Romance In A Column

chapter twenty-two,

Eryn Sallow isn't a religious person, she wouldn't know how to catalog her faith. She's never thought much about God as he is depicted in the Bible or by the church. But she believes in something; in meaning. 

    No matter how disastrous life has gotten, it has always made sense at the end, because – according to her latest obsession, Young Sheldon – there's a precision to the universe that indicates everything was created purposefully, not by chance.

    This said, Eryn Sallow knows regret is a passing emotion because, with time, everything will make sense. Still, she almost wishes she had never taken the internship at Let's Be Honest, hell, she almost wishes she'd never chosen to move to New York. Maybe she'd write manuals for hardware stores back in her childhood town, it would be dull work, but she'd be financially independent, pay for her lease, and make dents on her student loans. She could write fiction in her spare time to satisfy her creative cravings.

    She wouldn't have met Wyetta, Denise wouldn't have butchered her self-esteem, she wouldn't be in this disaster of an article, her career wouldn't be hanging by a slim thread, she wouldn't feel so unfit for the life she dreamed of for herself and, well, she wouldn't have met Wren Allen.

    With the early morning sun peeking through the blinds of Alice's apartment, where she'd shown up teary-eyed and silent last night, she wasn't entirely sure how she felt about the latter.

    Rolling on the air mattress Alice had set up on her living room floor, Eryn unplugs her phone, curling under the covers with it in hand.

6:15 AM glares back at her, her tired eyes squinting against the harsh light of the screen, alongside unanswered calls and messages from her sisters. Nothing from Wren.

She isn't entirely sure what she had expected or why she had expected contact from him, considering how they had left things. Still, while she reckons his words hold some value, Eryn doesn't feel like she is entirely in the wrong with her worries.

Pushing the thick comforter aside, the muted sound of her sock-clad feet joins the harmony created by the waking city.

Considering this is the first time she's ever slept over at Alice's – and considering the circumstances behind it – Eryn wanted to express her gratitude in the sweetest way she knows how. While ordering some ingredients through her phone, Eryn quietly scopes the kitchen for the utensils she'll need and lets the uncharacteristically calm of the morning breeze through her unease.

     "If this is what I'll wake up to every time you stay over, please, move in," Alice greets as she makes her way to the kitchen where Eryn had prepared a little pastry spread.

    With a small smile, Eryn says, "Believe me, this is for me as much as it is for you. I hate cooking, but I love baking, it's weird, and I wanted to thank you. Not only for letting me sleep over but the circumstances around it."

    Bringing the plate of freshly baked cinnamon buns to the squeaky little table for two, Alice nods Eryn over. "Speaking of which, I didn't want to push it last night, you didn't seem like you wanted to talk, and I wanted to respect that but ..." Patting Eryn's hand, Alice says, "I'm here if you want to talk about it. If you want me to bitch with you, I'll bitch. If you want my opinion, I'll give it. If you want me to just shut up and listen, I'll listen. And if you don't want to talk about it, I'll get it."

    With a sigh, lightly blowing the honey strands that slipped from her bun during her restless night, Eryn looks down at her hands. "I don't have a great relationship with my mom, my older sister always says my mom has the best intentions, just not the best delivery."

    "The older I get, the more I understand the situation she was in." Supporting her chin on her hands, Eryn went on. "My mom met my dad at a party his frat threw, she didn't even go to his university, she went to a community college in the same area. My mom didn't have a great relationship with her family either and, well, my dad's family was pretentious. The first pregnancy wasn't planned, but they rolled with it. Everybody said he was just playing house, he would get bored and move on. 3 children later, he did."

    "I don't remember him much, never really cared to meet him." Alice stared attentively at Eryn. "From what I understand, he helped my mom out with money for a few years. I don't know when or why he stopped, but he did."

    "I get that she wants what is realistic for us, so we can live comfortably. But in the process, she belittles us so much and, I don't know, maybe I am ungrateful, but I resent that she thinks she has an opinion over what we do when she was never there." Curling the sleeve of her sweater over her fist, Eryn dabbed the tracks of tears on her cheek. "I know she wasn't there because she was working, I get that, but the part of me that always felt so damn abandoned by her doesn't."

"So, yeah, I got into a fight with her." Eryn sniffles. "I called Wren to pick me up and, I don't know, maybe I just wanted to pick a fight, and maybe I kind of, sort of ... implied he is a man whore."

Gasping, Alice leans forward. "You didn't."

"I did," Eryn affirms, looking at the cooling pastry. "I just, I don't know, everyone keeps telling me he gets around and I just, I don't know, how I can compete with the women he has dated, and I don't think I should have to, you know?"

"What do you need from me?" Alice asks, "My opinion, to bitch or ..."

"Your opinion," Eryn chooses. Nibbling at the now cold bun.

"Well, is he making you compete? Does he compare you to these other women? Throw them at your face?"

"Well," Eryn tilts her head to sight, looking upwards as she filters through their encounters. "He hasn't, I guess, It's everyone else doing it."

"Then, why are you punishing him for other people's actions?" Alice questions, leaning back on her chair. "Look, I'm not judging you, honestly, you were in a rough spot last night, and I'm no saint, I've blown up on people who didn't deserve it, too."

"But," Alice continues to say, "you have to evaluate where these feelings are coming from. They aren't coming from Wren, they are coming from the weight you put on other people's opinions. Maybe it's a childhood trauma thing, who am I to say, but maybe ask yourself how many good things are you going to let go because they don't align with other people's values or expectations of your life."

    "He isn't comparing you with his exes, he isn't making you compete against them. You are doing it all on your own because of what people might say." Alice shrugs. "I'm not trying to be mean, you asked for my opinion, and I am not in the business of lying to spare someone's feelings."

    "Damn." Eryn gives a watery laugh. "Who knew, behind all your porny jokes, you could be so insightful."

    "Years of therapy, baby, I learned a thing or two." Standing up, Alice plucks Eryn's cinnamon bun off her plate and back onto the heap of sweet pastries. "I'm going to warm these up and put on a pot of coffee, we need to start getting ready for work soon."

    "Yeah, I want to get in early to talk to Wyetta."

    "Didn't you read the email she sent?" Alice asks from the kitchen.

    "I haven't checked my phone since like 6." Returning to the living room, Eryn plops onto the mattress where she had hastily thrown her phone once she began baking.

    "Well, apparently, she's working on a project outside the city and won't be in the office until later this week," Alice informs, the beep of the microwave following shortly after.

    Making her way back to the kitchen with her phone in hand, Eryn scrolls through her unread messages.

    SABINE SALLOW: Mom told us about your fight last night and wanted to get out of your hair. We booked a room at a hotel. Call me when you can, love you.

    Guilt rolls over Eryn's gut. On one hand, she didn't want to burden her sister with the unnecessary expense of a hotel, on the other, she was glad she wouldn't have to face her mother for the time being.

    Scrolling further down, another text makes her steps falter.

    DENISE GÜRSEL: We need to talk.