Page 99 of When Love Is Unexpected

"Boy, do I ever," he says. "When she and Sam broke up our junior year in high school, she and I had a fling. Well, she called it a fling. I thought it was more."

"What do you mean by fling?" I ask.

"I never told Sam this because they were a couple for a long time, but she and I hooked up every night the week they were broken up. She was so mad at Sam that she didn't care who she slept with. Then she lied to him and guilted him into proposing only so she could turn him down and have the last word. I'm not saying that people don't change. We all do, but Patricia. Tricia. She's wired differently."

"Thank you, Jim," I say when he pulls up in front of the house. "It was very nice meeting you. Thank you for the ride and for trying to make me feel better."

"I told you all this to make you realize that what you saw back there is exactly what Patricia wanted you to see."

"Bye, Jim."

"Bye, Laila. Take care."

I walk up to the studio and let myself in. My mind is reeling. Sam must be on his way back. Maybe not. The phone has stopped ringing. Maybe he went home with Tricia.

Think! Think, Laila! You're resourceful and intelligent. If I leave right now, what will I leave behind? Clothes, a suitcase. My heart. I have my ID, cash, credit cards, and a cell phone. I look up and call for an Uber. I lock the door behind me and slip the keys under the mat. I sit on the porch steps and use my phone to make a hotel reservation for the night. I pray that the Uber gets here before Sam does. He's about fifteen minutes away. I wait; one, two, three, five minutes go by. I realize I've been biting the inside of my mouth this whole time. I taste blood. I see a car approach. It's the Uber. I climb into the back seat and ask the driver to take me to the hotel.

"The Pacific Terrace on Diamond Street, please."

When he starts driving, I take a deep breath and try to calm my nerves. The phone is buzzing again. This time, I don't even bother to look.

Once at the hotel, I check in and head up to my room.

When I close the door, engage the lock, and sit on the bed, I allow myself one good cry. Once I'm done, I promise never to shed a tear for him again. A promise I can't keep.

Jim's words play back in my mind, "Patricia is conniving and a liar." Well, so is Sam. They deserve each other.

I spend five minutes looking for a flight back to New York. I find a direct flight leaving at 7:20 a.m. It's eleven o'clock now.

I pick up the phone and call Katherine.

"Hello," says a groggy Adam.

“Adam,” I say, "I'm sorry for calling this late."

"Is everything okay?" he asks.

"No," I say. "I'm coming home."

"Wait," he says, "What happened?"

"It's a long story," I say. "I can't think right now. I just wanted to call you guys and let you know I'm okay. I'm sure you'll be hearing from Sam at some point. I don't know, but I'm coming home."

"What can I do?" he says.

"Go back to bed," I say. "My flight is in the morning. I'll take the train home from the airport. Good night. I love you guys."

After hanging up, I look down at my dress. I felt so beautiful in it. That seems like a lifetime ago.

Nothing is open this late. What am I going to wear? This stupid dress is expensive but impractical, and the heels are even worse.

I take the elevator back down to the main floor and put on the best damsel-in-distress look I can muster. I'm sure it doesn't take much.

"Hi," I say, talking to a young man at the front desk, whose name tag reads Pablo.

"Pablo, I need some help."

"What can I do for you," he says in his most professional tone.

---