Page 75 of The Match

Finally, the sun came up and I decided I was ready for Jake’s apology—and that big jerk does owe me an apology. And only because he’s not normally a big jerk am I giving him a little slack. I also know firsthand what it’s like to be on the other end of a Harold and Melony Jones Special. They whisper words in your ear that sound so true and real. And poor Jake got hit where he’s most hurt: in the I’m-not-good-enough pants.

I drank a whole pot of coffee between the hours of three A.M. and six A.M. in preparation for a talk with Jake. I made an entire pros and cons list of why I should give him another shot and why I shouldn’t. There was nothing on the shouldn’t list.

So, now that it’s an acceptable time to be awake and doing things, I blow-dry my hair, put on my favorite sundress that makes me feel powerful and confident, and call an Uber. Charlie and I climb into the car twenty minutes later and set out for Jake’s house. My knee bounces the whole way, and I know that my Uber driver notices, because she keeps giving me looks that say she’s afraid I’m going to pee in her back seat.

Honestly, I’m so nervous and caffeinated that I just might.

It’s when we are pulling up to his house that I start to wonder if this was a bad idea. Should I have texted first? Maybe he wasn’t calling last night to apologize but rather to tell me to come get a hair scrunchie I accidentally left at his house or something.

I imagine Jo pinching my arm and telling me to get out of the car to help me get moving. I have a man to make things right with.

Charlie and I walk with determined strides all the way up to Jake’s door. I ring the doorbell, and as I wait for him to answer I have a flashback of the first time I rang this doorbell. Not unlike that day, I want to throw up in the bushes.

I have my speech all rehearsed:

Jake. Hear me out. I know that you think I will miss my old life, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I hate everything about my parents’ society, and I left it for a reason. I want you . . . all of you. I don’t want to share you with anyone else or pretend that we don’t have strong feelings for each other. Because I know we do. And you also owe me a big apology for—

The door opens, and a woman stands on the other side. A woman with shiny dark hair, beautiful full lips, a tight (pretty much see-through) tank top painted over her very intimidating body. She’s not wearing a bra. And . . . she’s not wearing pants either. She looks as if I just woke her up, and . . . that’s because I did.

No, no, no.

Now I really think I’m going to be sick in the bushes.

“Can I help you?” she asks, looking mildly annoyed.

She’s annoyed?! I’m annoyed! Who is this woman? Did Jake seriously call a random woman to come hook up with him last night because he was so angry with me? And after all his bullshit about needing to take things slow.

The thought sours in my mouth. He did. That’s exactly what he did.

“I—” I have no idea what to say to this woman. I’m so hurt. I’m afraid I’m going to melt right here on his porch, and then that will be the end of me, and someone is going to have to come mop me up. “I was just . . .”

“Looking for Jake?” she asks with a taunting smirk. “He’s not awake yet.”

Of course he’s not. Clearly, he had a late night.

“Okay.” I wish I had something better to say or do than just stand here smiling like a depressed Ronald McDonald statue. But I’m clearly in shock and my body has no idea how to respond. I never imagined Jake would be that kind of guy. I thought he . . . I thought he had real feelings for me.

“Do you want me to go wake him up for you?”

“No!” I’m backing away from the door now, squeezing Charlie’s leash in my palm and wishing I had superpowers that would teleport me out of here as quickly as possible. And erase all those happy memories that are painful to think about now. “That’s not necessary. I’ll just . . .”

I don’t finish my sentence. Instead, I sprint back to the Uber, and luckily I’m able to catch the girl before she drives off. I practically dive into the seat and then yell, “Drive!” like I’m in the movie Baby Driver. I expect her to squeal the tires as she puts the pedal to the metal, but of course she doesn’t, because nothing in my life is going my way anymore.

“Are you okay, lady?”

“No. I’m not. Please just drive.”

“Where to?”

“Anywhere!” Tears are now running down my cheeks. “Mexico! Let’s go to Mexico.”

“I can’t drive you to Mexico.” Seriously? Where is this girl’s sense of sisterhood? I would settle for just a smidge of empathy.

I let out a big puff of air and then just tell her the address of Joanna’s house.

Because right now . . . I need a mom.

CHAPTER 35

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