“Freddie, you’re being suspiciously sweet, which I’m not going to lie, I appreciate. But I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
“Sure, yeah, whatever. I’m wondering when your wedding is going to be.”
“If you mean with Chase, ha ha. So funny. But if we were to get married, it would probably thunderstorm, the cake would get sat on, and the electricity wouldn’t work. Toilets would clog anddresses would be torn. I can only imagine how awful it would be.”
“Way to be positive, Pippa.”
“Just realistic. When the DNA was divvied up between us, you got all the good luck, living a charmed life, jet-setting all over the world.”
“But I’m alone.”
“Only as of a few days ago. And what have I been all this time?”
“You knew who you wanted.”
“And he’s just as out of reach as ever.” But what I want and what I need is trust. Everything that occurred in the last few weeks, dredging up my high school embarrassments and insecurities, calls that into question. It forces me to ask if I can trust anyone—certainly not Marlow, Mr. Collins, or even myself at times.
Can I trust Chase?
My stomach churns with nerves, like a boat pitching in rough water.
Except the sky is clear. The wind is calm. Two tears track down my cheeks, salty and warm. I haven’t been thinking with my head but with my heart.
“Freddie, leaving Chase was incredibly painful, but what was I supposed to do? Continue to be tormented by Marlow? Stand by while Rhett threatened his son? Wait for Chase to realize that he’s in control of his life? What would you have done?”
“Same thing you did.”
“I doubt that. Seriously, what would you have done?”
“I’ve never officially been in love, so I can’t speak with authority, but I probably would’ve tried to protect my heart at all costs. Also, maybe socked someone in the nose. Just being honest.”
Before we get off the phone, I make Freddie promise not to punch Chase, just in case he is getting on a plane because he’s mad at us.
As I continue to drive, these questions and more follow me as the scenery outside shifts from rural to suburban to city. Despite the GPS directing me, the Boston streets somehow send me into a spiral of confusion and I wind up outside the Boston Bruiser’s stadium.
I pull over to get back on track when my phone beeps with a message from my sister.
Phoebe: So what are you going to do?
Me: Try to find my way to the Four Seasons.
Phoebe: Are you lost?
Me: Very. But if you meant the series of unfortunate events that recently transpired in my life, which one should we start with? You were right. We can fill an entire book.
Phoebe: I meant, what are you going to do for lunch?
Me: Seriously?
Phoebe: Yeah, you’re in Boston. There are some great restaurants there. No, silly. Are you going back to Concordia? Coming home to London?
Me: If I miraculously overcome my chocolate allergy, then Concordia it is. I understand why people crave chocolate after heartbreak.
Phoebe: You do know that you’re not actually allergic to chocolate, right? Freddie just told you that so he’d get all your Easter candy.
My mouth hangs open. Oh, he owes me big.
Me: What about the hives?
