“Have you thought about going to see someone again?”
“I haven’t tried therapy again after that one time.” I still remembered the one meeting I’d had with a therapist back in Riverside. Dr. Robinson had only succeeded in sending my anxiety into a deeper tailspin. She’d made me talk about what had happened on the first visit, and I thought maybe it was too soon because it had only made things worse.
“Maybe seeing a different therapist would help?—”
“I’m not ready for that yet,” I said, hating that I was cutting off my friend and being so quick to shut her down, but I really didn’t want to be pushed in this area. My symptoms were gone for a few days. I was holding ontothe idea that maybe my mind had worked things out on its own now that I’d gotten away from Riverside.
“Well, you’ll get past this, with or without a therapist. I know you will. You’ll find a job, and more importantly, you’ll find one you love. And you’ll realize that not everyone in this world is out to hurt you.”
“Yeah, I’ve already found a job where no one can hurt me: writing.”
“You’re not just a writer, Hope Elmswood. There’s so much more to you than that. Writing isn’t the only thing you can do.”
“Writing is the only thing that feels safe,” I said, pushing my cart toward the register.
“Because no one can hurt you when it’s just you and a bunch of words on paper. But I refuse to let you become a recluse living in an abandoned cabin, reading and talking to fictional characters all day.”
I huffed. “You make me sound crazy… and miserable.”
“Hope, you were happier before you went off to that stupid college and started working for your dad and his stupid associate. You were bright and not afraid of anything. I want you to find that again.”
“Well, until I do, I’ll be here eating ramen on my couch.”
“You’ll find a new job,” Emily said. “Don’t give up yet. And please, let me send you some money. You can’t just eat ramen.”
“We’ve talked about this. Lending money to friends ruins relationships. And I have money—I’m just trying not to spend it.” I paused, something more serious taking over my tone. “And I want to do this on my own. I need to.”
Emily sighed. “Fine. Be stubborn.”
I turned the corner with my shopping cart and wasabout to say something else when it jammed into someone else’s basket, sending my elbows sprawling off the handlebar. My phone somersaulted onto the ramen packets in my basket, and my promenade through the noodle section came to an abrupt halt.
“Oh, shoot,” I said, quickly grabbing my phone and seeing that Emily was still on the line. “I gotta go, Em. Traffic jam in aisle three.”
“Call me later,” Emily said, and the line went dead.
Food items were sprawled on the dirty tile floor, and I got down to start picking up the mess. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going?—”
Another pair of hands started helping, and soon all the items were back in the basket.
As I stood up, ready to apologize profusely to this random person I’d run into, I came face-to-face with dark navy eyes and tousled dark hair.
“Oh. It’s you again,” I said lamely.
“Hey, neighbor. Seems we just keep running into each other.”
He looked different without his trash-loving Pokémon or running attire. He now wore a white V-neck T-shirt and designer jeans. His hair wasn’t falling into his face like when he’d been running; instead, it was styled back, revealing his forehead and letting me see just how dark his eyes were. Even the fluorescent lighting of the grocery store couldn’t diminish how deep blue they were.
“Sorry, I dumped your basket.” I cleared my throat awkwardly, brushing some wild strands of hair out of my face.
“It’s all good,” he said, gesturing to the ramen with a lopsided smile. “How’d the job interview go?”
“I’m stockpiling ramen noodles. How do you think it went?” I gave him a droll stare and a dry laugh.
“Not so well, then…” His smile faded, and genuine concern crinkled his brow. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, it’s honestly for the best. It would not have been the right fit for me.” I sighed. “But that’s not the only reason I’m buying ramen. My fridge is broken right now, so I’m working with shelf-stable food only.” There I went again with the needless details.
“Your fridge is broken?” Jay’s brow furrowed, and he crossed his arms over his chest. I heard Emily’s voice in my mind asking about his body. Good thing I never told her he had toned biceps, because that would’ve been weird.
