A Girl Like You vinnie Kinsella (best motivational books to read .txt) 📖

“He understood me like no one else has in a long time.”

“Now you’re being dramatic.”

“He was smart and funny and attentive,” I sobbed. “He was a really good texter!”

“He was a tall Bryan. Nothing more.”

“I really liked him.”

“He’s dirt under your shoe, Mombo. Scrape him off.”

For a week, I re-read all Michael’s messages until Madd made me delete them. Then I bought a half-gallon of chocolate peanut butter ice cream, eating it out of the carton five nights in a row, wondering how good the sex might have been with a joint and confident, mean Michael.

33

“I have news,” Bryan texted on a Sunday morning nearly seven months after he’d left.

“You got a job?” I was excited for him.

“I met someone.”

I sat down hard on a kitchen chair. It wasn’t the answer I’d expected. “Good for you,” I texted when I realized he was waiting for an answer. “Who is she? How’d you meet?”

“Actually, it’s Ben’s teacher. I’ve been picking him up at preschool and we started talking and really hit it off.”

I closed my eyes. It wasn’t that I didn’t feel happy for Bryan…OK, I wasn’t exactly thrilled for Bryan. I didn’t want him to be miserable and alone, but for it to be that easy, meeting a preschool teacher?

“Hold on, I’ll send you a pic,” Bryan texted.

It took just seconds for the photo file to come through my phone. And there she was, possibly the most attractive teacher I’d ever seen in my life, wearing a yellow bikini, red sunglasses, and the cutest little brimmed hat to keep her skin from freckling. Bryan was beside her, toasting the camera with a can of Coors. He was deeply tanned, not quite as thin as he had been when he’d left, wearing swim shorts I’d never seen before.

“She’s pretty,” I texted back. “You make a nice couple.”

“She’s great, Jess. We’re really happy.”

“I’m glad.”

The universe sent Bryan a potential swimsuit model to take to the beach. Big deal. The fact that I didn’t have a sexy beach buddy, much less a beach, shouldn’t make any difference in my happiness for Bryan.

I remembered Bryan on a summer day in our backyard, drinking Mike’s Hard Lemonade with Ian while playing badminton, minus the net. Amazingly, the more they drank, the better they got at hitting the birdie back and forth. They were both shirtless and the blazing afternoon sun was doing a number on their shoulders, but despite my nagging, they hadn’t bothered with sunscreen. I gave up and went inside to watch from the comfort of our air-conditioned house.

Exhausted and sweaty, Ian turned on the hose to take a drink and Bryan ducked his head under the nozzle and sprayed his head with water, splashing water on Ian until they were both drenched. Later that night, I made them both line up to spray Solarcaine on their sunburned shoulders.

Bryan had been his best self under the sun in the warm months, up for anything. But picturing him on the beach in NC with the model/teacher brought on a sharp pain in my temples, a beating drum of envy.

Act normal, I told myself. Ask normal questions even though you don’t want to know any more than he’s already said.

“So, what’s her name?” I texted Bry.

“Sarah.”

He then launched into a long list of what he liked about Sarah, each trait more endearing than the last. I carried my cell into the downstairs bathroom, rooting around in the medicine cabinet for Tylenol.

“Hey, I’m also starting my own business—well, not really a full-blown business, but I’m taking orders for these mini sculpted Jack-o-’lanterns I’m making. And so far, I’ve been swamped.”

He had found it, I thought. The way to blend his love of Halloween with his artistry.

“So, they’re clay?”

“Yes. Then I glaze them so they look like real pumpkins. Each one is different.”

“That’s so cool,” I texted. “How do I get one?”

Bry gave me his website address and said I should order early because come October, he’d probably have so many orders he couldn’t guarantee delivery by Halloween.

After we finished texting, I went out to the shed and brought in the green pail and beach shovel. In my room, I pulled out the Day of the Dead T-shirt he’d left behind, then sorted through my stacked Amazon shipping boxes until I found one that held everything. I tried to make my handwriting look upbeat, but aside from adding a smiley face, couldn’t figure out a way to do that as I wrote his address. Then I put the box back in my car to mail at the post office after work the next day.

That night, climbing into bed, I wanted someone to be there with open arms, and a smile I recognized, and a voice I knew saying good night.

Adam was gone and Bryan had moved on. There was no getting around it.

I felt like I’d lost my best friend, someone I hadn’t yet met. There was an open space in my life that needed to be filled, but I had no idea how to do that.

Eddie had told me I had to know what I wanted before I went looking. Was he right?

34

“So let’s talk about your hair,” Maddy said, grabbing an apple and settling herself on a high stool at the kitchen island.

“What’s wrong with my hair?” I was attempting to wash Penny in the kitchen sink. So far, I was covered in more suds than she was.

“It looks—how do I put this?—a little fried.”

“Fried?” I turned away from Penny for an instant and she scrambled out of the sink into the wooden dish rack. “That’s nice, sweetheart. Come here, Pen-Pen.” I tried to coax the dog back into the water, without luck. Oh well, at least she’d been wetted down. I grabbed the bath towel and wrapped her like a swaddled baby.

“I mean, how long have you been straightening it?” Madison said, her mouth full of apple.

“I don’t know—a couple years?” I rubbed Penny’s head with the towel as she squirmed.

“That’s bad