Page 142 of The Rom-Commers

“Okay,” I said, nodding.

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, I get it.”

“You do?”

I nodded. “You really don’t like me.” I nodded some more. “I’ll stop bothering you. I got carried away. I’ve never had a writing partner before. Or lived with a guy. I must have”—and here I quoted him again—“connected dots that didn’t need or want to be connected.”

Charlie glanced away.

“I kept thinking we must be having a misunderstanding. But there is no misunderstanding. Is that right?”

Charlie nodded and met my eyes again. “There is no misunderstanding.”

“You know I like you, and you know I ampropositioningyou,” I said. “And any feeling I keep having that you like me, too, is just wishful thinking bending my perceptions—because you are clearly, plainly saying no.”

Charlie nodded, like he was really sorry about it.

Then he said, “I am clearly, plainly saying no.”

Twenty-Seven

I NEVER GOTthe chance to wake up—as I should’ve—justmarinatingin humiliation.

I never got the chance to open my eyes and feel horrified beyond description that I had drunkenly fallen off of Charlie Yates’s high dive, and then drunkenly forced him to rescue me, and then drunkenly tried to coerce him—a man who was clearlyso not interested—into bed.

It was enough to keep my head churning shame like butter for years.

But there was no time to even begin.

Because before my alarm went off, I got a call from Sylvie.

Not one of her fun FaceTime calls. A real, old-fashioned, middle-of-the-night emergency call.

At three thirtyA.M.

“Sylvie?” I said, as I fumbled with the phone in the dark.

“It’s Dad,” she said, and the panic in her voice told me everything. “He fell down the stairs.”

“Which stairs?”

“To our apartment.”

“Theconcretestairs?”

“He’s in the ICU right now. He won’t wake up. It’s bad.”

“How bad?” I demanded.

“Emma. You need to come home.”

My mind ground like it was in first gear on the freeway. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll—I’ll change my ticket.”

“No,” Sylvie said. “There’s no time. Send me your flight info. Salvador’s mom works for Southwest.”

“Okay, okay,” I said, opening my laptop and looking for the confirmation email. I forwarded it, and then I said, “Done. Now what?”

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