After watching Mira start a heated debate with other drunken patrons at Finn’s overBack to the Future Part IIIbeing the superior film in the franchise, I know she isn’t one to avoid conflict. I’m certain that if she hated my guts, she’d tell me to fuck off before promptly blocking my number. So, her going radio silent has me unsettled.
I try not to think about worst-case scenarios as I pull into the parking lot of the ranch, my headlights cutting across the dark abyss of the property announcing my arrival to everyone partying out on the lawn.
By the time I cut my engine, Katherine is already running down the path towards me. Her long brown hair is tied up in a loose knot at the base of her neck, and the pale pink dress she’s wearing clings to her body, billowing around her knees.
“Hudsy, you’re here!” she shouts, wrapping her arms around me; her breath pungent with the sweet scent of liquor.
“You don’t have to lay it on that thick,” I say, giving the group a wave and stepping out of her grasp.
“I’m just excited to see you,” she says, as if we didn’t see each other two days ago before she left. “Come on, let me show you to our room.”
I suppress my groan as she takes my hand and leads me down the path, past the main cabins, and towards the two-story barn at the far end of the property. I knew that cohabitating goes hand in hand with the whole pretending-to-still-be-together thing, but now that the reality of it is dawning, my chest tightens. We haven’t shared a bed in months, a fact my chiropractor keeps reminding me of—since my couch, as pricey as it is, is not suitable for long-term slumber. And in my Mira-induced packing daze, I forgot to bring my sleeping bag.
We walk through the lobby of the barn, traveling down the hall until she stops in front of the last door on the left. When she opens it, I’m elated to see that in addition to a queen-size bed there is also a set of wooden bunk beds. Dropping my bag on the floor, I go to claim my space on the bottom bunk as Katherine pulls me backwards and onto the bed. She’s in my lap before I can process the movement, her long tanned legs on either side of me.
“What are you doing?” I ask, hoping that she’ll come to her senses and get off my lap of her own accord.
“I missed you,” she pouts, attempting to run her hands through my hair. I catch her wrist delicately, moving off the bed and across the room, a feat made infinitely harder by how cramped the space is.
“Why don’t we go back to the party?”
“Really?” she asks, staring up at me in disbelief. More than anyone, she knows I’d rather build profit-margin spreadsheets than go to a party with her friends, but if doing shots with Meredith and Grant gets me out of this room, I’ll do it.
She plops down on the bed, pouting. “But we agreed to betogetherthis weekend.”
“No, we agreed to sit in our assigned seats and walk down the aisle without causing a scene,” I say in the same tone a parent would use to explain to a toddler why they can’t bring the pony home with them.
She doesn’t say anything, her eyes staring down at the floor, crossing her arms across her chest. “I didn’t get the apartment.”
“What?” I ask, the words knocking the air from my chest.
“I couldn’t come up with first month, last month,” she says, picking at her perfectly manicured nails. Being a real-estate agent, Katherine’s income fluctuates with the economy, and with the housing crisis in full effect, sales are slow. My mother offered to refer a few of her friends to Katherine’s firm, but she quickly learned that millionaires are the most indecisive people when it comes to buying houses.
“What about your savings?” I ask, leaning against the wall, unsteady.
“Between the dresses and the flights, and the bachelorette party ... It all adds up, okay?”
This can’t be happening, I reason, as my brain tries to come up with possible solutions.
“Which apartment was it? I know your credit isn’t great, so if they need a co-signer ...”
“I don’t want you to do that,” she argues, but I’m willing to do anything.
“I’ll call them. I’ll—”
She cuts me off. “They already gave it to another applicant.”
Irritation bubbles along my skin. It took us weeks to find an available apartment in her price range and now it’s gone. Just like Mira is gone from my life because I can’t stand up for myself and kick my ex out like a normal person.
“What happened to that big commission payout? With the Franklin property?”
“I got a call from them yesterday,” she whimpers, wiping her nose. “They said that their decorator doesn’t have a vision for it.”
“You know what,” I say, pulling out my phone, “let me buy you a place. I’m sure you can find a condo or townhouse. I’ll even let you broker it. Give you the commission.”
“You can’t be serious?”
“I’m about to be CEO. It comes with a significant salary increase. I can swing it,” I say, as there’s a knock on the door.
