Embarrassed, I admit, “She was a professor at my university.”
“Liem!”
“It’s not like that. She wasn’tmyprofessor. She was an adjunct in the journalism college. I met her while working as a graduate assistant, and . . .”
“You started fucking?”
Warmth rises to my face. “I was going to say I fell for her, but . . . I guess you’re right.” Funny how you only see the subliminal shit when someone else points it out. This must be what it’s like to have friends. “I thought she was in it with me. We just got through the—uh . . .” I stop myself from going to the least sunny place imaginable. “We went through some real-life shit, and I thought we were on the same page with our relationship. Apparently, I was way off.”
“You’ll be okay. You’ll get your job back and find a new apartment. Everything will work out.”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “What about you and the cheater? How did you end up on two different pages?”
Bri huffs out a laugh and takes the final bite of her ice cream cone. “I don’t know if we were ever on two different pages, he was just between two different sets of thighs.”
I fail to stop the laugh she pulls out of me. “Sorry.”
“It’s cool. You can’t judge me, teacher’s pet.”
I gasp at her cutting joke but end up laughing again. “She was a professor, not a teacher.”
“Right, right. No disrespect to my girl.” Her giggle adds to my enjoyment. “Wait. What time are you supposed to go back to the airport?”
“Around five-ish?” I glance at my phone, ignoring the lack ofnotifications beneath the glaring 6:40 p.m. “Fuck!” I yell, earning glares from the parents nearby. “My flight is supposed to leave in an hour. I lost track of time.”
“We can run to the hotel, but do you think you can make it?”
“Not if it’s anything like last time. I’ll be last in the standby line checking in this late, anyway.” I drop my head back, mouthing the slew of curse words I want to scream.
“Stay in my room.”
I look down, seeing sincerity on Bri’s face. “Really?”
“The pullout couch is all yours. I haven’t booked my flight yet. We can look together tomorrow.”
“You’re serious?”
“No, I’m joking. Die in the street.” She cracks a smile. “Yes. Come on.”
~
Back at the hotel, it’s late, but I can’t sleep yet. I lie in the surprisingly comfortable pullout bed, bouncing laser beams back at guardians on my Switch while trying to zone out from my thoughts. It isn’t working.
I check my phone again for the millionth time, hoping I’ll see Natalie’s name on my screen, proving Bri wrong, but it’s blank yet again. With Mom on her shift in Vietnam with my grandmother, and my sister on deck to give me shit the moment I tell her what happened, it’s only me, my phone, and Natalie’s number staring back at me from beneath my hovering thumb.
Getting my suitcase back felt like the period at the end of a sentence. Now, I’m not sure what’s next. This part of my story—the embarrassing moment when the heroine drags her antagonist through the mud before killing him off—has come to an end.
But one text wouldn’t kill me, right? A little peek at the end ofthe story to see if the antagonist survives and convinces the heroine to love him again.
Through my thoughts, I hear what sounds like Bri talking in the next room. I set my phone down and listen closer, hearing the muffled sounds of crying. My chest instantly clenches.
I leave the warmth of my blankets and go to her door. It’s clearer now, the distinct sound of sobbing into a pillow.
Shit. She spent the whole day getting me out of my sorrows only to fall back into her own. She was so level-headed and inspiring while leading me through it, I hadn’t considered she was still struggling. That was shitty of me.
Tapping lightly on the door, I say, “Bri?”
Her crying stops. “Yes?”
