Our blonde friend covers her eyes with her hands and drops her head. “Trey’s office. He said the door was locked.”
With an expression full of awe, Aspen sits speechless for a second until she recovers. “Wow, Simone, this is a whole new side of you.”
“I’ve always wondered if behind the nice sweet girl image, you had a freaky side, but I never guessed you were an exhibitionist.”
“I’m not freaky,” Simone tries to defend herself, but I’ll never view her the same. If it’s possible I like her more with this bit of information.
Aspen leans over and pats her on the knee. “It’s a good thing for our group.”
“Oh look, Amanda’s here.” Simone points to the front of the store and at first I decide she’s done a very poor job of changing the subject, but when the bell over the front door jingles, I turn and check it out with Aspen.
Amanda’s familiar face with slightly longer hair than her normal pixie cut bounces through the front door of Cosmo’s. She walks half the distance of the building before her arms open wide, a big white bag in one hand, and she says my name loudly enough the one other customer in the store turns and looks.
“Congratulations!” Amanda rushes to me, hugging me from my spot on the couch.
I’m not sure why she’s still excited about the wedding. I saw her the night we came back to San Francisco. “You’ve already given me congratulations on the wedding, but thank you.”
“Not about the wedding, crazy. About Ryland signing with his old team.” She takes off her thin pink parka and tosses it in the pile with Aspen and my coats. The bag with a Beagles Bagels logo on the side is tossed in the center of the table on top of a few comic books.
“Excuse me?” I ask and then can’t close my mouth again. Ryland signed with his team? Why did I not know this?
Amanda flops down in a spot next to Simone leaving the third couch open. “Yeah, it’s plastered all over the Internet this morning. They said he reached a deal early today.” She finally calms enough to take in my expression, her lips puckering when she catches on. “Did you not know yet? Maybe he hasn’t had time to call?”
“You never know, Marissa. It could be crazy right now,” Aspen steps in, but her reassurance does nothing to stop the questions flying around in my head. “Plus, it's a gossip blog. They never get shit right.”
“He left worried about how the media would react to him returning.” I reach for the bag of bagels to pretend I’m unaffected by the fact Amanda knew I'd be moving to England before I did.
Amanda perks up. She must buy my bagel act. “Oh they’re happy. All the headlines mentioned England’s golden boy returning home."
“So you’ll be in England? How am I going to get friend time in? Do you think Ryland will let you fly back for Sunday brunch?” Aspen's voice waivers a little as she asks.
I wish I had an answer for her. Well, obviously I’m not flying back every Sunday, but for the rest of it. I want to be happy for Ryland and get on board with this England thing, but there’s a small pit in my stomach that grows with doubt every minute. If Ryland did sign with the team, I can’t believe he wouldn’t tell me right away. Is it my concern over the move to a new country or real doubt about this deal? Either way I’ve agreed to support Ryland in this and I will, but I don’t feel right about this whole thing.
In the past I’ve thought Pen and Simone over reacted when they found out news, whether true or fake, from the paper. Now I understand. It’s horrible to read crap about your significant other or your own future on the Internet.
While the other girls are busy with their cream cheese and bagels, I send Ryland a quick text. I’m not sure his phone will get it, but since he sent me one last night I cross my fingers and hope for the best.
Me:I’m moving to England?
It takes over twelve hours to hear back from Ryland. Six of those hours I spent with the girls pretending I was fine and the doubt over my future wasn’t eating away at me. No one bought it, but no one mentioned it either.
The last six hours of my wait I spent in my apartment. It didn’t feel right in Ryland’s place without him. This weekend we were supposed to move my clothes over to the main condo. It’s a few feet walk so I didn’t pick up any boxes. But sitting on my couch looking at the few photos and DVDs I own, I’m reconsidering. It would be easier to just box them up now. Will my DVDs even work in England? I hate not having the facts about my future, especially when it feels like everyone else does.
What does a person even take with them when they move overseas? Will our main house be here, in San Francisco, or England? They’re questions I need to talk to Ryland about. His radio silence becomes more and more stressful until my whole body sits coiled, ready to strike if the phone rings. They say a watched pot doesn’t boil, so I try to distract myself with mindless television and whenSeinfelddoesn’t work I turn to a book. Most of the time I sit next to the phone glaring at it. Fuck the pot business.
I expect a call — to hear Ryland’s voice — but a few minutes before I’m about to give up, my phone dings with a text message.
Ryland:I didn’t sign with England, but might have big news. I’ll be home soon.
That’s it. The most cryptic text in the history of texts. Okay, maybe it’s not cryptic per say. At least now I know he didn’t sign with England, but the rest of it? What the hell? This answer makes my stress skyrocket. I hate feeling left in the dark. Right now I can’t even find a nightlight to help guide me through as I sit around twiddling my fingers waiting for him.
