Page 5
“Row stopped answering my emails shortly after they arrived in France,” I tell him. “I doubt he would’ve called me now, too much time has passed.”
Björn expels a heavy breath on the other end of the line. “Fuck if I know, Bird. Like I said, I was hoping for a bit more time before telling you, Row called me a week ago already, just after Ethan got back to New York.”
“Well, it’s better that I know, I guess. It would have been worse if I had no idea at all, and then bumped into him. At least now I’ll be prepared.” Will I be, though? Can you ever be prepared to came face-to-face with the man who tore your heart to shreds before leaving the country?
“Look, Bird, even if you do see him, you don’t owe him anything, okay? You have every right to turn the other way and run for your life. And that counts for Row, too. They can both burn in a dumpster fire for all I care. You’ve moved on, and Ethan being back in the city doesn’t mean shit.”
If only that were true, which I keep to myself because Björn doesn’t need reason to go on a tangent. It never ends well when he does, so I’d rather not poke the bear if I can help it.
“I have to go,” Björn says. “People drink more during this time of year which means more bar fights, especially amongst the rich and famous. But promise me you won’t go looking for him, Bird. If the urge strikes, just think about what an unholy mess you were when he left.”
“Thanks,” I mutter. “That’s stellar advice right there.” Either my sarcasm goes over his head or he’s ignoring it because he replies, “I always give the best advice. Now, I really have to go, but you can call me again later, or tomorrow. I’ll pop in for a coffee and whatever you have on the menu, okay?”
“Okay, thanks Björn. Love you.” Platonically, of course. Björn is as gay as they come, and loves me like a sister.
“Love you too, little Bird. Bye.”
I wince, and hang up. Only one other person has called me little bird, and it’s not Harlan. When the water is cool enough to make me shiver, I climb out the bath, and dry off before slipping into my favorite winter pajamas. It’s late, but I don’t want to go to bed yet, and the only thing that will keep my mind from wandering to Ethan is planning my menu for the following day. So I do. Except I realize the items I’m choosing are things we only ever made together. Unfortunately, I’ll have to run with it because I won’t have time in the morning to create a different menu from scratch, and I’m not about to make anything I’ve already had on a menu. Ugh. Even on paper I can’t escape him. Damnit. I throw my pen on my kitchen counter, and decide to call it a night, stomping to my bedroom. Fuck Ethan Woods. And fuck every single memory of him imprinted on my brain. He doesn’t deserve more of my time, not when I gave him everything I had. Besides, what are the chances I’m going to see him, anyway? He’s probably forgotten me, too busy getting divorced and all that to even think about the woman he used to know. Well, good riddance. Even if it’s years too late. His return means nothing. He means nothing. And it’d serve me well to remember that, and go about my life just the way I have been since he left.
Easy peasy.
