I didn't eat much pizza. Maybe two pieces, and a few spoonfuls of crème brûlée. Two chardonnays. This is a five-star hotel; surely it wasn't food poisoning. Maybe it’s the morning-after pill? I've never taken one before. Maybe the hormones are rejecting me.
Instead of crawling back into bed, I get dressed. I quietly slip my shoes on. I look at the iPad on the wall, thinking about the car service, but I’m only two blocks away. I can walk two blocks without getting murdered.
I open the door and take one last look at the sleeping man who changed my life. Then, I walk away from Griffin, forever.
I don’t know his last name. I don't know anything about him except that he’s a lawyer who likes sluts. This thought makes me laugh, and laughing feels better than crying.
I walk through the hotel lobby, which is surprisingly busy for the early hour. I say goodbye to the bouncer as I walk out,only to realize it's a different guy who has no idea who I am. Suddenly, I feel like an idiot.
There’s some liberation in the fact that I've had an incredible night with a stranger I’ll never see again, but mostly, I feel cheap. Griffin didn't make me feel bad; I am making myself feel bad.
I walk into my sad little sublet and throw my keys on the table. I kick off my shoes and fall into bed fully clothed. I don't even get under the covers; I just crash.
The sun coming through my window wakes me up. Disgusted that I’m still in my suit, I grope for my phone. It's almost five o’clock on Saturday afternoon. I've slept for nearly twelve hours.
Granted, I've been sleeping in a train seat for three days and had marathon sex all night, so I deserve the rest. I check my notifications: three missed calls from my sister and fifteen from an unknown number. I assume those are from Landon. I block the number immediately.
One missed call is from the temp agency, barely twenty minutes ago. I shake as I hit redial. I can't miss my first paycheck.
“Hello, this is Selena Thompson. I’m returning your call.”
“Hi, Ms. Thompson, this is Craig from Staff Savers. We have you marked for a week-long assignment at a law firm in Manhattan. Paxton, Gill, and Associates. You’ll be assisting one of their senior partners. Be there Monday at eight a.m., corporate upscale attire. Half-hour lunch, finish at six. Any questions?”
He speaks so fast I can barely scribble it down.
“What’s the lawyer’s name?” I ask.
“You’re checking in with Elinore. I’ll text you the address. Thanks.”Click.
Seconds later, a text comes through with the address. I have Sunday to prepare.
I call my sister next.
“Oh my God, I’ve been so worried!” she screams.
“Chill out, sis. I’m good. I’ve got an apartment and a job starting Monday. Don’t tell Landon where I am.”
“I won’t. But he’s already involved the police.”
“Why? Leaving a cheater isn't a crime,” I snap.
“That’s what they told him. They said he’s lucky you only took half the honeymoon fund. You’re in the clear, Sel. But are you sure you don’t want me to retrieve your furniture?”
“Nope. Clean slate,” I say. As I say it, my stomach pitches again. “Listen, I gotta go. I think I have a bug. I need to grocery shop and spend an hour on the toilet.”
“You always had a nervous belly. I love you, Sel.”
“Love you too.”
I hang up and run to the bathroom, dry heaving over the sink. Whatever I ate—or whatever pill I took—really messed me up.
I order groceries via Instagrub: ready-made meals and three pints of ice cream because that’s the only thing that sounds edible.
While I wait, I survey my studio. It’s tiny, but it has a deep soaking tub and a sketchy pull-down ladder to a private rooftop. That’s a win.
When the food comes, I binge-watch TV and eat ice cream. I take a shower to wash Griffin’s scent off me, and immediately regret it. I miss him.
I force myself to stop thinking about him. He’s gone. And I force myself not to think about Landon. Instead, I climb up to the roof, sit on an upturned bucket amidst the debris, and cry my eyes out for exactly one hour.
