Changing out of my suit, I checked again for pumpkin smells. Nothing. I packed a bag of clothes for another week in Hillsdale. The time and money it took to drive the hour back and forth between Hillsdale and Clifton wasn’t worth it.
Plopping down on my bed, I grabbed the extra blanket. It was cold in here, but no use paying for more heat than necessary. Every penny counts. I bet Dad had an air mattress in his camping stuff. Maybe I could borrow it for Hillsdale. The couch was too short and either my legs were lifted high off the end, or my neck was crooked. I should check my lease for loopholes in the contract for this apartment. I would need a new place if I moved to Raymond & Johnson Law.
My phone vibrated in my pocket.
James: Well, I knew it. I must have done something wrong.
Great. What this time . . .
Scott: Hey—what’s up man?
James: I've no idea what I did wrong this time. I followed the rules. No costumes, no rings, no social media posts . . .
Scott: Okay. So, what’s going on?
James: Anna isn’t answering calls or texts. When I went to her apartment, her roommate said she wasn’t home . . . but I see her car in the parking lot.
Wait. I sat up.
Scott: Saw or see?
James: See. I'm right next to it. And looking in the backseat, I know it’s hers cause she left her jacket in it. If she was kidnapped, she doesn’t even have her coat.
Scott: James. Just because she didn’t answer a text doesn’t mean she is kidnapped. Get away from her car and drive out of the parking lot. You look like a creeper.
James: Ugh. Fine. I will text when I park.
I waited a few minutes, praying James left the parking lot. I picked up one of the financial journal magazines on the bedside table but couldn’t focus on it. I picked up the phone.
Scott: Did you leave?
James: Yes. I’m thinking it must have been the gift.
Scott: What gift?
James: A pig.
Scott: You got her a pig?
I don’t know where to start.
James: It was a cute little piglet with a note. Not a big gross one.
Scott: WHY did you get her a pig? Please tell me you mean a stuffed animal . . .
I set the magazine aside and laid back on my bed. Yikes. Please be stuffed.
James: Nah, it was a real one.
Scott: Where did you even find a pig? What is she supposed to do with it?
I read his text again. A piglet with a note . . . oh no.
Scott: What did the note say?
James: Just that it reminded me of her.
I closed my eyes and chuckled. Oh James, the ultimate man at failed grand gestures.
