Page 5 of That Reunited Feeling

ME (09:23 AM)

Hey, sorry, last minute favor. Any chance your pullout couch is feeling lonely?

I drag two suitcases, one large, one small, from under the bed, slam them onto the mattress, and fling them open.

JUDE (09:25 AM)

Everything ok? Something happened? Sorry, Mom’s staying. Her place flooded. No way we could all squish in here.

My stomach plummets like an elevator with its cables cut. Shit.

She’s right, though. Her place is tiny. It was a relief for her when Maggie offered me this job with room and board.

Not that I believe the Dashwoods actually need me. The whole of this huge three-story house was spotlessly clean when I got here, so they obviously manage perfectly fine on their own. I’m sure Maggie made up the job on the spot because she could see things hadn’t been great for me lately and, being the lovely, kind, generous woman that she is, wanted to help me out.

And perhaps because she remembers mopping up more than her fair share of my tears when I kept visiting her after Tom left. I couldn’t stop myself from dropping by—being near her made me feel still connected to him somehow.

ME (9:26 AM)

No worries. All good. Will tell you everything later.

Fleeing three thousand miles to the other side of the country is now my only option. And even that doesn’t feel quite farenough. Hopefully Rachel can take me sooner than planned. I scroll to her name and call.

“Hey, sweetie,” she answers, puffing and panting. “I’m on the spin bike. Don’t mind the heavy breathing.”

I hadn’t even stopped to consider what time it is in LA. Thank goodness she’s an early riser. And early worker-outer.

“Hey, Rach.” I try to control my own heavy breathing—except mine’s from dread, fear, and possibly minor hysteria, not physical exertion. “Just wondering how things are going. With the house build and everything.”

I open a drawer, grab two stacks of T-shirts, and drop them into the bigger case.

“Oh, Christ,” she huffs. “Nightmare. They’re so behind.”

Fuck.

The dread inside me morphs into a rising panic. “With all of it?”

Maybe they’ll finish the guesthouse first. With it being smaller. That’s what construction people would do, right?

I open the next drawer and scoop out the underwear. Into the case it goes.

“Yup. Dev and I were there yesterday. The place is swarming with contractors. Not even all the drywall is up yet.” She puffs a heavy breath. “Shit. I’m never selecting this ride through French wine country again. There’s a surprise hill after the vineyards.”

I move to the closet and pull four pairs of jeans off a hanger. “Well, it is a ginormous project. I guess it makes sense the main house will take a long time.”

Please say they’re doing the guesthouse first. Please say that.

The jeans go into the case next to the shirts.

Rachel sent me the architect’s plans when she and Dev first had the house designed a year or so ago. It’s about ten thousand square feet, with a giant pool and a huge yard that has theguesthouse at the far end. The whole thing is on the side of a hill looking over the city toward the ocean. Stunning.

Rachel, Tom, and I all went to high school together, and she’s been my best friend ever since. She went to medical school and became a pediatric heart surgeon. Her husband’s a cosmetic surgeon to the stars, which pays way more than her noble work. Hence LA and the new giant spread.

She’s never lost touch with reality though, and she’s never lost touch with me. When I told her I had to leave my ex, she said that as soon as the house is finished, the guesthouse is mine till I get on my feet. And she talked me into making a fresh start on the West Coast. I wasn’t sure at first. But it turns out there’s more than one important reason to be in LA.

“So…” I hesitate a little. She’s already doing so much for me—I don’t want to appear greedy or ungrateful. “Any timeline?”

I can’t be stuck here with him. I can’t.

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