Page 159 of We Can't Be Friends

“There you are again, making this about you.”

I blow out fiery air.

“What will it take to keep the brand partnership?”

“A date. Another chance.”

After what he just said? Is this man—scratch that, he is not a man, but a boy—delusional? He cannot be serious right now.

“No,” I deadpan. “Anything else?”

“I’ll think and get back to you.” There’s a pause, and I’m about to hang up before he speaks again, “You know you never called meback last week. I was in town for the weekend and came to see you. Where were you?”

“I don’t live there anymore,” is all I say. “And you don’t get to know any more details about my life.”

I end the call frustrated.

Grabbing a coffee for Sue and myself, I return.

After spending the rest of the day in meetings, I ended up staying late before going to a hot yoga class.

When I open the door at 9:30, the place is quiet, and the lights are off except for a single light in the kitchen. I find a plate of dinner with heating instructions on a note next to it.

Added to tonight’s note was:

I’m sorry

xx - C

46

CALLUM

February 1st.

Or nine days since the kitchen debacle. I hate that I made a promise to her that I’m not keeping.

I’ve been lost in my head, trying to figure out how to protect myself. How to protect her.

As desperately as I want to be with her, I can’t have another person see me as insufficient.

The flat is eerily quiet when I walk in. Tucker isn’t squeaking a toy or running to greet me. There isn’t music, TV, or Chloe on the phone with Emerson.

It’s too quiet.

I think for a minute that maybe she isn’t home, but her fridge calendar says otherwise.

Maybe she’s walking Tucker.

Checking over my shoulder, I see his harness, the ruby red leash hanging on top of it. Her keys are on the hook next to it. A small burst of pride shoots through me that she’s using my organization system, finally.

That quickly fades. The feeling that something is wrong replaces it as my throat goes dry.

“Chloe?” I call out.

My keys hit the wall behind the hooks with a clash. No response.

Dropping my work messenger bag off in the office before going to the stairs, I head to her bedroom.

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