Island Kisses: A Billionaire Love Story (The Kisses Series Book 9) (16 page)

“Disney World?”

“Yes, Disney World. Disney World, Harper!” She shook my shoulders and made my head wobble. “That’s how we’re going to get you over this. It’s preposterous to sit here and cry it out. We both know that’s not going to help. So now I’m making the executive decision to take us to the place where dreams are born. We’re getting drunk at Disney World. Put
that
on your blog when you tell everyone about the break-up.”

I couldn’t help but to laugh, yet also agree, that it was probably the best idea I had heard in a while.

“Okay, let’s do it,” I said, with a nod. “Yeah, this could be fun. Let’s go to Disney World.”

“Yes!” Cora squealed, as she hopped up and ran to her bedroom. “Let’s pick out some cute outfits to wear. This is going to be amazing!”

I gave Jack a few more pets before setting him on the floor. Then I got up to meet Cora in her room to decide on what to wear for the day trip that was ahead of us.

God, this sucks,
I thought as I tried to plaster a happy smile on my face.
It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.
My heart ached so badly. It even hurt to laugh, but I guessed it felt better than crying. Plus maybe Cora was right. Maybe some carefree fun at the happiest place on earth will rub off and make me happy.

It certainly couldn't hurt to try.

I
stopped writing
and glared at the screen. I highlighted the last sentence and hit delete as if the force of my click would hurt the words as they left the page.
Love.
It was like a bad word, something I had been conditioned not to say. And Gabe deserved no exception, even if it would appease an old stupid cliché about breakups.

After a few moments of contemplation I picked up again where I left off.

I
paused again
. I had been drafting the post in my head for weeks now. I knew it would suck to actually write, but it was going better than I had anticipated. Writing had always been like a type of therapy for me. It allowed me the chance to unwind and exhale and create something beautiful out of something awful. It was no wonder I made a living off of documenting my bad dates, it had always felt natural. Some people have their diary, I had my blog.

But it was tricky nonetheless. I still had too much emotion to accurately convey in writing. I was looking for the best way to detail the aftermath of our breakup without sounding like I was throwing myself my own personal pity-party. No one would want to read that.

I had even pulled up the six stages of grief, which felt a little excessive, to look for some sort of guidance. Shock, denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance, it said.

Shock seemed appropriate. Boy, was I shocked. But then I think I jumped straight to anger and then to depression.
Harper’s 3 stages of grief,
I thought.
We’ll see if I ever make it to acceptance.

I decided to include the stages of grief anyway, at least as a way to relate to my readers who were surely familiar with the concept, even if it was total bogus.

I
paused again
, this time just to exhale and collect my thoughts. I was happy with the post so far and it was almost starting to write itself, a feeling that usually accompanied my better pieces.

The drafted idea for the post that had been building in my head was fostered with far more hate than the post that was actually coming out, which was probably a good thing. My readers wouldn’t want a pity-party
or
an angry rant. Still, I worked with an inventory of ideas that had culminated through many hours of crying, talking to Rosie and Cora and binge watching Netflix. They were combining nicely with the ideas that came to me as I typed.

I had certainly envisioned much more bashing and criticism, but it didn’t seem to belong.
I guess I can bash that stupid website now,
I thought. Oddly, it was the first time it had occurred to me. Blogging about Kindling Dating was the first thing I had wanted to do when Rosie first thrust the commitment on me, but now it felt monotonous. Ironically it wasn’t the website that had failed me, it was Gabe.

Part of me wanted to attack the way he had hid the news until eventually I found it on my own accord. Part of me wanted to call him elaborate names that my readers would find funny, but I couldn’t.

I looked up at the clock hanging above my desk. It was getting late.

My eyes looked over the words sitting motionless on the screen until I came upon the blinking curser at the bottom of the page, then I read it again.

Some blogs I wrote were several pages long, some merely filled a single screen. I was strict to not force a word count on myself but rather allow the posts to come naturally. Some dates genuinely required several pages in order to divulge the entire disaster. Others needed no more than a few details and a quick physical description to make you cringe. I had learned that it’s not always about
how much
you say but
what
you say, and I followed the principle religiously. The popularity of my posts wasn’t dependent on length and this post would be one of my shorter ones, which was okay.

It would also be much more sentimental than usual. My readers weren’t used to having me gush at them with sappy expressions of blues and heartbreak. They were much more accustomed to sarcastic tirades about failed dates. But this was a different kind of failure.

Still the post seemed to have a positive quality about it and I felt like it would be received well. Sometimes I felt like I knew my readers, what they liked, disliked, wanted to read and what they thought was funny. Their comments were always entertaining and allowed for a sort of connection.

I began again with my readers in mind.

I
clicked
enter and then took a second to lean back and smile at the post. It really did feel good to finally flush it out and release some of the built up angst that had sat like a cloud in my head for the last two weeks. I felt like I had lost weight through writing the post. I felt lighter.

I knew that some of the post hadn’t quite been a
lie,
but was slightly exaggerated. It helped though. Forcing out some positivity in conjunction with the breakup was good and I hoped that it would only help me to move on. If I told my readers that I was a boxer who could stand up after a punch, than I was
going
to stand back up.

I looked at the clock again and hit Publish.

I fled to the kitchen to make some tea and then returned to my post. I didn’t often sit to watch the site’s dashboard blow up. Usually I went to bed and returned in the morning to the array of comments. Tonight, however, I did. In the few minutes that I had been gone, my social media was already starting to react. My Twitter and Tumblr were racking up hits and comments were beginning to accumulate below the blog.

Sometimes I felt a little narcissistic as I took in my readers' feedback. But then I remembered that I was a writer and I made my living off of entertaining other people. Their entertainment was my fuel and their feedback was rewarding.
And there’s nothing wrong with accepting a few nice complements, especially after you’ve had your heart crushed,
I thought.

Getting back to my blog and my readers would be crucial in moving forward. Gabe could break my heart, but he couldn’t break me as I writer. I was still good at what I did I reminded myself as I scrolled through the comments. All I could really do now was take each day at a time and hope that what I told my readers would actually start to manifest itself in real life.

I
took
a break from watching my blog to make some belated dinner. I heated up some left over lasagna and made a milkshake with some of the ice cream still left in the fridge as post-breakup comfort food. I couldn’t help but make fun of myself and my current state of affairs. It felt only fitting to throw on an episode of Grey’s Anatomy on Netflix.

After about a half hour I heard the phone ring.

Immediately my heart skipped a beat. I had posted my blog late at night and had done so purposefully to avoid an instant reaction from Rosie or my Mom. But with as late as it was, realistically they were the only ones that would be calling.

I checked the caller I.D. on the phone before answering. It was Rosie, which was better than Mom. I took a deep breath and clicked to accept the call.

“Hey, Rosie,” I attempted cheerfully.

“Hey, Big Sis!” she exclaimed.

“What are you doing up so late?” I asked.

“I fell asleep kind of early, and then the baby woke me up. My sleep schedule is so crazy now, this little guy dictates every second that I’m awake or sleeping,” she explained. “But anyway, I just fed him and got him back to bed and I read your post and wanted to call and talk. I knew you'd be up.”

Rosie had her baby almost immediately after the breakup, which was awful timing for me. I had just gotten back from Orlando when she had gone into labor and I rushed to the hospital to meet them. The breakup had drastically marred the occasion for me. Interacting with my mother hadn’t helped. But with everyone so enthralled with the new baby I was able to dodge some relationship interrogation and had done my best to put on a mask and hide my sorrow.

“Oh, okay,” I said. “What'd you think?”

I braced myself for the inevitable pity and judgment that was coming.

“Harper, your post was so good! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you write like that! I had no idea you could be so...” she paused as hesitation hung in her voice, “...so deep and sentimental with your posts.”

“I guess I’ll take that as a complement.” I forced a small giggle. “Thanks Sis.”

“It is a compliment,” she assured me. “It was really good,” she paused again. “Still, it made me a little sad.”

Here we go,
I thought.
I’m the one that’s supposed to be sad, not you.

“You shouldn’t be sad Rosie,” I told her. “It was a post about new beginnings.”

“Yeah, but are you sure you’re ready for new beginnings?” she asked carefully.

“I’m positive,” I lied.

“I just…” she began but I interrupted. I could already sense my frustration beginning to build.

“Look, that site and all the algorithms and everything were wrong,” I told her. “Gabe and I didn't fit. It’s the same as any other dating site, it’s just a scam.”

“It’s not a scam!” she protested and I could hear her dejected sentiments seeping through. “It just didn't work this time.”

“Okay, it’s not a scam, but my profile and my information just wasn’t really right for their matching formulas or whatever,” I said but quickly added, “I’m not saying it’s your fault.”

“It sounds a little like you are. Harper, I answered all of those questions based only on you. Maybe it’s not exactly how you would have answered, but it’s how people see you.” Her words were firm and rigid.

“Right, I know-” I started, but it was her turn to interrupt me.

“-I even had Thomas’ confirmation on all of it,” she told me, heat rising in her voice. “We answered all the questions as if we were talking to someone about you.”

“Rosie, I read through all your answers and your conversation with him. It was a really good effort, but it’s just not how I would have answered that stuff or how I would have flirted with him,” I told her gently. “It just happened to work well enough to land a first date.”

“Yeah, a first date that blossomed pretty damn quickly!” she piped.

“And ended pretty damn quickly too,” I piped back. I rubbed the bridge of my nose with my fingers, trying to stop the headache I knew was coming. “Look, I really do appreciate your intentions with all this but it’s time to recognize that it didn’t really work out. That’s just how it goes.”

“Harper, even if you don’t agree with me I still created you a profile that was good enough to land you a date with the
first guy
that you’ve actually liked. What’s wrong with that?” she asked. “And I know you want to argue with everything I’ve said, but maybe it just takes a little perspective. You’re always so hard on yourself Harper, it’s probably why your such an amazing writer but it’s also why you’re a bad first dater.”

I laughed, but it was mostly out of frustration.
Yeah, thanks Sis, that’s exactly what I needed to hear right now,
I thought. The argument was getting harder to fight. Part of me was mad at my sister for being so good at reading between the lines of my breakup. She
had
landed me the best guy I could remember meeting a very long time. I couldn’t dispute that.

“I’m sorry about what happened. But I also
really
think you should give him another chance,” she said. “Crappy things happen in relationships but the good and strong ones work through them. Who’s to say this isn’t something that you guys can work past?”

“It’s over, Rosie. It’s done. He’s not trying to get in touch with me and I’m certainly not trying to get in touch with him.”

I heard Rosie sigh into the phone so I continued. “I’m just trying to get over this as quickly as possible. And we weren’t even together that long! I’m just going to try and get back to my blog and my normal life and stuff.”

“By your blog, you mean more bad dates,” she said cynically.

“Come on Rosie. What am I supposed to do? Stop working and stop paying rent? That’ll solve a lot of things,” I said, not minding as my defensive sarcasm came out.

The truth was that I wasn’t even really sure that I was ready for more bad dates; in fact I knew I wasn’t. She was right, I’d never been with anyone that felt as
right
as Gabe. I wanted to give in and cry and tell her how much I missed him and how it felt weirdly like I had lost a longtime friend. But it all seemed silly. We had only been together for two months. Two months is a fraction of the time that it takes to plan a wedding.
For God’s sake, Rosie had carried a baby in her stomach for nine months. Gabe and I didn’t even make it through the first trimester,
I thought and almost made a similar comment but Rosie spoke up first.

“Or maybe, you should come hang out with your sister and your new baby nephew,” she offered. “Tommy is just growing like a weed. I'm sure he's put on a full inch since you saw him last.”

“In just a week?” I asked with a genuine delight. I was extremely thankful that she had shifted the subject. “How is my favorite man?”

“Oh, he’s good! He slept for a whole three hours last night,” she said in the proud voice that only a new mother could achieve.

“I can't wait to see him again,” I said and a smile filled my face as I imagined the new baby growing and taking in the world around him.

Since Tommy's birth, Rosie had already sent hundreds of pictures to the family group. Consequently, I was also forced to field my Mother’s comments that always seemed to contain a condescending hint aimed in my direction. But I was glad to receive the pictures and I beamed every time I saw the baby’s bright blue eyes cushioned between his two plump cheeks. His grin was still a half smiled dominated by drool, but it was beyond adorable.

“Tomorrow Thomas and I are going to take him for a little photo shoot,” she said. “I want to get them done before he gets too big.”

“Oh, that’ll be fun,” I said. “What are you planning on doing?”

“We’re both going to wear these white shirts and Jack’s going to wear this little sailor onesie outfit I found the other day.” Her happy smile shone through her voice. “It makes him look so cute.”

“As if he needs a costume to make him look cute,” I said, just appreciating chatting casually about her baby instead of my dating life. It made things feel normal.

She laughed, “Yeah, I guess that’s true. I have the cutest baby in the world!”

“Will you make sure to send me a copy of the pictures when you get them?” I asked. “I have a spot on my desk that could use a nice framed copy.”

“You got it,” she promised. “I’m always happy to send more pictures, you should know that by now.”

“I’m always happy to get them,” I said. “He is my current screen saver and phone wallpaper.”

“And really, you need to come over and visit soon,” she scolded. “I’m determined for his first words to be ‘Mommy,’ but if you try hard enough maybe you can teach him your name early on, that’d be cute!”

“Harp-y,” I said, trying my best to say it in baby-speak. “Kind of sounds like herpes…”

We both laughed. “Maybe we should just call you 'auntie' or something,” she offered.

“I'd like that,” I told her. “I'm going to go eat my dinner, so you have fun tomorrow, enjoy your photo shoot and say hi to Thomas and baby Tommy for me.” I hoped to end the conversation without allowing it to slip back into the hallow pit of darkness that had become my romantic life.

“I will. And Harper,” she paused and I knew exactly where she was about to go. I would be foolish to think I had escaped all together. “You know Mom’s going to read this post soon, too.”

“So you mean while you’re posing and having someone take cute pictures of you and your baby, I’m going to have to try and survive a barrage of Mom’s drone strikes?” I scrunched up my face thinking about it. “I might not be alive next time you call.”

Rosie faked a sympathetic laugh. “You know, she only wants you to be happy with someone.”

“We both know she’s going to gloss over every motivational word I wrote about resilience and yell at me for ruining a ‘good’ relationship.” I sighed, but there was nothing to do about it. “It’ll be fine, I guess. I’ll just tell her what she wants to hear.”

“I would leave out the part about lining up more dates,” she teased.

“Thanks Rosie. I’ll do that,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“You know I love you! And so does Mom,” she said. “We both just want you to be happy and you seemed so happy with Gabe.”

I hated to hear her say his name. It felt like treason. I desperately wanted to end the conversation but I couldn’t help myself.

“And so what if my
real
perfect guy is waiting in one of the dates I lined up?” I asked. “Don’t they always say you need to get rid of the negative things in order to make room for something better?”

“I guess. As long as you have the mindset that something better
can
come along,” she insisted. “Instead of just more terrible dates for your blog.”

“You know me Rosie, I’ve got my eyes peeled,” I said.

“Mmm, hmm,” she hummed dryly. “Well I guess that’s enough of a lecture for tonight. I really did like your post tonight, though. It was really well written.”

“Thanks, Rosie,” I said, taking the compliment. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she said. “Talk soon?”

“Of course,” I promised. “Give that nephew of mine a big kiss for me.”

“I will. Bye bye,” she said. I echoed her farewell but she had already ended the call.

I took a breath as if I had just finished some sort of marathon. The phone call had genuinely exhausted me.
Ironic the way she could praise and lecture me at the same time
, I thought.
Then again, she learned from the best.

I knew my Mother’s interrogation would be far worse and much more intense. She had been the biggest fan of my relationship with Gabe and had been deeply saddened when I called to tell her about the breakup. Though she was sad in a different way; instead of words of condolence she was almost frustrated that things hadn’t worked out.

She had called after every post I had written about my relationship with Gabe and I had appreciated the opportunity to bathe in her approval. Tomorrow’s phone call would be much different.

Maybe I should be prepared with another guy that came along during my time of despair to sweep me off my feet,
I thought jokingly.
She would like the sound of that. And my readers would probably eat that up.
Even they had appreciated my posts about Gabe. They had seemed to enjoy the switch up.

Or perhaps they had enjoyed a bit of continuity. I had never lied outright to readers before—just fudged the details to protect the guilty party—but I’d also never been completely immobilized by a heartbreak. I had no idea how I was going to go out on another date anytime soon.

I knew I wasn’t ready to get back on the dating carousel as much as I knew I had lied to Rosie about the possibility of the ‘perfect guy’ lying in wait. I hated to think that she might have been even a little bit right about the connection I had felt. The idea of replacing Gabe was daunting and impossible.
But maybe not in the world of cyberspace,
I thought. The Internet was open to whatever clever spark of witty narration I could throw at it. And if my readers—and my Mother—demanded continuity, I could give them continuity.