“What have you done?” she yelled.
I looked around.What did I do?I wondered. “I, um, I don’t know,” I said.
“You think this whole area is your personal garbage can? You left candy wrapperseverywhere,” she admonished me.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my eyes welling up with tears.
“Don’tapologize,” she scolded. “Stand up! Right now! Get up and pick them up!”
So, I stood up, as scared as I had ever been in my entire short life.
And I peed myself.
I have that exact same feeling right now. This is my all-or-nothing moment. My thinking brain tells me that Colin wouldn’tbehere if he was going to chide me. He wouldn’t come all this way to tell me I could shove my apology up my ass. I mean, right? That would be royally fucked up!
But my feeling brain reminds me that I am a sloppy, wretched drunk and the things that came out of my mouth the night that I ended it with him were simply unforgivable.
Then my thinking brain leads me into the bathroom to pee, youknow, just in case. And while I’m peeing, my feeling brain causes me to start breathing hard, as if I might have a panic attack.
No!insists my thinking brain.Just go downstairs and see why he’s here!
So, I do. I wash my hands, wipe them on my jeans, grab my keys, and use the stairs for the first time ever.
I see him from the lobby, standing there in jeans and a T-shirt, holding a brown paper shopping bag. His car is behind him, double parked, and he is looking down at his phone.
I’m immediately struck by the sight of him. He’s so beautiful, with those brooding eyes and perfect hair and strong forearms and gentle hands. It’s almost like I willed myself to forget about all the tiny things that make him so…Colin.
I push open the door, and he looks up at me.
I walk outside. We stand face to face, about six feet apart.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hey,” he smiles.
“You’re here,” I say.
“I am,” he replies.
“How come?” I ask.
“Because I read what you wrote.”
An involuntary smile creeps across my lips. “Did you like it?”
“I did. But—”
“But what?”
He clears his throat. “You didn’t finish it.”
“Oh. Yeah, I know,” I say.
“Why not?” he asks.
I’m not sure if I can tell him the truth. “What’s in the bag?” I say instead.
“Gyros. Fries. A sampler.”
