Okay. That answer was obvious.
I typed out a quick text.
Me: Arrived.
Her response came almost instantly.
Ashley: Yay!
A second text followed a moment later.
Ashley: Boys are in the bath. Let's talk later. You can do this! Remember, this is supposed to be fun!
I exhaled, half-smiling despite myself. Fun. Right.
Shaking my head, I found my charger and did my best to ignore my phone after that.
I was fine. Really. Everything was going to be just fine.
To shake the silence, I turned on the TV, kicked off my sandals, and collapsed onto the bed with my eyes closed.
But the day wasn’t over. The tour group was meeting in the lobby in a few hours. And as tempting as it was to stay right here, wrapped in this weird hotel-limbo, the stale scent of air travel clung to me. Unlike Aisle Seat Guy, who I’d never have to see again, I’d be spending the next twelve days with a bunch of strangers.
I should probably try to smell less like a carry-on.
What had Ashley said as she dropped me off at the airport?
“One step at a time. You’re going to get through this.”
Had she meant the trip, the breakup, or…my life? In that moment, feeling oddly untethered, I found myself clinging to her advice.
Open suitcase. Check.
Undress. Check.
Shower. Check.
With nothing else to do, I brushed out the stubborn tangles in my hair, scrunched some gel in, and then gently blow-dried it until I no longer looked like I had a pile of soggy noodles on my head. All the while, one of my favorite romcoms, Leap Year, played softly on the TV.
Anna, the heroine, was stumbling through a bunch of cows in some picturesque corner of Ireland, her high heels sinking into… Gross. I rolled my eyes. The charming, cynical stranger arguing with her was just a little too rugged, a little too conveniently swoon-worthy.
I used to love these stories—grumpy guy, sunshine girl, chemistry for days.
But somewhere along the way, I’d stopped being the sunshine. And now? I was one hundred percent the grump.
Regardless, I was pretty sure these kinds of shows had set me up for disaster.
Fictional boyfriends were far superior to real-life ones.
Leaning closer to the mirror, I swiped mascara onto my lashes. I really had believed I could have all that—love, success, adventure, and the happy ending. Something really special. Something more exciting than what my parents had had.
I mean, they’d loved each other, as far as I knew, they’d gotten married, had kids, and gone on to be…content-ever-after.
Until Dad died.
I swallowed hard. Because I still missed him. Of course, I did. Even if Mom was apparently coasting along just fine.
I capped my mascara and stepped back to check my reflection. The makeup made my eyes look bigger, and the swipe of lip gloss brought a little life back to my face. My skin still looked a bit tired, but at least I didn’t resemble someone who’d spent the last few weeks avoiding daylight and living on Pop-Tarts. I looked…not amazing, but decent. Like someone who might actually pass for human.
