Page 1 of The Backup Plan

Emery

“You’re really just going to walk into a bar alone and have a drink?”

Trish’s voice comes through my phone, half in disbelief, half in delight, like she’s already pouring herself a glass of wine to celebrate me stepping into my new skin.

Or bravely trying to.

“Yes.” I nod as if that’s going to give me courage. I slip my key card back into my purse as the elevator doors slide open. “I am.”

“This is not like you at all, Emery.”

I step out into the warm July night. The air is thick and buzzing and alive. Music spills from somewhere down the street as people mill about. Laughter and hope are in the air all around me.

“Neither is picking up my entire life and moving across country on two weeks’ notice,” I say, “but I did that too, right?”

She hums. “Fair point.” Then pauses. “I’m still impressed you had the courage to do that.”

“One hell of an opportunity and a life that needed to restart will do that to anyone.” I chuckle. “It’s terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.”

I start moving through Rainey Street. Past the numerous restaurants and bars and around people talking—and some arguing. I glance at the window to my left and pause when I see my reflection. I look . . . different. Lighter. Not weighed down by compromise or expectation.

I smile, and it feels so damn good.

“Well, at least it sounds like the hotel the team put you up in is in a cool location.”

“It is. Super trendy. Super eclectic. I love it.”

“When will your apartment be ready?”

“Temporary housing,” I say. “Which is code for beige walls and furniture that probably looks nice but is as uncomfortable as hell. But at least there is furniture so I’m not complaining.”

“True and you hate beige.”

“More like loathe.” Especially since it was Jared’s favorite color. “Apparently there was an issue with the water or plumbing or something I don’t understand at the complex, but it should be ready tomorrow. They’ll move what I shipped, so I’ll have a place to go after I get off work.”

“After your first, official day.”

“Yes. That. But don’t remind me or I’ll get nervous.”

“No, you won’t. You’ve got this.” Trish’s my number one cheerleader and has been my best friend since tenth grade.

“I do,” I murmur as I stop outside a bar. The bright orange and red sign catches my eye. The Wild Rooster.

Despite my thirty-five years, I don’t think I’ve ever walked into a bar on my own. I’ve never gone into one where I don’t know a single person or not had someone waiting to meet me. It’s unnerving. It’s intimidating. It’s exciting.

“It’s okay if you decide not to go in.”

“Says the manager of all my expectations.” I pause. Reconsider. You’ve never been particularly brave, Emery. It’s one of the reasons I can’t do this anymore. Fuck that. “No. I’m going in. I want to prove to myself that I can.”

She pauses and then says softly, “I’m proud of you, Em.”

The tightness is my chest loosens. “Thanks. I’m trying.” Baby steps.

“Fresh starts aren’t easy, but you’re handling it better than anyone I know.”

I chuckle self-deprecatingly. “Don’t make me get teary-eyed. I might back out.”

“No, you won’t. You’ve got this. Have fun,” she says and then hangs up promptly, knowing I’m probably wavering.