okay six, but that’s not bad.”

  I may have started a whole new category of spreadsheets concerning my future husband. Who I really, really believed to be Max. But two weeks without hearing from him was helping me understand just what our breakup had truly meant.

  He wasn’t going to be that guy who commits. I really did need to move on now. Luckily, given my experience with Max, I now knew what I wanted on a first date.

  I just needed to summon up the enthusiasm to put my new systems and processes to work.

  “We’ll talk about this spreadsheet addiction later,” she said. “For now, let’s drink on the couch and have Mom and Dad order takeout.”

  I walked into our living room to find Edward, sprawled sleeping on the couch with a dozing Matilda. My parents were watching an old Katherine Hepburn movie I loved.

  “Wait,” I said. “You’re not making us watch documentaries about war crimes?”

  Movies, for my parents, meant documentaries about political activism or biopics about musicians. Anything else wasn’t allowed.

  “We are not,” my dad said. “Did you know this woman was in all of these great movies, Fi?”

  “Katherine Hepburn?”

  “Yes! A national treasure, and I had no idea.”

  Roxy and I shared an amused look. “I thought it could be a Fiona-themed weekend. We could do things that you enjoy.” She left off the unspoken part: for once.

  “That would be really nice,” I admitted. My mom patted the spot next to her on the couch. Roxy and I piled in under a giant blanket and passed a bottle of whiskey back and forth.

  “Roxy made us call one of those phone numbers on the fridge too,” Mom said somberly. “As part of the Fiona weekend.”

  “You made your doctor’s appointments?” I was stunned.

  “Yes, after all of these months.”

  “Years,” I corrected.

  My mom patted my arm. “It doesn’t matter, dear. Our healthcare system in this country is- built on a system of money-making lies.”

  I stifled a laugh. Exchanged another look with my sister. “Yeah, but you still need to get your flu shots.”

  “If you insist.”

  I snuggled under the blanket and felt the most like myself in these past two weeks. The heartbreak wasn’t gone—it stayed, persistent, even as I laughed with my parents and dozed lazily on the couch before eating pizza.

  But it was the reminder I’d needed that there were people here to catch me when I fell.

  And I’d fallen.

  Big time.

  46

  Max

  The bike I was working on was—technically—a thing of fucking beauty. A miracle of a machine. So rare, and expensive, I’d had to sign an NDA just to touch it. Its owner was a local billionaire with too much time on his hands and not enough motorcycles, in his opinion.

  For any mechanic, working on this machine would be an honor.

  Except for me, apparently. It was nearing lunch, and I hadn’t slept, again. I was staring at my hands while thinking about Fiona’s smile, spacey and unfocused. My head throbbed. My chest hurt. My eyes were red and itchy from lack of sleep and crying.

  It had not been a good two weeks here in California.

  “Devlin.”

  Charlie’s voice was sharp, and it snapped my head up. “Yeah, what’s up, boss?”

  He walked over with a cup of coffee and a scowl. “You okay? You look sick.”

  “Oh, yeah. Not sick. Just havin’ trouble sleeping. New job nerves, I guess,” I finished quickly. I didn’t want Charlie to think I was too unstable to do this job.

  His eyebrows knit together like he was concerned. I was still within my thirty-day trial period, so my behavior was under a microscope. Even the bikes I worked on, this one included, came with heavy supervision given that I was new in the shop and they had a perfect reputation to uphold. I didn’t mind it. And honestly, I hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in two weeks. A little supervision was needed.

  “Alright,” he said. But he didn’t really seem convinced. “We’re all going to the bar after work tonight. Wanna grab a beer?”

  I wanted to sleep.

  Scratch that. I wanted Fiona.

  “Probably,” I hedged. I usually loved going out with my coworkers at past jobs. It was an easy way to make friends. I’d said no to every invitation, though, and it felt like a test I was failing. You didn’t have to get along with the other mechanics. But there were some unspoken rules in the bike world and being able to grab a beer and shoot the shit was one of them.

  “I mean yes. I do.” I laughed. “A couple beers would probably help me sleep, huh?”

  “Puts me out,” he said. “You settling in okay with your apartment?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  Charlie looked like he wanted to say more. But instead he walked back into the office and left me to it. Rusty’s wasn’t a big shop—there was room for about four mechanics, and some work was done in the large lot out back. The other mechanics seemed nice, and there was always good music on and hot coffee in the back. The bikes were amazing and fulfilled every dream. I didn’t have a reason to complain.

  I was just miserable. Totally, completely, fucking miserable.

  My phone rang—Mateo calling. Checking to make sure Charlie was busy, I slipped out the side door to stand beneath the warm L.A. sun. It was pretty here. Beautiful. I’d explored some beaches and canyons and taken a couple nice rides.

  And then I’d gone home, stared at my television, feeling depressed. And then lay in bed, wide awake, feeling like shit. My days were usually a combination of miserable then depressed then shitty.

  “It’s good to hear your voice,” I said as I answered the phone. “I miss you.”

  “Miss you too, hermanito,” Mateo said. “We were with Pop and Angela last night. There was a great show at The Red Room, and we got both Angela and your dad out on the dance floor.”

  I propped my boot up on the wall and
enjoyed the sun on my face. “He’s so in love, and it’s so obvious.”

  Pop and I spoke every other day right now. I was homesick for the first time ever, and I think he knew. Sometimes it was only for a few minutes, but he’d at least grumpily check in, ask me if I was eating, then tell me to call Fiona.

  Every time.

  “Rafael and I got your recommendations for our Vegas bachelor party.”

  “And?” I asked.

  “Some very dangerous ideas, but I like the overall theme.”

  “Is bungee jumping over a pit of tigers dangerous?” I asked. I’d sent Mateo the wildest activities I could find. It was the best night I’d spent here so far, dreaming of a time eight months from now when I’d get to be with my best friends again.

  “We’ll see, I guess,” he said, laughing.

  I rubbed my thumb against my bottom lip. “I got your wedding invitation yesterday.”

  “Good,” he said smoothly. “First time I’ve ever known an address to send it to.”

  I squinted into the sun, unsure of what to say next. In my darkest moments, I didn’t think I’d get invited to Mateo and Rafael’s wedding. Not because they were bad people, but because I’d been such a terrible friend, I would have deserved it. I would have gladly planned their bachelor party even if I didn’t get to see the ceremony. But it had arrived yesterday and had been my only glimmer of happiness in days.

  “Thank you for inviting me,” I said. “I mean it. You didn’t have to forgive me like that. You didn’t have to—”

  “Grudges are only good if the other person refuses to change and stays an asshole,” Mateo interrupted. “You, my friend, heard my message loud and clear. We want you there. You’re family. My brother should be standing up there with me on the most important day of my life.”

  “You’re serious?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I am,” he said. “And in case you didn’t catch it, I’m asking you to be my best man.”

  I sucked in a breath. Then grinned up at the sun. “Nothing would make me prouder than standing with you on your wedding day.”

  “This makes me so happy, I can’t even say,” Mateo said. “My mother is going to cry her eyes out when I tell her.”

  “Should I send her flowers, just in case?”

  “Aw, she’d love that,” Mateo said. “I have another idea. You could take Fiona as your date.”

  The sound of her name was like taking a slap to the face. I winced, rubbed my chest. “Shit, I, um… I don’t know.”

  “Max, how are you doing really?” His voice was too nice. I was going to lose it on the phone. My second night here, I’d called Mateo, who’d put Rafael on speakerphone, and I’d delivered the news of our breakup. The more I talked about it, the more I was convinced that I’d made the right call, even if I felt like I’d been run over by one hundred trucks in a row. I knew it would hurt now, for a little while, but I’d be back to my old ways in no time. Just like usual. Just like my mom.

  Fiona deserved a man who would stay forever.

  But now, two weeks later, everything felt worse.

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  “On a scale of one to ten,” Mateo said. “One being that you’ve had sex with a different woman every night since being in L.A., and ten being that you cry yourself to sleep surrounded by empty ice cream containers… where are you?”

  I snorted and then said, “Oh, ten, of course.”

  Mateo went quiet.

  I went quiet.

  I hadn’t lied when Mateo and I had spoken a week ago. I thought things were still kinda normal. I felt fucking awful but also knew it had to let up at some point. So I hadn’t really mentioned it.

  “Max,” he said gently. “Are you pining for Fiona?”

  “Pining is a fucking understatement,” I said bitterly.

  “You want me and Rafael to fly out there?”

  I rubbed the back of my neck, suddenly about to cry again. “I’m really okay.”

  My voice wavered. The first week I thought about our breakup constantly. Every word I’d said, the look on her face, the feeling I had in my stomach—like a knife was gutting me.

  The second I stepped onto that fire escape and saw you, I felt it. Sparks, chemistry, a connection. Fate, the universe, destiny. Did you feel it too?

  The most beautiful woman in the world believed I was her one true love, and I’d left.

  Secretly, I believed Fiona Quinn was my soul mate too. And I wasn’t a person who believed in soul mates. I was crying a lot while eating ice cream, though.

  “You do not sound okay,” he said, voice firm. “Are you meeting people? How’s the job?”

  “I haven’t really gone out yet. But I’m sure I will. And the job is good.”

  Another pause, then he said, “Max, don’t lie. I hate that shit, and you hate that shit.”

  “I’m miserable, and I can’t sleep, and what if I made a giant mistake and ruined everything?” The words lifted a giant weight from my chest. I took my first full breath in days.

  “Jesus,” Mateo said. “Have you talked to her?”

  “No. Didn’t feel right. Thought it would lead her on.” I squinted at the sun again, rubbed my forehead. Not returning her calls made me feel like the world’s biggest asshole. That’s what I’d done to Mateo. That’s what my mother had done to me.

  But I’d let my own damn cowardice get in the way.

  “I thought I was doing the right thing, or I wouldn’t have done it,” I said. “When I saw Mom, it was like she never cared about who she hurt or when. She ended relationships like she was taking out the trash. I thought ending it with Fiona now meant we’d never get to that part. She’d be sad, and miss me, but then find the right man for her and go on to be happy.”

  Mateo was quiet. When he finally spoke, there was a smile in his voice. “I understand it, Max. I really do. There were times in my and Rafael’s relationship when I thought ending it was the kinder, more ethical thing to do. Because I loved him so much I wanted to protect him from a future I couldn’t predict or control. But this, what you’re talking about right here, is what real love is made of. Facing the fears and the uncertainties together. Trusting. Let me tell you, my friend, that the connection between you and Fiona was not only powerful but clearly obvious. It looked like true love to me. And given that I’m engaged to my high school sweetheart, you could call me an expert in that area.”

  Fate, the universe, destiny. Did you feel it too?

  “If you weren’t meant to be with her, Max, then I think these past two weeks would have gone a lot better. Don’t you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you feel more like shit or less like shit?”

  “Oh, way more. Like every day its worse.”

  There was a gentle, but kind, laugh from his end. “Max, I think you have your first broken heart.”

  “Man, shut the fuck up.”

  “Nope. Have you listened to any love songs lately and cried?”

  “Isn’t that how everyone spends their evenings?” Although mine would be postponed since, hell, I had to go get drinks with my boss and convince him I’d been a good hire.

  “Well… no. They don’t. And not for nothing, but I think you should call Fiona.”

  “Why, have you seen her?”

  “I haven’t, I’m sorry. I know this is hard to hear, and I know it’s complicated with your new job, but I fully believe the two of you belong to each other. And belong with each other.”

  Everything I’d done here—every beach, every sunset, every palm tree—had made me think about Fiona. Her laughter, that smart mouth, her fierce convictions, the way it felt to hold her in the morning as the sun set her hair on fire. The burden of it was too much sometimes.

  “I have to be sure though, if I call her,” I said. “I can’t be that guy that dicks her around and plays with her emotions. She wants real commitment and deserves it.”

  “Okay.” He didn’t sound convinced. “I get it.”
<
br />   “And I’m homesick.”

  “You’re homesick?”

  “It happens. Listen, I should go before my boss catches me. I’ll call you in a couple days, okay?”

  “Of course,” he said. “And please, please take care of yourself. I promise you, what you’re feeling is normal.”

  We hung up, and I closed my eyes one last time.

  If this was normal, why was I in so much pain?

  47

  Fiona

  The next morning I stumbled into the kitchen to find my mom cooking bacon and cheddar omelets. My favorite. Coffee was brewing, and The Eurythmics were on the record player—a nod to my middle name.

  It really was a Fiona weekend.

  “Good morning, my brave and beautiful daughter,” she said, flipping the eggs expertly.

  “You’re up so early,” I said, yawning and pouring myself a cup of coffee.

  “Yes, well, your father and I took the entire weekend off,” she said. “To spend time with you.”

  “Oh,” I said, surprised. “That’s really nice of you guys.”

  She shooed me over to the kitchen table along with two giant dogs eager for breakfast. I scratched Matilda behind the ears and let Busy Bee curl up at my feet. “Before I married your father, I’d had my heart broken several times,” she said. “I remember that pain. It feels like it will never end.”

  Tears sprang to my eyes. “Um… yeah.”

  She patted the top of my head and then went back to frying bacon in the skillet. I curved my fingers around my coffee cup and enjoyed the warmth. “Thank you for what you and dad said the night of the benefit show. I don’t think I got a chance to say how much it meant to me.”

  “You don’t have to thank us, dear,” she tutted. She sprinkled cheddar cheese on the top of the eggs. “You pulled off an incredible feat. I’m so proud to call you my daughter, you know that, right?”

  Those tears pricked my eyes again. “Sometimes I don’t.”

  Her hands stopped moving. She turned, spatula in hand, face pinched with concern.