“Still, it’s two weeks, not a couple of days. Linda will never approve that.”
“You leave Linda to me. I’ll handle her.”
“What if he kills me and leaves me in Europe?”
“I’ll sneeze in his coffee for the rest of my days here. Plus, I’ll tell every girl he hits on that he has gonorrhea.”
“Thomas—a man with a plan,” I laughed. We moved on to lighter topics, like the annual betting pool for how many pumpkin spice lattes we’d sell this fall. I’d lost last year, but this year, I was determined to win. We also talked about Thomas’s summer plans with his daughter, Dina. I helped her withschoolwork and piano lessons now and then. She was smart, though she hated those chords.
Once we closed up the shop, I lingered. Lately, I’d been heading home with Thomas or Laney, but tonight he had other plans and was walking in the opposite direction. I could’ve asked him to come with me to the bus stop, but I hesitated. I didn’t want to impose.
I stepped outside and paused. The stillness hit me first, so loud it made me aware of the irrational fears lurking in my mind. The city seemed too quiet for a weekday. I looked around, scanning for threats, even as I told myself I was being silly. I took a deep breath of the cool spring air and moved forward.
An hour later, I was walking up the stairs to my apartment. When I reached the door, a note caught my eye, taped to the frame in bold, heavy letters: “Let’s talk.” Panic took over. I chaotically searched my bag for the keys, rushed inside, and locked the door.
I told myself to breathe, even as tears stung the corners of my eyes. It was just nerves. Exhaustion. I’d been running on fumes for weeks. It had to be stress. I made my way to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of wine.
You’re panicking over nothing. It’ll pass. He’ll calm down.
I let the cold wine gush down my throat and stared at the mess in my living room. Dozens of books watched me from the shelf, silently judging me. That’s what I got for idolizing Mr. Darcy and the March sisters. I needed to start packing.
And I’d need help with the boxes, though just thinking about it made my stomach tighten. I struggled with that—asking for help. As ridiculous as it sounded, if I ever found myself completely broke and desperate, I’d rather take out a loan from a bank than borrow from family. The weight of owing someone felt like an invisible string of burden.
Me. I was the burden.
And history had taught me not to be one anymore. It also taught me to be a strong, independent woman, or whatever society expected at this age, but I wasn’t delusional. I had the muscle strength of a medium-sturdy Jell-O shot.
Suddenly, my phone screen lit up with a photo of Mady and me at the beach.
“Hey, babe, what are you doing?” Her voice was always like soda fizz, rushing out of the can the second you pop it.
“Hey, just got off work. You?”
“Just now? It’s like 11:30 PM.”
“Well, New York never sleeps. How else would you get bad sushi at 3 AM?” I laughed.
“Listen, we have a date.”
“For the wedding? That’s great. When?”
“April 15.”
“What?” I blinked. “That’s in two weeks.”
“Next year, dummy.”
“Oh, right. That’s a long time, considering you’ve been engaged for months.”
“Yeah, we figured there’s no rush. We want to plan without stress, and I travel a lot, so having more time helps.”
“That makes sense.”
“But I’m not sure if it’s this year’s birthday gift or next year’s.”
“What gift?”
“Me asking you to be my maid of honor for your birthday. It’s around the corner.” Her excitement was evident.
