“Almost too charming.”
“He sounds incredible. When is he coming to visit? Or are you going to see him in London? I don’t love the idea of you traveling again and long-distance relationships can be very tricky.”
“To be honest, Mom, I’m not sure when I’m going to see Liam again.”
“You mean you didn’t arrange anything? How can you two be dating and not plan on seeing each other?”
Okay. She’s really not going to like this part. I try to speak in my most calming tone. “Interesting story... Liam and I aren’t dating.”
By the look on my mom’s face, you’d think I’d just run over her childhood pet. Maybe I should have been a little more forthright about the Liam situation.
“I’m sure he’ll get here eventually, though,” I offer. “He said he’d maybe try to visit in a few months once he figured out what he’s going to do business-wise.”
“But I thought... Who were you talking about falling in love with then?”
I look over at Jen with a guilty smile and shrug. She rolls her eyes in response.
“Jen?” my mom asks. “Do you know who she’s talking about?”
My sister looks back at me and I wordlessly give her permission to tell Mom whatever she wants.
“I may have an idea of who she’s referring to,” she says cautiously.
If Jen thinks I’m sticking around for this conversation, she is sorely mistaken. I pile as many bites of roast chicken into my cowardly mouth as possible as I stand up from the table.
“All right, I would love to stay and chat but I really need to go. I have tons of unpacking and editing to do. Thanks for dinner, Mom. See you guys next week!”
I push my chair in and kiss my mom and Jen goodbye before scurrying out of the room. As I’m walking away, I pick up on Jen saying something about “that guy from college” before hearing Mom go off like a rocket.
I close the front door, thinking to myself that next week’s dinner will certainly be eventful. I walk half a block when I finally feel ready to do what I have been thinking about doing for the past six months. My hand is clammy as I dig through my bag, searching for my phone and feeling an anxious pang when eventually I find it.
I’m going to do this. I’m not going to back out. I pull the phone out of my bag and find Beefcake’s number in the contacts section. I close my eyes and refuse to think about the myriad of possibilities that can follow as I push down on the call button.
Hang up! Hang up! Hang up! He’s probably over you. You took too long. Hang up! Hang up! Hang up!
“Hello?”
Hearing a woman’s voice, I nearly drop the phone onto the concrete. I look at the screen to make sure I dialed the right number and see that I called Ryan’s home phone and not his cell. My first question is, why does he even have a home phone? My second question is, why did he feel the need to program it into my contacts along with his cell number? And my third—much more pressing—question is, why is a woman answering?
“Hi,” I say, pushing the phone back to my ear and trying not to sound horrified. “I’m sorry, is Ryan there?”
“He’s out right now, can I take a message?” The voice is clearer this time and it must be her. Madison. He’s back with her. Maybe he never ended things. Not even when he came to Rome.
“I...” I have no idea what to say. I can’t let him know it’s me. “I was just calling to see if he’d like to hear more about America’s leading credit union.”
The call almost immediately goes dead and I click the screen off, frozen in place.
Disappointment wells in my throat as I slip the phone into my peacoat pocket. I guess six months was too long to wait. Ryan and I are truly over. No more grand gestures, no happy epilogue with us on our wedding day. The truth sinks in and slithers through my body, slippery and cold and stinging everywhere it touches.
It’s a long and bitter walk back to the train. I try to tell myself that it’s better that I found out this way before I sent the journal. That with the truth comes freedom. Ryan has moved on and it’s time I did, too.
I’d like to say that prospect takes some of the pain away, but it doesn’t—so I won’t.
24
Two days later, I’m cooking chicken cutlets and brown rice for dinner as I talk to Maggie on the phone.
“So have you heard anything yet?” she asks. After telling her the whole story at lunch yesterday, she knows exactly what was in the draft of the novel I gave to Cristina and is just as anxious to hear her opinion as I am.
