It was a normal house, nothing out of the ordinary. I half expected there to be taxidermy animals or mummified family members hanging around.

“The living room is through there. Just down the hallway,” Sophie instructed, pointing in the direction that I was expected to go. I went into the room that she had indicated and sat down on the plaid sofa.

The room smelled like tobacco smoke and air freshener. The furniture was shabby but clean. Her dad was obviously into fishing if the rods hanging on the wall were any indication.

“Here,” Sophie said, holding out a glass of water, even though I hadn’t asked for one.

“Thanks,” I had said, taking the drink. “Sophie, I think you and I need to talk— ” I had started to say.

“You’re breaking up with me,” she interrupted, taking a sip of water and appearing unbothered by the suggestion.

“Well, uh, I just think that you and I are really different—”

“Are we? How would you know that?” Sophie asked blandly.

This conversation wasn’t going well, but I had exected it.

But she had asked a really good question. How would I know that? I didn’t know much about her, except that she let me sleep with her when I was heartbroken and lonely.

Sophie leaned over and put her glass on the table. She faced me, her hands folded in her lap. “Mitch, I like you. I’ve always liked you. You’re hot. You’re sexy. You’re incredible in bed.”

“Uh, thanks,” I muttered, feeling self-conscious. Why was she listing my attributes? Where was she going with this?

“You’re in love with Gracie,” she finished, a pained smile on her face. “I knew that from the beginning.” She shook her head. “What kind of woman gets involved with someone whose heart belongs to another woman?”

“I’m so sorry, Soph. I’m an asshole,” I said, my head hanging low.

“Yeah, you are,” she agreed and I winced. I deserved that.

“But really, this is my fault. I thought I could give you time and you’d get over her. But she never. Went. Away!”

“Hold on a sec—” I started to say, but she cut me off.

“She was always around, talking to everyone like she belonged. Giving you those sad, I’m so tortured, eyes. Practically flaunting in my face that she had you first.” Sophie let out a growl of frustration. “You think I liked being the cuckold? Do you think I didn’t know that every time we were together, you wished I was her?”

“That’s not true, Sophie. I really did care about you. I wanted to be with you. You helped me get through a really tough time—”

“Give me a break, Mitch. Don’t come over to my house with your sob story and expect me to roll over and say ‘I understand. You love her. I get it. Go have a happy life together.’ Fuck that!”

I recoiled in shock. I had never heard Sophie cuss before. But I had never seen her that angry either.

“I’m sorry—”

“Just get out, Mitch. Leave,” she said, her anger fading away.

Should I touch her? Give her a hug maybe? I’d never broken up with someone before. I didn’t know what to do. Should I have brought flowers or chocolates?

Shit, I should have taken the dick way out and done this via text.

“Okay, I’m leaving,” I said, getting to my feet. I turned to look at her before I left.

“You’ll find someone—”

“Ugh, Mitch, please don’t tell me I’ll find someone who loves me. Otherwise I’ll have to hit you. And I’d really like that right now.”

I scrambled off the porch, glad that her dad wasn’t there to chase after me with a shotgun or something.

Sophie stood in the doorway, her arms crossed.

I stood in her front yard for a minute, looking up at the girl that I had been with for over a year. It was sad how easily our relationship disintegrated. It only reinforced that it shouldn’t have ever started.

“I’m sorry,” I said again. It was the only thing I could say. Because it was true. Sophie Lanier was my collateral damage and I felt like shit because of it.

Sophie sighed and shook her head. “It hurts, Mitch.” I cringed, expecting that. Her face hardened, her mouth setting into an uncompromising line. “But you’re not breaking my heart or anything. You’re not that important to my life. I’ll survive. What you and I had wasn’t love. It wasn’t even passion. It was convenient,” she sneered, turning on her heel, and slamming the door behind her.

What she said didn’t sting. Not even a little. It probably should have. She had meant it to. But it didn’t, because she was right.

I had driven home and gone to bed, hoping the guilt would lessen by morning.

And it had. Somewhat. I worried about what kind of man that made me that I was able to end a year long relationship and feel so fucking neutral about it all. I felt the guilt but mostly I was relieved. I finally fixed a mistake that I should never have made.

I couldn’t look behind me any longer. I could only go forward.

I made myself a cup of coffee and went through the local want ads. I wasn’t expecting to find anything that I’d be interested in. So it was with surprise that I saw an opening for a guitar tech at a custom shop in Southborough. It wasn’t the sort of job that would bring me fame and fortune, but I had had my fair share of all that stuff.

It was eight in the morning when I grabbed my keys and my wallet and left the house.

Maybe I’d land myself a job.

“Hey, Ma, how are you?” I gave my mother a hug as she let me inside.

The day had gotten cold and they were calling for snow later. I had made sure to fill my car up and stopped by the grocery store to load up on the essentials. Bread. Milk. And of course beer. And a couple packs of Twizzlers just in case I was stuck inside for a few days.

“Mitch! What are you doing here?” she asked, taking my coat and hanging it on the hook beside the kitchen door. She was cooking chili and my mouth immediately began to water.

“I knew you had to be making some sort of snow day food. I was hoping to snag some,” I said, heading to the Crock-Pot and lifting the lid.

My mother swatted my hand. “It’s not ready yet,” she scolded.

I sat down at the kitchen table as my mother fussed around making me a sandwich, and pouring me a glass of iced tea. She put a plate loaded with food in front of me and sat down across the table.

I picked up the sandwich and took a bite. I had forgotten, in my haste to leave the house, to get anything to eat. Now it was almost lunchtime and I was starving.

“This is amazing, Mom. I wish you’d come to live with me at Garrett’s so you can make my meals all the time,” I said, giving her a toothy grin that I knew she loved.

“You’re welcome here anytime and I’ll make you whatever you want,” she offered, giving me an indulgent pat on the cheek.

“I got a job today,” I said without preamble, swallowing another bite of my sandwich.

Mom frowned, looking confused. “You got a job? Doing what?”

“As a guitar tech at Bobby’s Custom Sound over in Southborough. I’d be helping out in the custom shop. It’s a fulltime position with benefits and paid time off,” I told her, sounding tentatively excited. Because I was. It was a real job with real potential.

“I don’t understand, Mitch. What about your band? Have you spoken with the label already?”

I finished my sandwich and wiped my mouth with a napkin. I got up and carried my plate to the sink, washing it, and putting it on the rack to dry.

“Mitch, what’s going on? You’ve been playing music since you were a boy. Why are you stepping away from it now?” Mom sounded worried.

“I’m not stepping away, Ma, but I can’t depend on that particular gravy train anymore. Jordan’s having a kid—”

“He and Maysie are having a baby? That’s wonderful news!” Mom cut in enthusiastically.

I smiled. “Yeah, it’s great for them, but it also means he doesn’t want to go on tour or spend days in a recording studio when he has a newborn at home. Not that I blame him or anything. I also have a feeling Garrett’s going to move up to Boston to be with his girlfriend. Things are changing and I needed to change with them or get run over.”