Once I’m in my desk chair, I close my eyes. My dad’s disappointment is tangible. He’s right to be upset. I’ve broken an unspoken agreement. He gives me money, a stable future, my choice of job, and in return, I’m a good daughter who doesn’t make waves. It’s a cycle I’m not sure should continue, but the thought of breaking it makes my scalp hot. It could be the best decision I’ve made in years—or the worst. I need something to calm myself down. I go to buzz Benny, but a knock at my door comes first.
“Go away, Rich.”
“But I have coffee,” Benny says in a deep voice, a horrible attempt to impersonate Rich. She laughs. “Rich said I should bring you some.”
Damn it. He knew what I’d need. Why can’t he just get angry with me like a normal ex? Why does he have to be kind while I’m trying to abandon him? “Bring the whole pot. No—get the entire machine.”
My chin trembles. I don’t know why doing what’s best for myself means I need to be a bad daughter and ex-girlfriend. I don’t normally seek comfort in Rich when I’m upset, or anyone really since my mom. My dad’s too practical. He only wants to hear enough to fix the problem. In a way, my journals have been my confidantes, even when I only write a line or two. Now, someone else has read them. Someone else has seen me, stuck around, and wants toknowme.
I get my phone from my handbag. I don’t need to spill my sorrows to Finn. We aren’t at that place yet. But just saying hi, just knowing I’ll see him tonight, will be enough for now. I press the Home button. I have five new texts from Finn in the last two hours, and I can’t help the grin that overtakes my face. I type in my passcode and start with the first message.
Haven’t stopped thinking about last night since . . . last night.
You coming here straight from work? Or wanna get dinner first?
We could also order in. I’ve taken all the necessary “precautions” for a night in.
I smile. He got the condoms. Oh, the delicious positions he had me in last night—against his studio wall, on my knees for him, spread out on his kitchen table. I bite my bottom lip against the assault of flashbacks. I’m not sure if I’m more aroused by the ways he made me come, or by watching him furiously get himself off in the shower this morning when he thought I was asleep.
I scroll down, hoping for more of what we’ll do when I walk through his door.
I have to cancel tonight. I’m sorry. Don’t come.
Halston? I need to know you saw my last message. Please don’t come by my place. K?
My heart drops. What happened within an hour that made him change his mind? I re-read all the texts. Is it because I took so long to respond? Is he having second thoughts?
My eyes well with a fresh round of tears.
I can’t do this. I can’t be so attached to Finn already that his rejection is like a knife between the ribs. I tap out a response I can’t even read through my blurry vision.
I saw
I lay my head on my forearms and give in to my sobs. I don’t understand what changed. His words were so short. Cold. As if me not going over there is more important than how he’s just made me feel.
When my phone buzzes again, I’m torn between snapping it up to read his response and pushing it over the side of the desk into the garbage. I can’t handle any other response than “just kidding.”
A knock on the door momentarily decides for me. I stand up to cross the office. Thank God for coffee—it’s never let me down. Well, except the time a barista served me decaf by accident, and I spent the following hours confused and lonely before I realized what’d happened. And yes, liquids can let a person down. Wine has. Wine has fucked me over in the past, but rarely coffee.
I open the door just enough for Benny to pass the decanter and machine through. “I’ll set it up for you,” she says instead.
“I can handle it.”
She purses her lips. “You look like you’re about to jump out your window. I’m coming in, or the coffee goes bye-bye.”
I roll my eyes and step aside. She sets the coffee maker on my desk and plugs it in.
“Wow,” I say. “I’m glad you were here. How would I have managed without you?”
She smirks. “Damn. I forgot a mug.”
I pull out two from a bottom desk drawer.
“I should’ve known,” she says.
“Yep. You should have,” I tease, passing them to her.
“So, what’d your dad say?” she asks as she pours the coffee. “I’ve never seen you cry.”
