Page 7 of Beg, Borrow, or Steal

DATE: Sat, May 25 10:30 AM

SUBJECT: TABLE SHARING

Emily,

You type like an angry gorilla. If you press any harder on those keys you’re going to dent your laptop. Quiet down before we get kicked out of here for disrupting the peace.

Jack

FROM: Jack Bennett

TO: Emily Walker

DATE: Sat, May 25 10:33 AM

SUBJECT: TABLE SHARING

Typing even louder. Real nice.

FROM: Emily Walker

TO: Jack Bennett

DATE: Sat, May 25 10:34 AM

SUBJECT: TABLE SHARING

Emily

Chapter Three

Jack

Emily and I have only shared a table once before. It was sophomore year of college and we were paired together for a history presentation because whoever runs the universe apparently needed some entertainment. Reluctantly, we both decided it would be in our best interest to mend our broken bridge and move past our feud. We met at the library, where we attempted to find some common ground before discussing the assignment.

We made it all of thirty minutes before the arguments began about the topic for our presentation. Neither of us would budge an inch. Ultimately, we got kicked out of the library for disturbing those around us, and Emily and I decided it was better to split up and do our presentations separately. We both received an F. As it turns out, the point of a group project is to actually work as a team.

I’ll admit, when I first met Emily after running into her on our way to class, I thought she was gorgeous. I couldn’t believe my luck that I would crash into such a beautiful woman on my first day of classes. Ididhit on her—and admittedly it was the wrong moment. But she was so combative, and she had decided within two secondsof talking to me that she hated my guts, and she would not forgive me for spilling my coffee on her. Something happened that day. For the first time in a long time, I gave in to the urge to argue instead of trying to smooth things over.

That fight set the precedent for the rest of our interactions, and not a day has gone by in each other’s presence that we haven’t bickered, verbally sparred, or picked at each other over something. Usually, I’m unbearably annoyed by her. But today, it’s oddly comforting to be sharing a table with her again. My life has been upside down the last few months, and I didn’t feel settled again until about twenty minutes ago when I saw her walk through the door. Because as weird as it is, our rivalry has been the one constant in my life the last several years. She’s the only person who never needs, wants, or sees me as anything other than her nemesis.

I think that’s why she was the first person who popped into my head the day after I moved to Nebraska with Zoe. Coffee was on the table, Zoe was on her phone, and I was on the road to ruin, and I knew it. Clear as day. I hadn’t realized until I was sitting at the breakfast table in the wrong state with the wrong person that my life had gotten way off track.

And when my chest caved in at the thought of breaking Zoe’s heart by telling her this wasn’t right for me and I couldn’t go through with it, when I nearly backed out from fear of hurting her, Emily’s smirking face popped into my mind and I could perfectly picture her saying:Do it, Jack. I dare you.

I needed that. I neededherin some weird, twisted way.

The months following the breakup were rough too. I was lonelier than ever. And I’ve been blaming that loneliness for my constant thoughts of Emily. I haven’t been able to get her out of my head. Which is essentially why I’m back in Rome. Not just because I’ve always liked this town and wondered what it would be like to really be involved in it, but because I need to prove to myself thatthis weird tug I’ve been feeling to come back to her is a fluke—like how people lost in the desert will hallucinate and see visions of water when they’re dehydrated. I was just lonely and so my creative mind concocted a ridiculous narrative where Emily seems to mean something to me. I’m back here to squash that idea once and for all. To remind myself of just how much I hate Emily and then I can put it behind me.

But it’s not lost on me that the people who end up chasing those visions of water in the desert usually follow them all the way to their death.

So on that happy note, I’m fresh out of the realtor’s office where I just signed on the dotted line to purchase the shittiest house of all time.Ah—it’ll be good as new after you give it some paint,said Carol, whose nameplate on the desk claimed she was voted number one realtor in Rome, Kentucky, even though she is apparently the only realtor in Rome. (Her business cards for her party planning company were situated next to the nameplate.)

Well, Carol, it’s going to need a lot more than a coat of paint, seeing as how the siding is falling off and the porch looks seconds from collapsing. It’ll be a complete renovation, but I really had no choice. There was nothing else for sale within a fifty-mile radius, and after driving an hour into school every morning from Evansville, I’m ready to have less of a commute. Ready to put down official roots in this odd town.

Carol seemed unfazed about the state of the house and said that someone named Darrell had a construction crew who handled all the renovation projects around here and could get it done in no time. One quick call and he confirmed it.

“So…what did you do?” Emily asks after ten minutes of sitting in silence drinking weak-tasting coffee and trying not to notice how her hair is apparently some kind of naturally curly. I had no idea.

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