Page 260 of My Rules

“Don’t know.” She shrugs.

“He did say he’s not where I left him. He’s moved on.”

“Maybe you should do the same,” Chloe huffs. “Screw him.”

“I’m trying. Trust me, I’m fucking trying.”

“How is going to New York and sleeping with him moving on?” Juliet mutters dryly.

“Look, I just needed him to know that I’m selling the house, and I’m moving out of the street, and he can come back anytime he wants to.”

“That’s fair, I guess.”

“And maybe we will never get back together ... we’ll actually probably never get back together. But at least he knows what I wanted to say. I kind of feel like both he and I needed that night. I don’t regret it.”

“Even though you’re a home-wrecker?” Chloe smirks up at me.

“If I was a home-wrecker, I would message that stupid doctor woman on Instagram and tell her.”

“That is a very good point.”

We sit in silence for a while, and there’s a chill in the air as the season changes. I can smell someone barbecuing on the grill, and the sound of laughter is prevalent.

Change is coming.

My life here will soon be a memory, and although I’m excited to start this new chapter of my life, I’m devastated to be leaving it behind.

I’ve always felt protected on this street. Kingston Lane has been my home. Whether that had anything to do with Blake and his undying friendship, or Carol and her gossip, or Winston and his bad jokes, even Barry ... I’ll never understand.

My new house is not far from here, about six blocks. I couldn’t afford to stay in this area, but I’m close enough that I can still walk here if I want to, and I guess for now, that will have to do. My long-term goal is to get back to this side of the suburbs one day.

Who knows: if this move doesn’t go well, and I don’t stay in touch with my friends here, I may even end up moving home to be closer to family.

I considered it for this move, but ... the thought of breaking all ties was just too much to bear.

“Oh ... get off it,” Chloe spits. “Look at her in a fucking bikini. Come off it, poser.”

She holds the phone up, and I take it off her and study the picture. Sam Holland the genius supermodel is wearing a white bikini and water-skiing behind a boat. “She can water ski?” I scoff. “Is there anything this bitch can’t do?” She’s tanned, with abs and quads and biceps, totally toned. “How can you be this gorgeous and be a fucking doctor?” I scoff in disgust.

Juliet takes the phone off me and studies the picture too.

“Jeez, she’s buff,” she whispers.

I imagine Blake and her rolling around in the sheets, and I just want to throw up.

I pass the phone back in disgust. “Don’t show me anything else. I don’t want to see it. Screw Blake Grayson; I’m done with him.”

She keeps scrolling while I sip my wine. “Oh crap, she used to go out with that hot politician.”

I snatch the phone back off her. “Who?”

I put the last of the dinner plates into the box and tape it up.

I’ve been packing up my house and keeping myself busy, trying to forget all about a certain person who we shall not name.

Three weeks until the move.

You know, it’s the strangest thing—when I was trying to fix myself, I always had it in my head that once I got better and found who I was again, Blake and I would have a chance.

---