Good. Hope you’re not too tired today.
I ate two bites of the sandwich and went back to bed.
I woke up an hour later to my phone ringing.
“How was it?” Caroline’s voice asked against the sound of New York traffic.
“I’m basically still asleep. Can I call you later?”
“Are you hungover? What’d you guys do after?”
I paused, and she jumped back in. “I’m just at the farmers market picking up a few things. I’ll drop this stuff back at my place and come by in fifteen or so. Want to hear all about it.”
She hung up before I could say I wasn’t ready to see someone who’d already been to the farmers market. I stared at the phone as my fingers went back to Charlie’s texts. I shivered rereading them a second time.
I knew Caroline would show up even earlier than she thought, so I made the bed and zombie walked my way to the bathroom cabinet. I reached for the Listerine and makeup remover. I didn’t have time to shower, so I threw on yoga pants and a sweatshirt and stuffed my hair under a baseball cap. I poured the coffee into a mug and reheated it in the microwave.
Caroline tapped on the door before she opened it, holding out a small bunch of wildflowers. “Fresh from some farm in New Jersey,” she said brightly.
“Thanks,” I said, racking my brain to remember if I owned a vase. I didn’t.
“Mason jar?” she suggested, reading my mind.
The voice in my head said,I bet she owns more than one vase.
I pulled out one of my dad’s old tomato-sauce jars from the back of a cabinet and filled it with water.
“Scissors? You should trim them first,” she instructed.
I pulled the coffee mug from the microwave. “I’d offer you some, but I’m out of coffee,” I said apologetically.
“I’m caffeinated,” she chirped.
I sat heavily on the floor.
“Sorry. Standing is more than I can handle right now.”
She plopped down, stretching her long legs in front of her. Even for a Sunday morning, Caroline was put together in a rose-pink cashmere sweater, light-wash jeans, and crisp white VEJA slip-on sneakers with no-show socks.
She looked at me humorously. “Are you going to tell me about last night? Or just stare at my outfit?”
“It’s a great outfit.”
“I do casual well.”
I sighed. “I don’t do anything well. Except for my career. That’s mostly going well.”
“So, it wasn’t a good night?”
“No, it was an amazing night. It’s just not a good morning.”
It was true. If I could compartmentalize, the night itself had been perfect.
I told her everything, realizing how good it felt to relive it. I didn’t leave out a single detail.
She clicked her tongue. “Iknewthere was something there. Even before I met him. Remember that brunch at Buvette?”
“I had no idea until yesterday.”
