Page 96 of Wish You Would

Swallowing my disappointment, I put my phone down and reclaimed my computer. After closing out of the lovesick fools on my screen, I navigated to one of my favorite true crime documentaries. Maybe murder would make me feel better.

God, that was a messed up thought.

However, fifteen minutes into the documentary, I did start to feel better. It could always be worse, I told myself. I could be murdered instead of sad.

I had just settled deeper into my pillows, a fresh cookie in hand, when my phone vibrated from somewhere in the blankets. Gasping, I jolted upright. Frantically, I foraged through my self-pity nest, earning a disgruntled meow from Wilbur as I disturbed his nap yet again.

“Sorry, bud,” I said as my hand wrapped around my phone. “Mommy’s a mess.”

He blinked his agreement then laid his head back down. “Please, please, please,” I whispered as I swiped it unlocked. “Please be her.”

It was not her.

No, it was Simon, texting from the kitchen that he was making popcorn, and did I want any?

Deflating, I sank back against the headboard. Of course it wasn’t Gigi. Why would it be? Just because I sent her a silly little text for the first time in weeks? Maybe I should’ve included an exclamation point. Or a smiley face. Something to portray that I was excited for her. Happy for her. Maybe she thought it was sarcastic. Maybe she thought I literally wanted her to break a leg. Maybe—

“Ow!” I jerked my foot away, glaring at Wilbur. He blinked back, as if he hadn’t just taken a swipe at my unsocked foot. “What was that for?”

Blink, blink.

“I feed you and snuggle you,” I grumbled, cradling my assaulted foot. “And this is how you repay me?”

Blink, blink, yawn.

“Oh, does my misery bore you? My apologies, good sir. I’ll try to be more exciting in the future.”

Yaaaaaawn.

I gasped in outrage.

Then I realized I’d been offended…by a cat.

Okay. Yeah. This was ridiculous. I was ridiculous.

For the hundredth time that night, I slammed my laptop closed. It was time to do something about the sad state of…well, me.

“Simon,” I called before I’d even swung open my bedroom door. “We’re going out.”

Simon peered around the corner at the end of the hall, a vision in goopy green facemask and a pink satin headband. “Come again?”

“We’re going out.” I marched down the hall and took the giant bowl of popcorn from him.

He followed me as I dropped it off in the kitchen. “What do you mean, we’re going out? It’s Friday night. You know I don’t go anywhere on Friday nights. Friday nights are me time.” His words were a constant soundtrack as I looped my arm through his and led him back down the hall, pushing the bathroom door open. “Parker, dollface. I’m gonna need you to communicate like a big girl. What’s all this about? What—”

“Simon.” I put my hands on his satin-pajama’d shoulders. His hazel eyes glowed gold beneath the facemask. “We’re. Going. Out.” Lifting my brows, I urged him to get the meaning, to not make me say it. Because if I had to say it, I was pretty sure I’d chicken out.

Finally—dear god, finally—he gasped. “Are we grand gesturing?”

I pressed my lips around a smile and spun him around, shoving him into the bathroom. “You have thirty minutes.”

“Thirty minutes?” He looked back, horrified. “That’s not nearly enough time—”

I swung the door closed on his protest and went back to my room. Pulling open my closet door, I reached in.

I knew exactly what to wear.

39

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