As I pull into a parking spot, Lily turns to me, her expression serious. “Thank you for today. And for…” She trails off, but I’m positive she’s referring to the breakfast we never shared.
“Anytime,” I say, and I mean it more than she can know.
We walk to where our paths diverge and stop, the goodbye awkward again.
“I should go unpack some boxes.” I can tell Lily needs space, and I don’t want to crowd her.
She nods. “And I need to catch up on laundry.”
We’re both giving each other excuses for a separation that feels necessary, but maybe unwanted. Is that how it is for her, too?
“Remember to check in later,” she adds. “For your bandage change.”
“Will do,” I agree, lifting my arm to acknowledge the wound that’s become my best excuse to see her regularly.
As I watch her climb the stairs to her apartment, I marvel at how much has changed in a few days. I came to LA looking for wildfires and professional challenges, never expecting to meet someone who would set off a completely different kind of blaze inside me.
I unlock my door and drop my keys in the bowl by the entrance. The apartment still smells of the professional cleaning they did after the last tenant left—chemical and impersonal. I lean back against the wall and stare at the towers of moving boxes. Is this what new beginnings are supposed to feel like? So much hope you can barely breathe, and nowhere to put it.
13
LILY
I’m not proud of what I’m about to do.
The minute I close the apartment door behind me, I kick my shoes off and dig my phone out of my bag. I sit on my couch and take a calming breath, which does nothing to settle my nerves as I google the name of Josh’s ex-girlfriend and their hometown—Harper Delaware City—to see if I can stalk her online and get a glimpse of what she looks like. It’s pathetic, but I can’t help myself. Since he mentioned her, I’ve been fidgeting like I’m fourteen again, dissecting every interaction with the cute boy in science class. Such a juvenile attitude for a grown woman with a child. But here I am, social media stalking the ex of a man I’ve known for a weekend.
When only obituaries for old men come up as top results, I add Josh Collins in the search box. Mistype it twice before my fingers stop shaking, and bingo! The public Instagram profile of a pretty brunette with freckles and blue eyes pops up. The handle @HarperInTheDCity makes me shake my head even as I tap to scroll through her feed.
She beams at me from every photo, embodying everything I was hoping not to discover. She’s gorgeous in that not-even-trying way some women are blessed with. Slim but curvy, with long chestnut hair that falls in perfect waves around her heart-shaped face. Her smile is wide and genuine, showing off teeth that probably never needed braces. In all posts, Harper is either doing something adventurous or striking an effortless pose that I hope took fifteen attempts to get right, or it really wouldn’t be fair.
In a pic from a week ago, she’s on a floatie, abs tight enough to bounce a penny, her back draped over a handsome man with dark hair, eyes hidden behind a pair of Ray-Bans. The wind is whipping her glossy locks across both their faces as they laugh. The caption reads:
Almost two years with this one! Every day is a new adventure #blessed #foundmyhome #sundayfunday
So she moved on. Go, Harper. Good for you.
But my curiosity isn’t satisfied. Is Harper someone who erases ex-boyfriends from her timeline, or has she kept Josh? I have to scroll photos back a few years to find him—them. I swipe past a million shots of sunsets and girls’ brunches and a weird number of close-ups of smoothie bowls, until they appear: Josh and Harper standing next to their bikes on a waterfront trail. He has an arm slung over her shoulder while he kisses her temple and she smiles at the camera. His hair is shorter than it is now, more neatly trimmed, but the blue eyes and the easy smile haven’t changed; they’re the same that make my chest hurt when aimed at me.
Jealousy stabs me at his open affection for someone else, visceral and liquid, burning like acid, and I have to put the phone down.
And that is just a picture of his ex. The intensity of my reaction sends me into a panic. What is wrong with me? I met Josh five days ago. Five. Days. And I’m jealous of a relationship that ended years before he moved to California?
I’m being ridiculous. Josh is my neighbor. We’re barely even friends. What will happen if we keep hanging out and he starts dating someone? My stomach churns at the thought. Oh, I won’t handle that well.
But a guy like him? He can have his pick of women. He’ll end up with a gorgeous yoga instructor with tanned skin. She’ll get a key to his apartment within a week, wear his stolen hoodies around our housing complex, and host free sun salutations for the neighbors on the lawn. They’ll go for midnight swims in the pool. Nah, he’d take her to the ocean—artificial water is too prosaic. The mental image makes me nauseous.
But I need to be prepared because Josh is an amazing man, and any sane, undamaged woman who doesn’t carry trauma the size of Alaska would want to date him. He’s single and came here for a fresh start. How long before he’s snatched up by someone who doesn’t burst into tears at the sight of him making breakfast? Someone who doesn’t have a child and a dead husband and more baggage than the luggage carousel at LAX.
I don’t dare look at other photos of Josh and Harper and abandon my Instagram quest in favor of a shower, hoping the hot water will wash away this weird, possessive feeling that has no right to exist. I stand under the spray until my skin prickles, scrubbing hard, as if I could clean off these unwanted emotions.
It sort of works. At least I don’t cry again, which feels like a minor win.
Afterward, I half-heartedly flop onto the couch, turning on Netflix and scrolling through five hundred shows, but watching none. I stay that way until Penny bursts through the front door with my sister Josie in tow and, judging by the deeper voice behind them, Dorian too.
Great. I’m about to face a rockstar in my oldest sweats and socks with holes in them that I won’t throw away because they were Daniel’s favorite.
Penny launches herself at me in a hug. I squeeze her and pat her back while my sister walks in.
