“You too, Amelia.”
Hanging up, I do an exaggerated happy dance when one of the bathroom doors opens. I clear my throat and pick up my phone to call the first person I want to tell, except I still don’t have his number and haven’t heard from him since Christmas.
This is getting to be too much. I’m not sure how much longer I can tolerate the wait.
I unlock my phone to send a quick text to the group chat with the good news. When I open the thread, I see the last messages, including another blurry picture of Jake and who we think is the same mystery girl from before New Year’s. Then there are a bunch of messages of us bombarding him with questions that he refuses to answer.It’s just a random girl,is all he wrote.
Yeah, because that helped ease our curiosity.
Making my way back to the table, I tell my parents the good news and thank them for all their help.
We talk, enjoy great wine, and eat amazing food.
Only, nothing tastes as good as it normally does.
Looking at the glass of my favorite red wine, I feel something in me snap.
Who am I? What have I become?I’ve never been the type to wait around for anyone, especially a man.
The guy I briefly dated in high school ended up making out with another girl, and although I was only sixteen and could have easily been manipulated into staying with him, I cut him off just as quickly as I had agreed to be his girlfriend.
I may be inexperienced when it comes to dating, heck, I only slept with three guys before Grayson, but I’ve always stood my ground because I know what I want.
Enough is enough. I’m not looking to sleep with anyone else, but I need to do something for myself. I need a routine and a major change.
Opening an app on my phone, I book an appointment for tomorrow with my usual girl and type in the details of what I want. Then I ask my mom if we can go on a shopping spree, which she, of course, says yes to.
This will help, I hope.
Chapter Forty-Three
EMMA
Four days later
“Bills, Bills, Bills” by Destiny’s Child comes up on my playlist as I click my heels on the streets of the Upper East Side. I’m heading home from my favorite bookstore and café in the city, the emptiest one I’ve found that stays open until nine p.m., where I’ve spent the last few days outlining a story I plan to write very soon. But this one isn’t for the paper, it’s for me.
My head bounces to the rhythm as I turn a deserted corner just a few blocks from my parents’ townhouse. On the Upper East Side, tourists wander around searching for famous TV and movie spots, but it’s the middle of the week after the holiday rush, and the streets are almost empty. I take the chance to sing softly and dance a little to a song I haven’t heard in years.
My hair bounces around my face, and my new long white coat sways with my movements. Writing and doing solo activities have helped distract me from…him these past few days. Who I have yet to hear from.
“The One That Got Away” by Katy Perry plays after “Bills, Bills, Bills” as my footsteps slow down at yet another song that I haven’t heard in years.
Reaching my parents’ block, I grab my phone to change the current tune, and whisper to myself, “Is this some kind of sign, Charlotte? If it is, it’s really quite depressing.” Hitting skip, “When We Were Young” by Adele is next. Rolling my eyes, I press skip again, and “All Too Well” by Taylor Swift plays. I huff out a frustrated breath. “Seriously?” I stomp a foot and take my headphones off, too lazy and cold to pick another song when I’m only half a block away from home.
As I approach the townhouse, I look up and see a shadowy figure sitting on our steps. I narrow my gaze, trying to figure out if it’s a homeless person or a crazy dude, but I’m too far away to see the person’s face clearly—just a silhouette of a man. Wrapping my hand around the pepper spray I recently bought, I walk tall with my shoulders back, making sure my heels clack loudly, knowing that predators are less susceptible to attack confident-looking women.
My eyes lock on to the figure, and as I stand a few steps away, the man’s head turns toward me and he stands up. The streetlight now illuminates his body, and my eyes widen.
Brown wavy hair, a chiseled jaw, black-framed glasses, a black jacket, jeans, and those all-too-familiar lips shine brightly under the New York City streetlights.
“Emma?”
At his voice, I nearly trip. My body floods with warmth, then a wave of longing and happiness, settling on an underlying fury I didn’t realize was there.
My face tightens as I walk over to a smiling Grayson.
He stands with his hands in his jacket pockets, staring at me from head to toe.