Plus, I’m not going to have time to do any caregiving. I’m going to be way too busy with classes, and my internship, and my duties as dorm supervisor. In fact, my life will be so exciting and full, I doubt I’ll even have time to think about Waldon or John. The days will fly by, and before long I’ll be like, John who?
I take another sip of my drink. While I’m just sitting here, waiting for my food, I may as well do today’s Wordle.
FROST, I type in.
The R is green, the O is yellow.
My gaze wanders the restaurant again. At the table nearest me, the group of girls are giggling as they give the handsome waiter their order.
ORDER, I type.
Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. The O is yellow, the R is green, the E is yellow, and thesecondR is yellow. That means it has to be—
ERROR, I type in.
Crap.
It’s right.
I really hope that’s not the universe’s way of telling me I’ve made a mistake.
But it can’t be a mistake. It just isn’t possible. This is the start of my new, exciting life. In ten years, when I’m a curator at some fabulous museum in London and I’m married to some gorgeous British guy who’s absolutely nothing like John, we’ll be sitting in our white-marble kitchen one day and I’ll tell him this story and say, “Can you believe I almost gave all of this up?” And he’ll laugh and say, “Yeah, for some mechanic in Nowhereville.” And then I’ll say, “It wasn’tNowhereville, asshole, it was Waldon, PEI, and that mechanic was a million times better than you’ll ever be—”
Wait.
No, that last bit’s wrong.
I sigh heavily just as my food arrives.
“Everything okay?” the waiter asks. He’s the same handsome waiter that the other table was giggling over, and his expression is warm and interested. Call it intuition, but I can just tell that if Isay something witty right now, he’ll banter back and maybe even wind up asking for my phone number.
“Mm-hmm,” I say instead, lowering my eyes. The interest in his gaze falls away, and he retreats with a polite, impartial smile.
I stare down at my meal. It looks delicious—a glazed piece of fish and tiny little vegetables drizzled artfully with a pale-green sauce—but I’ve kind of lost my appetite. I make myself finish it all, but when the waiter comes to ask if I want dessert, I shake my head and ask for the bill.
It’s still bright and hot outside, but I head back to my dorm room and set about unpacking. Maybe if I set up my new room, it’ll start feeling like my new home. I leave my door open, just in case any other students are around, but three hours pass and no one walks by. The lady I got the keys from said the dorms are basically empty this time of year. Most of the students won’t arrive for another month.
At ten o’clock, I give up and close my door. I sit at the little desk and stare out the window, which overlooks the street. People are still striding by purposefully, but the scene doesn’t seem nearly as compelling as it did earlier. In fact, just for a second, the city seems loud and kind of exhausting.
I take out my phone and open my texts. My thumb briefly hovers over John’s name, but I force myself not to click on it. Instead, I email my parents to tell them about the meal I had and wish them a safe flight home from New Zealand, and then answer Rose’s cheerful text asking if I’ve arrived safely.
A few minutes later, my phone dings, but it isn’t my mom or Rose.
[10:07]Kiara:Hope NYC is good so far.
[10:07]Kiara:We all miss you.
My eyes well up unexpectedly. I look up at the ceiling and blink quickly until the tears go away.
[10:08]: I miss you all too.
I hesitate, then type again.
[10:09]: This really sucks.
[10:10]Kiara:I know.
[10:10]Kiara:But you have to do what’s best for you.
