“Thisisme being on your side, Jen. Trust me. Besides, you leaving here is totally different to when I left California,” she reminds me as if I don’t already know that. “My fiancé and I had just broken up because he knocked up another woman. I left to get away fromthat. You’re leaving because you’re scared that if you stay, you won’t want to let him go.”
I ignore her, searching for my phone in my purse, knowing full well it’s in my pocket on the side of my dress, but I can’t bring myself to look at her.
She’s right.
Of course she is.
I hear her footsteps get closer to me, as her arms wrap around my shoulders, and my body crumbles into hers.
“If you really want to leave, I’ll take you to the airport. But it’s not too late to change your mind. You don’t owe anyone here anything, but I think you know you owe it to yourself to try.” She kisses my temple before pulling herself away from me, wiping the tears that had fallen down my cheeks. “Where too?” she finally asks, gripping the handle of a suitcase in her palm.
I look around my now-empty apartment, no sign of life visible, and I let out a deep, shaky breath. “The airport.”
We close my door behind me, each of us rolling luggage behind us and a duffle bag slung over our shoulders while I lock the door.
“Heading out so soon?” Marv asks as he hurries toward us to help with my bags. A slight frown appearing across his face.
I’ll miss him, of that much, I’m sure.
“Family emergency,” I lie, because like the last three months, lying is easier than telling the truth.
I’m not spreading misinformation. My mom is sick, but she doesn’t need me.
They don’t need to know that.
“Will you be back to visit?” he asks, and I nod with a smile, dropping my bags to take him in for a hug that startles him. He pats me firmly with one hand. “Thank you for letting me tell you about Louella,” he whispers in my ear. “It’s been a long time since anyone has asked me about her.” Pulling back, I release him, and the three of us head toward Cassandra’s parked car.
We load my bags into the back in silence, until my best friend closes the door quietly, and I give Marv one last hug.
He clears his throat. “Safe travels, Ms. Rogers.” He nods and makes his way back inside the building without so much as a glance over his shoulder.
Cassandra climbs in the driver’s side first, and I hesitate while taking in Grangewood Creek one last time.
The place that was my home for the last three months, will become nothing but a distant memory—a place I will look back on when I think about the only time I gave my heart to a man who didn’t know what to do with it.
Opening the passenger side door, I throw my bag onto the floor and step on the footrest to climb in, when Cassandra yells, “Wait!” I freeze, my ass hovering above the seat. “Don’t sitdown,” she tells me, her voice frantic, and I take a step out of the car to see what the hell she’s talking about.
Planted carefully on the place I was about to throw myself onto, is none other than a cupcake. I can tell it’s homemade because the icing looks like a spiral was attempted, only without a piping tip. Which makes it kind of look like a weird-looking slug swirled around on the top.
“Did you make this?” I ask Cassandra, who sits on the driver’s side with a smile on her face.
With her cheeks flushed pink, she shakes her head.
“I didn’t make it. But I put it there.”
“Then who..” I trail off. I don’t need her to tell me. “But why?” I ask her.
Scooping it up between my fingertips, I climb into the seat, and clip my buckle across my chest before I bring it to my nose.
I can smell the vanilla right away, but the citrus throws me. “Lemon?” I ask her, and she shrugs while turning on the ignition, and a tiny lick tells me I’m right.
“Like I said, I didn’t make it. I was just tasked with giving it to you.” She focuses her attention on the road, but breaks suddenly before we’ve even left the car park. “He left this for you, too.” She hands me a paper cup with lukewarm coffee inside, and a piece of paper folded into a little square.
Without hesitation, I place the coffee into the holder tray between us, and open up the letter a little too quickly for someone who’s ready to give up.
As it turns out, nervous baking doesn’t always help.
I hope the coffee tastes better than the cupcake.
