Page 42 of Home Run Fiancé
I squeeze her hand. “Never mind. Forget I asked. So, tell me, oh wise one. What should I do about Jake? How do I get over him?”
Her gaze is back, sympathetic, but firm. “You need closure. You said he called you twice the other day, right? Call him back, sweetie. Get your closure so you can stop second-guessing everything and move on.”
I slump in my chair. “Ugh. I figured you’d say that.”
She laughs again, scooting my latte closer to my hand. “Some liquid courage should help.” Glancing at her watch, she stands up. “My break is over, I’m afraid. Drink up, enjoy being amongst the living, and then go home and call that boy.”
She walks past me, but stops to whisper in my ear. “But then call me after and tell me everything.”
That brings a smile to my face and makes the idea of talking to Jake not quite as daunting. There’s so much to be said. I have so many questions and I’m afraid I won’t like his answers. The smile wobbles as I realize I’ve come full circle. I was afraid to say anything to Jake about my feelings for him, but did anyway. Now he’s brushed me off and moved on and I’m afraid to talk to him again. When did I become such a scaredy cat?
I sit with myself and list out all the reasons it makes sense to call Jake and get the closure Charlotte thinks I need. Ultimately it comes down to this: if I call him and get closure, that means we’re officially done. And the thought of that feels like my heart is tearing in two. At least if I’m in limbo there’s still a sliver of a chance it was all a big misunderstanding and he still has feelings for me.
Welcome to the inner workings of my brain. Basically, Pathetic-ville.
I toss my empty cup in the trash and collect my bag. Flashing Charlotte a quick wave goodbye, I head home to my empty apartment to continue my brooding there. I barely have the door closed and deadbolted behind me when I hear a knock. I look out the peephole like any city girl has learned to do. A man stands there with a messenger bag strapped across his body, a cream envelope in his hands.
Throwing open the deadbolt, I open the door cautiously.
“Yes?” I block the view of my apartment with my body. One can never be too careful. Maybe one of the wackos from my YouTube channel found my home address. The thought sends a tingle up my spine.
“Rhys Close?” the guy asks in a bored voice.
“Yes.”
“This is for you.” He shoves the envelope at me and then hightails it down the hallway.
If the creamy envelope in my hands wasn’t so heavy and expensive looking, I’d fear I just got served by the court. As it is, I think Los Angeles County has enough on its hands without sending Papyrus-level invitations to come down to the courthouse. There’s no name on either the front or the back, so I carefully tear open the flap and pull out an equally beautiful invitation card.
Mr. Jake Kersh requests the honor of your presence
At his home opening game
On the first of May, two thousand nineteen
At one o’clock in the afternoon
Sliders Stadium
Box 22
Dallas, Texas
Apologies and groveling to follow
Come as you are
The card starts to shake and blur so hard I can barely read the last few lines. I gasp and nearly drop the thing when I see the apologies line. My heart, the one I could have sworn was torn in two, begins to beat out a fast rhythm, fueled by hope now, not caffeine. I look up, not even seeing my apartment, but envisioning what this could mean. Bubbles of excitement race through my body and I have to move. A jerky, not-so-coordinated happy dance commences right there in the foyer to my apartment. It’s a party of one and only I can hear the music.
Amid all the dancing, another card slips out and flutters to the ground. I scoop it up and incorporate the dance move, feeling like Elle Woods in Legally Blonde with her “bend and snap.” I settle down to be able to read it, realizing it’s a prepaid ticket on a flight tomorrow out of LAX to Dallas. I crush both the ticket and my invitation to my chest and keep dancing.
Jake wants to see me. Jake wants to apologize.
There will be no closure. We’re not done. Far from it.
With a permanent smile and every intention of giving Jake another chance no question, I run to my bedroom to pack. My creative genius finally awakens for the first time all week while I throw clothes into the open case and I come up with a brilliant idea to show Jake I’m on the same page. I stop in the middle of packing and run to grab my keys and my purse.
I have an errand to run and then it’s time to primp. My hygiene may have slacked off recently, but that’s about to take an abrupt U-turn.
