“You all right in here?” Jessie asks.
“Just trying to dry my hair.” Nelle bunches the soaked strands in a towel, but they pull away just as dark and clumped as before. “To no avail.”
“Let me help.” Jessie rummages under the sink and pulls out a blow-dryer.
“I’ve never used that before,” Nelle says.
Jessie flicks on a switch and it roars to life. “You can keep it.”
Hot air blasts Nelle’s head, and she leans back into the feeling, losing herself as Jessie works through her hair. The blow-dryer switches off, but before Nelle can open her eyes, she feels the bristles of a hairbrush prickling her scalp, gliding through her tangles. She watches in the mirror as her golden hair smooths out. Not quite straight, and far from curly, but voluminous.
“Much better,” Jessie says. “You’re welcome.”
Nelle follows her into the kitchen, a bit lost as to what she should do. A creative of the night, Jessie resumes a sketch on her tablet, her pen moving furiously. The one time Nelle pulled an all-nighter for a painting, the flying palomino, it drained her dry.
She feels similarly now.
Jessie looks up. “Go get some rest.”
Nelle picks up her tea. “Can I borrow a book?”
Jessie points to the shelf in the corner between the balcony windows and the TV. “That one has the kind you’ll like.”
“How do you know what I’ll like?” Nelle drifts over to the shelf and slips out a slim volume translated from French, with a watercolor of flowers on the soft paper cover. Before she heads down the hall, she asks, “WhenwillJames be back?”
“What’s today?”
Nelle has to think. “January eleventh.”
“He will be back Friday, the thirteenth.”
Nelle imagines the different ways their reunion could go. James may be furious with her. Or deeply depressed. Or apathetic. Or maybe he will want her back. Maybe he still craves her the way she does him. Maybe he misses their long conversations, their gut-stabbing laughter, their sex, the comfort and ease of being together.
She climbs under James’s sheets and stares at the ceiling, listening to the noises of the street. Exhaustion hits, and she is out before she can crack the cover of the little book.
Chapter 32
Nelle sits with a coffee mug in her lap, maroon sweater swallowing her torso. For a second, James thinks he’s hallucinating, but her honey eyes hold their signature sparkling wonder, and her chest rises with anticipation as he enters. His suitcase tips over.
What the fuck is Nelle doing here?
He’s furious. He’s elated. His heart and mind are torn, one reaching for illogical love, the other for logical anger, and coming up with a headache. His arms burn from lugging a sixty-pound suitcase, packed with his favorite books from his childhood bedroom in Lincoln, he’s tired and sore from the flight, and all he wanted, five minutes ago, before he knew Nelle was here, was a long nap.
Jessie told him she would be out with Lena, so Nelle either broke in, or she has been staying here. He makes a mental note to give his cousin shit for her lack of warning.
“Hi.” He stands there awkwardly, unsure what to do. Months ago, he would have called Nelle his best friend. Now she feels like a stranger.
She sets the mug on the coffee table. “Hey.”
James scratches his head. “When did you ... uh ... get here?”
What else is there to say? He spent months trying to get over her, and he hasn’t even accomplished that yet. A single slipup might set him back. He can’t risk that.
Unless she is here to stay.No.He doesn’t dare let himself think that optimistically.
“Two days ago,” she says. “I came to see you. To talk and ... apologize.”
“Apologize?” James repeats. “For what?”
