Page 97 of Guy's Girl
Finch isn’t home. He hasn’t been back since Budapest. He has a full month off from med school, so he flew home to propose to Hannah, who said yes, and he’s stayed in Cleveland under the guise of getting wedding preparations underway. But she knows better.
“You’re right,” Ginny says. “I know you’re right. But I have a feeling that the problem will resolve itself on its own.”
“How so?”
“I heard Clay talking with him on the phone the other night. Finch is moving in with his fiancée. Apparently, she wants to make a go at Broadway—”
Heather snorts. “All my best to her.”
“So, when our lease is up, he’s going to look for a place in Greenwich Village.”
“I see.” Heather taps her chin. “Right, then. That’s sorted. Hopefully, you won’t even have to see him before you leave.”
Ginny nudges the bottom of the sofa with her toe. “I don’t want to hide from him forever.”
“And you won’t have to, Ginny.” Heather puts one finger under Ginny’s chin and lifts her face to look at her. Ginny tries not to think about the soft skin of her neck that Heather must feel right now, the dangling fat. “But you’re in a delicate state right now. We need to do everything we can to remove stressors and triggers from your life while you recover, and I’m fairly certain that Finch might be both.”
Ginny pulls her sister’s hand away from her chin and smiles. “Wow. One plane ride and you’re an eating disorder expert.”
Heather winks. “How do you think I built my company in less than a year? Now.” She spins around and marches toward Ginny’s bedroom. “Final order of business.”
Ginny follows. “What’s that?”
“I’m taking you shopping.” Ginny finds Heather’s head stuck in her closet, rummaging through the hangers. She pops back out. “Because, honey”—her eyes fall to Ginny’s chest—“there is no way those fabulous new tits of yours are going to fit into these anorexic-ass tank tops.”
Wednesday, after work, Adrian can’t take it any longer. He calls Clay for an update on Ginny’s progress. He needs to know if she’s okay. He needs to know if she’s keeping her food down.
Clay picks up after the second ring. “Hey, man.”
“Hey. How is she?”
Clay pauses. “She’s doing okay. Her sister flew out here and is basically running all our lives now, which is...” He laughs. “An experience. Oh, and Ginny quit her job, too.”
“She... what?”
“Yeah. I actually think it was the right move.” Somethingdingson the other end of the line, as if Clay is heating food up in a microwave. “She has a bit of money saved up, and that job was making her fucking miserable, man. She hasn’t been herself in a long time.”
“Oh.” Adrian had no idea. “That’s good, then.”
“Yeah.”
“Is she eating?”
“She is, actually. And we’re helping her research recovery programs. There’s one close to where she grew up that’s ranked pretty highly. We’re thinking she might head there.”
The thought of Ginny leaving Manhattan makes Adrian’s heart squeeze, though he knows he has no right to feel that way. “Good.” He hesitates, then: “I’m guessing she told you what happened with us.”
“Yeah,” says Clay. “Sounds like things were pretty intense over there.”
“They were.”
“I get it. And listen, man—I know it’s none of my business, but...” He hesitates, and Adrian hears the microwave door slam shut. “I don’t know. I’ve seen the two of you together, and”—the sound of plastic ripping in the background—“all I’m trying to say is that if anything is up on your end... if there’s anything going on in your life that makes you feel like you have to, I don’t know... push people away? I’m here for you.” A clank of ceramic on wood. “That is, if you even need it.”
Adrian shifts the phone into his other hand. He looks out the window again, half wishing he’d find hisnagyapaout in the garden, pulling weeds.
“Thanks, man,” he says finally. “I appreciate it. But I’m all good.”
He hangs up. Waits to feel something—anxiety, sadness, confusion. Nothing comes.
