Page 62 of The Expiration Date

“This doesn’t change anything.”

“Of course it does. You know Haley almost as well as I know Haley. She’d want to know who the man behind the curtain is. She’d want to know that you fought for her to have her dream as much as she wanted it. She’d want to know that no matter what shitty things happened between you both or how complicated things got, that you were always on her side and that you stood by her.” I see the wheels in Anna’s brain turning, and then she stands up and points at me. It is like I am able to see a lightbulb actually turn on above her head. “I think this is how you can get her back.”

My ears perk up at that last statement. “What do you mean?”

“I think you need to tell her what you did for her. It may be the thing that pierces through that thick wall she rebuilt these past few months.”

Dan chimes in, “Yeah, but how is he going to do that? Haley isn’t returning any of his calls or texts, and she would kill us if she knew that we told Aidan she’s in New York. We are basically dragging Haley to this party tomorrow night just so she can get out. She doesn’t really want to go out in the first place.”

I know exactly how to win Haley back. “I need y’alls help. Are you with me?”

34

“How much longer do I have to stay? I really just want to go back to the Airbnb, open a pint of Ben and Jerry’s cookie dough ice cream and a bottle of wine, and watch Anderson Cooper and Andy Cohen get drunk on national television.”

This is torture. Everyone around me is coupled-up. Most people at this party are happily drunk, wearing those silly glasses with the year on the front and party hats. Why did Anna and Dan drag me to this stupid New Year’s Eve party? Granted, I’ve been lying on my bed most nights for the past four months, going over and over in my head about how stupid I was for getting into bed, literally and figuratively, with Aidan Stone.

How I hated myself for still wearing his stupid oversized UConn shirt that I found in my suitcase while I was unpacking. I hate that I want to keep him close by wearing it, as if it is some magical shirt that would send a damn signal saying come back to me. I hate that I can still smell the rain pounding the streets of New York, that I can still smell the candle that was burning when Aidan almost kissed me in his apartment during the blackout. I hate that I can still feel his hands all over my body and all the sweet kisses he has given me. It’s like they are imprinted on my body forever.

I hate that I scroll through Instagram and stop on whatever news item mentions Aidan’s name. I am watching his life through pictures now, rather than being in his life. I can feel him forget me. He stopped trying to call and text months ago. He probably thinks I’m not worth it.

Yet again, I wasn’t enough.

The only silver lining during these months of torment was that call I got from the studio about how they got a hold of my script– that I finally and bravely submitted –and they loved the story. They want to make it into a miniseries, which is huge right now with all the major streaming services and entertainment in general. I jumped around in my room in excitement, blasting Taylor Swift and singing at the top of my lungs, knowing that all of my dreams were coming true and that moving out to L.A. was not a waste. The only problem was that the silver lining was attached to a dark gray cloud: the daily reminder that I can’t share my excitement with the man I truly still loved more than anything. He started to become a big part of my dream. Now he was probably making dreams with someone else.

I hate that I don’t know how to live my life without missing Aidan. And he’s probably moved on with someone much hotter than me. Someone who looks great next to him with no effort at all. He’s probably at some fancy L.A. party right now, canoodling with the next hot, up-and-coming actress, one who won’t run away when she gets scared that it’s turning into something real. I hate that Aidan was right: I was running away out of fear.

If only he knew how much I want to run back into his strong arms and stay there forever.

“We have thirty minutes until midnight. Just stick it out, okay?” Anna and Dan are standing together, both drinking champagne. They also are wearing those silly hats and glasses. They look annoyingly cute together, as always.

“Why? So I can watch everyone else share a kiss with their date while I stand alone in the corner, miserable?” I cross my arms and lean against the bar.

“No, because I don’t know, maybe someone will want to kiss you at midnight. You never know, Hales. You might be surprised.” Dan weirdly clears his throat and nudges Anna’s side. They exchange looks like they know something I don’t.

But that only happens in fairy tales. In romantic comedies. This is real life and there is no Harry coming to get Sally back. I lost my Harry months ago. There is only one person who I want to kiss me at midnight. But it’s never going to happen. No one is going to walk through that door professing his love for me.

Fifteen minutes later, I am still standing at the bar, this time with a drink in my hand.

“Hi. I’m Zach.”

I gulp down my drink and turn toward the man next to me. He is really handsome, tall and with a cute smile. Eyes like emeralds, complimenting his olive skin. Despite all of those things, my heart doesn’t leap one bit nor do shivers make their way through my body. That’s the other thing about dating the sexiest man alive–no other man compares.

“Hi.” I give a quick smile.

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?”

Did I seriously revert back to my awkward social self in only four months? “Oh, sorry. Yes. I’m Haley.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Haley. Would you like to dance with me?”

Why the hell not? I have no other prospects. At this rate, I’m going to end up like Charlotte from Pride and Prejudice, marry someone like Mr. Collins just so I won’t end up an old maid. It’s not like Mr. Darcy is going to walk through that meadow and tell me how much his sentiments have not changed.

“Sure.”

Zach flashes a smile and leads me out to the dance floor. We haven’t been dancing long when someone bumps into me. I turn–it’s Anna.

“Oh sorry. Haley, who is this?” Anna’s eyes look panicked, crazed, as if I am the one acting crazy. This woman desperately needs to look into a mirror. She’s been acting strange all night.

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