Daniel drops onto the arm of the couch and shakes his head. “Wow.”
“I’m worried about her. This isn’t like her. Something’s wrong.”
When I keep going and he doesn’t say anything, I eventually look at him. He’s staring at me like I’m a kid who still believes in Santa.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. I just…well, I can’t really say I’m surprised, I guess.”
“Why?”I stop pacing to stare at him.
“I’ve always thought you were more into her than she was into you.” He holds out his hand and drops it, his eyebrows furrowing when he sees the look on my face. “I’m sorry, Tully. That’s just the truth. With all the teams contacting you and offers you’ve gotten, she hasn’t even seemed excited for you—I don’t think she’s been in this like you have.”
My throat closes. “That’s not…how she made me feel, but…I guess she’s gone, so…you might be right.”
“Flakes like her don’t last. They never do.”
“She wasn’t a flake.” My voice is so low it barely carries.
Daniel just watches me for a second, then stands. “She left without a word. I’m afraid that’s the definition of a flake.”
I don’t answer. I can’t. Did I misread everything?
Daniel sighs. “I’m really sorry, Tully. This is…big. But you gotta shake this off before it eats you alive. You’ve been through a hard few years, and you haven’t let it get you down yet; now is not the time to start.”
I nod. “I-I won’t,” I say.
He points at me. “Don’t miss any more meetings.”
I nod again, feeling like I’m on autopilot. “I won’t.”
“Call me if you need anything. I’m here for you, man.” He waits for my response, and I nod yet again.
He leaves, the door clicking shut behind him.
I sit there until my apartment goes dark, still hoping I’ll hear from her.
How did I not see this coming?
I get up the next morning and trudge through the day feeling like I can barely put one foot in front of the other, but I just kind of detach from everything and get shit done.
The next week, one of her Instagram stories shows her drawing a sketch of a bird flying through a flower. A few days later, it’s a half dozen moonbeams on a page, each filled with shapes and swirls and flowers.
She’s out there. She’s fine. She just doesn’t want to be with me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CATCH A GRENADE
TULLY
I walk her home from the diner. She tries to let me off the hook, but I insist. We’re quiet on the chilly walk. I’m still trying to process everything she’s told me, and I can tell by the careful way she’s bracing herself that she’s questioning her decision to tell me.
She pauses and points at a building.
“This is me.”
It’s a walk-up, narrow and a little crooked, with a buzzer panel that has approximately forty names in different styles of handwriting spanning what looks like several decades. There’s a small stoop, three steps up. She stops at the bottom of them and turns to look at me.
