Page 4 of Yours, Forever
I tersely shake my head and try to breeze past her, but she scoffs. She actually scoffs. Before I can think better of it, I grit my teeth and whirl around on her. "Seriously? I came in here to get a thoughtful gift for my family, and youimmediatelyaccost me? How is this allowed? Are you even supposed to be here?"
"Fine,you'renot allowed. You're banned. Banned from cupcakes, I mean." She glares at me and crosses her arms.
"Oh,I'mbanned? Thank god for that; your shitty cupcakes would probably give me food poisoning. Fucking unbelievable," I mutter.
Her eyes widen in surprise, and she looks me up and down again. "Wait… Dustin?"
"What is this—how do you…." I trail off and take a harder look. Green hair, yeah, but those green eyes… that upturned nose… the dusting of freckles over her cheeks. Holy shit. My heart stops in my chest. "Brooke?"
"You obviously still haven't grown up," she says with a sneer. "Picking fights in a souvenir shop. Typical."
"And you obviously haven't made anything of yourself. Really, Brooke? Cupcakes on a Monday? In this tourist trap?"
"You don't know anything about me, asshole—"
"Hey, whoa!" A tall woman with sleek black hair in a tight bun strides over. "Both of you, chill! Sir, I'm goingto have to ask you to leave. Brooke, no fighting with customers."
"He started it." Brooke rolls her eyes.
"Fine by me," I announce. "I have better things to do."
In another unbelievably stupid move, I swipe a cupcake from her table and stomp out the door. She follows me, yelling something, but I shove the cupcake in my mouth and swallow without chewing. Her jaw drops, and she's stunned. Taking the opportunity, I half-jog, half-walk down the street until she's out of sight and definitely not following me.
The cupcake was fine. And I can finally see the stupid luxury building down the block.
As I'm finally settling into the apartment, I connect my laptop to the WiFi and brace myself for the inevitable deluge of notifications and emails. Usually, when I shut out the world and make myself at home on the road, a sense of calm washes over me. But not this time. Tension and irritation stay rooted in my bones, and I find myself mumbling under my breath as I type out a snarkier email than I intended.
Fucking Brooke Moore, of all people. I can't believe it. New York is a city you're supposed to be able to get lost in. But no, the first place I go, I findher. The girl who broke my heart in college and never looked back. I haven't really thought about her in years—at least five, though I did try to do a little misguided cyberstalking after my last breakup. I couldn't find her.
I'mnotgoing to let it get to me. I'm just tired from the flight, that's all. I'll get back into my work groove and move along. This is nothing but a blip. A rocky start to my NYC journey, but nothing unmanageable. I always manage everything perfectly.
Pulling up my Personal drive, I make a note with the date and time.Chocolate cupcake. Saw Brooke. Got to apartment and settled in. Still haven't had a real meal. Will deal with that later.Just before exiting out, I remember my conversation with Orion and set myself a timed reminder for tomorrow:Purchase souvenir for nephew.
Annoyance floods through my veins again. All I wanted was a shirt or a keychain, something to make a kid happy, and she ruined it. I just can't believe I ever saw a future with her.
Brooke
Stumblingintomyapartmentdoor with more cupcakes and cookies leftover than anticipated, I'm absolutelyfuming. I can't believe him. He shits all over my baking, then hestealsfrom me? What's his fucking problem?
I slam the door a little harder than I meant to with a kick of my foot. Instinctively, I tense, waiting for Ricky to pop out of his room to yell at me some more. When he doesn't surface, I tiptoe to the kitchen and dump my boxes onto the only empty spot available on the countertop. Dirty plates take up the rest of the space—I clean up after myself; why can't these goddamn miscreants give me the same courtesy?
My scowl stays firmly in place as I dump the dirty dishes into the sink and run hot water over them. I amnotgoing to wash these dishes. But I just can't live like this. When I moved into a six-bedroom brownstone, I thought my dreams were coming true: leaving Calvin. Starting my own life. Living inthe city.
Reality quickly slapped the shit out of me. And now I'd really like to slap the shit out of my roommates—particularly Ricky and Jack. Jack at least has a job outside of the home, as does everyone else. Except Ricky. So, he's just… always around. But Jack leaves his dirty dishes and laundry strewn around the apartment unless he has a "lady friend" coming over, which is approximately never.
Plopping down on the couch, I can only sigh and stare at the boxes of unsold goods. I'm so close to being free, totally free, but it still feels so far. I bet I would have sold a ton more if fucking Dustin hadn't shown up. Looking all chiseled and grown-up handsome with that thick-ass beard. Too bad his personality hasn't matured past high school, not with the way he acted.
"Ugh!" I huff out and curl my knees to my chest. I can feel my frown lines deepening by the second until Huey jumps onto the sofa next to me with a tinymrrp."Hey, boy-boy."
Huey, unfortunately, doesn't say what I want to hear. What I want to hear is something along the lines ofYou're doing great! You got this! You blocked your dickhead ex-husband and sold $400 worth of cupcakes and cookies—that's amazing!Instead, he extends a leg and flares out his little toes before licking himself. I can't help but let out a chuckle. He just looks so silly.
But before I can truly settle in, I hear Ricky stirring in his room. Nope. Not going to engage. I cannot handle hispreferred conversation topics of blockchains and the latest meme coins. I've truly given up on trying to make him understand the environmental impact of cryptocurrencies. The best I can do is scoop up my cat and retreat to my own room, which is exactly what I do.
Once the door is shut, I allow Huey to slide out of my arms like the fur-covered slinky I'm sure he actually is. Just like every night, he takes up his post on the tiny loveseat. I slide into my own butt-divot on the seat and power on my laptop for a little pre-sleep mindless TV. I'm in the mood for something classic, so I queue up an old 1930s, pre-Code film and let the forced trans-Atlantic accents seep into my mind.
As I watch Clarke Gable and Claudette Colbert slowly fall in love, my stupid mind drifts back to Dustin and our… pretty horrible ending, actually. But god, I don't want to think about that. I can't believe I saw a future with him. What was I thinking?
Juggling four boxes of cupcakes and a grocery bag full of cookies on a packed subway car is a little harder than I thought it would be, but somehow, I manage. They're only a little squished by the guy who shuffled inmuchtooclose for comfort. I could feel his breath on my neck. But he was totally unbothered by the situation, scrolling on his phone with earbuds in, lurching slightly when the train jolted forward or shuddered to a stop.
