Page 22 of All The Ways to Miss You

James slides his business card from his wallet. He snags a pen, leans over the table, and jots on the card before handing it to me. “These are all my numbers. Call me anytime.”

“I’m looking forward to working with you,” I say, reaching out.

He takes my hand again but steps closer this time, sliding his free hand over the top of mine. Now we’re eye to eye and close enough for me to smell his cologne. It’s airy. Sensual.

“Me too,” he whispers in a gravelly voice.

My eyebrow arches in an involuntary reaction to his charm.

With his shoulders squared confidently, he turns to leave. I watch him until the glass door swings shut behind him, and Aggie and I are alone. From across the table, she’s studying me. I busy myself, hoping to step out of her crosshairs.

“I see you set your sights on a new victim.” She grins.

I flounder, neither denying nor confirming his good looks. So much for playing it cool. “You know this deal is too important. It’s the first time Linden’s given me full control.”

“And you’ve handled it like a pro. All I’m saying is you’re an adult. James is an adult. And by the look on his face, he wants to rub your adult bits together.” She gathers her laptop and papers, holding them at her chest, looking awfully pleased with herself.

“You’re crazy, you know that?” I circle the table, collecting half-empty water bottles. “Beyond this business deal, I have no interest in James Henley. I promise.”

“It would be so fun to live vicariously through you . . . if you would ever do anything fun.”

I pause in front of her. This is the perfect time to confess the details of my unsuccessful weekend but triumphant morning. Maybe it would change the way Aggie views me, or better yet, the way I view myself.

For now, though, I hold it all in. I’m still stewing over Evan, and an insane plan that’s been formulating in my mind since Saturday night’s rejection. The new wardrobe, which I’ve decided to keep, is only the beginning.

eleven

Outside my apartment building, I lean against the railing and remove my heels. I moan with pleasure when I stretch my toes. There’s a painful price to wearing new shoes, and that price seems steeper the prettier and higher the heel. Barefoot, I scale the stairs and step into the vestibule.

I stop to check my mail and shuffle through the stack. Junk. Junk. Junk. I pause on a cream envelope. My fingers tremble when they touch the return address. It’s from Maryland. The beautiful cursive handwriting belongs to my mother.

They’ve found me. My pulse sprints.

Yes, my parents knew I returned to Chicago. They were against it—so adamantly, we haven’t talked since I moved. They’ve texted, but I always ignore them. I don’t want to say I’ve been hiding, but I’m not broadcasting my exact location. Doing so might entice them to visit, something I’m not ready for. Whenever it happens, I want it to occur on my terms. Not like this. Not with more demands on how I should live my life.

I flip the note over but pause before ripping the back flap. Instead of allowing them to manipulate me, I drop the unopened letter into the trash can with the junk mail. Ignoring them and their disappointment is easier than dealing with it, especially now that I’m feeling something.

After being numb and lost in my mind for so long, I won’t let them disturb what I’m building. Between my friendships with Aggie, Lou and Ozzy, the successes at my job, and whatever is happening with Evan, I finally have real hope. I did these things on my own without my parents. I want to embrace those positive emotions and push away the others. I want that high-on-life passion I experienced this morning while teasing Evan, and I want it all the time in every facet of my life.

I know the change won’t happen overnight, but it’s a spark of a flame I want to burn so bright that no darkness from before remains. Even though it shouldn’t, this search for newness heightens my interest in Evan. The truth is, I experience the most when I’m with him, positive or negative. And I confess, I want more of it.

After I settle in at home, I take out my computer, find a browser, and type how to make my crush notice me.

I roll my eyes when the first result in the search engine is specifically for teens. But hey, I learned all this before. I just don’t remember it. I only need a refresher on the basics, right?

I take notes, but the more I read, the more contradictions I discover in each article. Get to know him, but play it chill. Be persistent, but don’t be brazen. Make a good impression, but text him cutesy things. Play hard to get, but flirt, flirt, flirt. An article geared toward adults suggests to ignore him, be calculated, smell nice, stalk him online, and pray?

Frustrated, I drop my face into my palms.

Twelve articles later, I stumble upon something I can do—be friends. I can do that. I think.

My heartbeats quicken. I lean back in my chair and chew on my fingernail while staring at the computer screen. My only real friends are Aggie, Lou, and Ozzy. But the sad part is, I have no idea why Aggie and Lou hang out with me. They don’t see the real me. No one does, not even Ozzy.

Baby steps. This is what my therapist preached. Do what you can and work from there. I’m searching for an article on making friends when I hear Evan’s voice outside my door.

I jump to my feet and tiptoe to the front door. Squinting to peer through my peephole, I find Evan in the hallway. He’s speaking to Mr. Gusterson. Something about a cruise? I can’t be sure. It’s what he says next that has me flying to my room and changing into my running gear. I hadn’t planned on exercising tonight, but this may be my shot. The faster I dress, the less time I have to talk myself out of this.

From my bedroom window, I spot Evan warming up outside our building. He’s stretching when I stumble outside. I halt when he glances up from his hamstring lunge. I have no clue how to act. This morning I was flirty, but now I need to step it back a notch to friendly.