I will make a new job for myself. I will find a new place to live. I will get John back.
My pizza and chocolate arrive, and I curl up on the bed (slash couch) and unlock my phone. Somehow, through this whole mess, I still haven’t lost my Wordle streak, and I definitely don’t intend to lose it now.
MUSTY, I type. As in, the smell of my new apartment.
Hmm. The T and Y are both green.
TIRED. (Self-explanatory.)
Oh-ho! The D and T are yellow, and the I and R are green.
DIRTY, I type confidently, and watch as the letters all turn green.
I snort aloud. MUSTY, TIRED, and DIRTY. That sums up my current state quite nicely.
Well, never mind. I take out my laptop and open up a blank to-do list.
I’ve got a lot of work to do.
The first thing I do the next morning is head to John’s apartment. And yes, I know, sorting out my job should be priority number one, not my love life, but I prefer to think that I’m prioritizing themequally. I’m just starting with John because his apartment is on the way to Jim’s house. Obviously.
My heart is doing gymnastics in my chest as I punch in the front door code and walk up the steps to his apartment. I smooth downmy hair and practice the speech I’ve come up with in my head. At first, I envisioned myself giving this long, passionate monologue about how leaving him to go to New York was the worst mistake I’ve ever made, but I discounted that almost immediately. First of all, it’s not true. I’m glad I went, if only because it made me realize that what I really want is to be here, starting my caregiving business and (hopefully) being with John.
Second of all, John is not the kind of person who would appreciate getting a romantic speech. If anything, he’d listen to the whole thing, raise an eyebrow, and say, “Yeah, maybe it’s a good thing we broke up.”
So anyway, theactualspeech I’ve come up with is just the blunt truth: I’m back from New York and I’m here for good, and I’d really like to get back together again, please.
Short, sweet, and to the point.
Oh, crap.
I’m at his door.
Swallowing hard, I knock loudly three times. I wait, fidgeting restlessly, then knock again. Still no answer. I check my phone. It’s only 8:22 a.m. Maybe John went to work early, for some reason?
I sigh. I don’t really want to try to reconcile at the shop, but it looks like I’ve got no choice.
I’m walking back down the stairs when I almost run straight into John’s mother.
“Carla!” I exclaim. “I mean, Mrs. Smith.” I’m not sure I’m still allowed to call her Carla, since John and I broke up.
But her eyes light up when she sees me. “Emily! What on earth are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in New York?”
“I’m looking for John,” I say. “I’m... I’ve come back.”
Carla tilts her head. “What about your internship, and school?”
I bite my lip. “I decided I wanted to be here more.”
She studies me for a moment and then smiles. “That’s wonderful. Come help me feed John’s fish, will you?”
I blink at her, startled. I was kind of expecting more questions. But she’s already turned away from me and is heading up the stairs.
“Er—is he not home?” I ask uncertainly, following her.
“He’s in Toronto for his friend’s wedding.”
Oh, crap. I forgot about that. He would’ve left yesterday, if I’m remembering the dates right. “When does he get back?”
