Page 104 of An Introvert's Guide to Life and Love
I rip off the Band-Aid: “Bye, McKinnon. See you around.”
Chapter 35
My alarm goes off at five thirty. After splashing some cold water on my face and swapping my pajamas for a matching lounge set, I zip up my suitcase and wheel it out to the kitchen. Gramps is sitting at the kitchen table with a half-eaten bowl of Grape-Nuts, a glass of orange juice, and a newspaper in front of him. Wally snoozes at his feet.
“And she’s off,” he says, smiling up at me.
“And I’m off.” I try to match his cheerful tone. “Be good. Don’t throw any wild parties without me.”
“Wouldn’t you know, I have a DJ and a keg booked for tonight.”
“Of course you do.” I slip an arm around his shoulders and plant a kiss on his head. “Love you, Gramps.”
He pats my hand and squeezes it hard. “Love you, too, Mallory. Have a safe flight.”
I notice that he doesn’t ask me to tell him when I land. Because, I guess, that’s not how this is going to go. We’re not going to keep in touch every day, maybe not even every week. Things will go back to how they used to be between us. I’m just one of his several grandchildren, once again.
I place his keys on the table and give the Barack Obama key chain a fond pat goodbye.
“If you forgot anything, I’ll FedEx it to you,” Gramps says. “Overnight express.” He winks.
I give a little laugh. “I got everything. My Uber will be here in a second. Bye, Gramps.”
“Goodbye, my dear.”
I crouch down and rub Wally behind his ears, nuzzling my nose to his.
“Bye, Wally.”
He perks up and wags his tail, looking expectantly at me. Probably wondering if it’s time for a beach walk.
“Sorry, boy. I have to go,” I whisper. “I’ll miss you.”
I don’t look back as I close the door behind me. I don’t want to see how very alone Gramps looks. I have never been more grateful for a dog than I am at this moment.
My apartment smells different after a month away. Like Volcano candles, old food, and damp.
I unpack quickly, not wanting to drag out the process, and start a load of laundry. The state of the refrigerator is depressing—the old food smell is clearly emanating from a bag of apples and a bunch of carrots, foods I thought would still be good when I returned after a weekend. But using my own shower—that makes the cross-country trip worth it. The water pressure, my arsenal of bath products, my own fluffy towels instead of Gramps and Lottie’s threadbare ones from before I was born. It’s heavenly.
My parents invite me over for dinner tonight, but I decline. I’d rather not schlep all the way over to the Eastside after my long flight. And I have to mentally prepare myself for commuting into the office in the morning.
I do some quick math and realize that if I have to be in the officeby nine, I won’t have time to do my virtual yoga class beforehand. This almost makes me cry. The one good thing about coming home is the return to my beloved routine. But of course, I can’t even do that.
Monday passes in an uncomfortable haze. The bus is full of silently suffering commuters, plus one guy who shouts into the void and smells of pee. I circle the overly air-conditioned office until I find a desk with my name taped to it. Kat pops by “just to say hi” about five minutes after I sit down, so I’m ninety-nine percent certain she was waiting for me to arrive. During lunch, as I unwrap my Subway sandwich in the office kitchen, a guy from my team wanders in, wearing a mask—he was one of several people hired in 2021, so I never met him in person. “Hi, Mallory,” he greets me. “Hey, Jace.” I wave. He pauses in front of the microwave. “I’m not Jace.” And then he leaves. I still don’t know who he was.
If the lunch encounter is the lowlight of my day, the highlight is when, around threeP.M., I get an email from Daniel. My pulse skips and I bite back an excited grin as I open it.
Mallory,
I hope you had an easy trip home. My mom keeps asking about “that lovely Mallory Rosen.” (Her words.) I told her you had to return to your high-flying, big-city career. I checked the weather in Seattle. Looks nicer than here! A pleasant eighty instead of a painful ninety-eight.
Anyway, wanted to let you know that I have a couple of parties interested in seeing the house. I know it’s not finished yet, but it’s not unheard of for me to show a house while it’s still in progress. Let me know.
Best,
Daniel McKinnon
My smile melts away. It’s all business. There’s nothing for me to read into here. Other than the fact that he checked the weather in Seattle—that bit is cute. But the part about his mom calling me lovely—did he have to immediately clarify that those were her words, not his? In fact, the email dredges up a sense of unease. Until now, I’d been confident that we were on the same page: we’d had a fun fling, and if it weren’t for the fact that we live across the country from each other, it might have been something more. But what if I’m wrong? What if he hadn’t felt that way at all, and he’d only let the fling happen because he knew there would be no strings attached?
