He Cheated, I Sent Invoices

Tyler Carlton called while I stood outside the funeral home.

A staff member was asking if I approved the photo they'd picked for Mom's memorial.

Then my phone buzzed.

Tyler's name lit up the screen.

I didn't answer.

A bunch of texts came through right after.

[Lindsay, what was that comment supposed to mean?]

[What did you see?]

[Didn't I tell you? The project's locked down. I can't get away.]

[Can you quit making passive-aggressive comments in front of my friends?]

I stared at the last text for a long time.

So he had checked his phone.

He just hadn't had time for my calls.

But he had time to read comments.

Time to babysit his socials.

The third time he called, I picked up.

"Lindsay Laurier, where are you?"

His voice was low and sharp.

I glanced through the open doors behind me.

The viewing room was still lit.

"The funeral home."

He went quiet for a second.

"I know you're hurting over your mom, but can you quit taking it out on everyone else?"

A dry laugh slipped out. "Everyone else?"

His voice tightened. "It's Vivian's birthday. She just got back. We were all hanging out."

"So your locked-down project was at that fancy restaurant?"

Silence.

"I called you sixty-seven times." My voice stayed flat. "You didn't answer once."

"My phone... was on silent."

Guilt flickered in his silence.

I was about to speak when fabric rustled on his end.

Then a woman's amused voice came through, smug as hell.

She'd taken the phone.

"Lindsay Laurier, right? I'm Vivian Shultz. I know you haven't exactly seen much of the world, but Tyler's here with me discussing a project worth over fifteen million dollars. Did you seriously think blowing up his phone was appropriate? Stop using cheap, low-class tricks to harass him, okay?"

Tyler's warm voice drifted in from somewhere close.

"Vivian, don't mess with her."

I looked at Mom's framed photo.

Suddenly, the whole thing felt insane.

"Tyler, my mom died today. Before she died, she kept asking when you were coming."

The line went dead silent.

"You don't have to come anymore," I said. "Ever."

"What does that mean?"

Panic finally hit his voice.

I didn't answer.

I'd just seen a new post from his private account.

In the photo, he was putting his jacket around Vivian's shoulders.

The caption read:

[Sooner or later, people need to realize the one beside you is the one who really matters.]

Someone commented:

[Won't your girlfriend be mad?]

Tyler replied:

[She has bigger things to worry about right now.]

I stared at those six words.

For the first time, I couldn't even fake a smile.

The staff member came over again.

"Ms. Laurier, does this photo work for the memorial?"

I nodded. "It's fine."

Then I hung up, changed his contact name from "Babe" to "Tyler Carlton," and put my phone away.

For eight years, I'd waited with everything I had.

I was done waiting.