“I know, but I still want to look at them.”
“Is my part of the beach not classy enough for you?”
“Your part of the beach is plenty classy. I just want to know all the options.” I tapped the pencil on the notebook. “I also emailed Avery this morning.”
“And?” she asked, her eyes wide.
“It was four a.m. I haven’t heard back yet. But I did tell her I was in town and if she was available, I’d love to take her to lunch and chat.”
Addie threw her arms around me.
“Now all you need is a good therapist, your mom to pull her head out of her ass, and Graham to come to the realization that he can’t live without you.”
“And my bestie to get her head out of the clouds,” I said, shaking my head. “That feels like a very tall order. Maybe I just fix me and let the chips fall where they may.”
“I’ve never understood that saying,” Addie said. “Any chips falling are landing in my mouth.”
I laughed and then stopped abruptly, my mind going to Graham. I’d gone to bed last night with him solely on my mind. He had the potential to be the best thing to ever happen to me in the love department, but I’d once been told by Ty that you can’t hang on to someone based on their potential. That was right before he told me his latest boyfriend had dumped him for a man three decades older because he had a yacht and Ty could only offer dinners out at nice restaurants.
“I’d have dumped me too,” Ty had said with a sigh.
“I think… I have to let him go,” I said to Addie. “At least for now. I’m not the only one who needs therapy to work through the trauma others have inflicted. And I can’t wait around expecting him to figure it out. I need to focus on me now. Not just my career, but my life and what I want it to look like.”
Addie hugged me again.
“Good,” she said. “That all sounds amazing.” She checked the time then and gave me an apologetic look.
“Go,” I said. “You have other pets to psychoanalyze. I get it.”
I spent a week at Addie’s, reveling in our morning verbal sparring sessions before she hurried off to work, luxuriating in walks on the beach, coffees from my favorite café, hours spent walking through homes for sale, and feeling at peace in the evenings as we rehashed our days over dinner.
I took no pictures and spoke to no one but her, other than a few texts to thank my agent Jen, Risa Collins, Daniela, and a handful of friends who had congratulated me on my Vogue cover and spread. Including Marley, who I could tell knew something was up between me and her brother, but didn’t push and took me up on my offer of a video chat in a couple of weeks.
There was no word from Graham. And I didn’t send him a message either.
By the time I left, I’d signed a year-long contract with Avery and the Seattle Tribune as a weekly columnist for the arts section starting in January, put in an offer on a house, and scheduled a therapy appointment.
“Take care of you,” Addie said, giving me a hug.
“I will. Take care of you too and, I’ll see you soon!”
When I returned home several hours later, there was a note to retrieve a package at the post office, a pile of mail, and a large padded envelope waiting for me. Leaving my suitcase at the base of the stairs, I took the mail to the kitchen, opened the container of donut holes that expired today, shoved one in my mouth, and ripped open the manilla envelope, assuming it was a copy of Vogue sent from one of many sources. But the pages I pulled out were not filled with glossy, high-resolution photographs. They were covered in words. Graham’s words. It was his latest book.
A note was paperclipped to the title page, dated the morning I’d left for Seattle.
“Be gentle,” he’d written.
“Yeah,” I whispered, sliding onto the stool beside me and turning to the first page. “You too.”
I was deep into chapter five when my phone rang, my agent’s name illuminating the screen.
“Hey, Jen,” I said,
“Amalfi and Armani,” she said.
A job. It was tempting but?—
“I know you’re scarred from that last shoot and probably need a break,” she said. “But you’re going to want to do this one.”
