Page 94 of Pretty Please Me
I shake my head and hand Wren the baby as a wave of nausea rises in my gut. I curl over and prop my head on my hands as I stare down at my feet, my mind swirling a thousand miles a minute.
“Have you talked to her since–”
I sit up and pull my phone from my pocket, hands shaking as I struggle to open my email folder. I swipe down the screen as I search for her name in the sea of messages.
“Give me that, you idiot.” Simon snatches the phone out of my hand and types her name in the search bar. I don’t know why I didn’t think to do that. I blame the adrenaline rush.
He hands me back the phone. “There. I think this is what you’re looking for.”
I stare down at the screen and see an email from Maggie that was sent one week after I left. I suck in a breath as I open it.
To: Samuel Jordan
From: Magnolia Anderson
Subject: Thank you.
Dear Sam,
I’m writing you this email from the first-class lounge on my flight back to Chicago. Thank you for the upgrade btw. I’ve enjoyed my week of splurging. (I may have gotten a bit carried away with the room service… you’ll understand when you get the bill… but I’m not apologizing for that!)
Anyway, I’ve had some realizations over the last week, and I wanted to thank you for all you did to help me with ourlessons.
I wanted you to teach me to be better at sex to impress men, but instead, you taught me that it’s more important that I’m impressed with myself. You showed me what it looks like to put myself first for the first time in my life and not let people walk all over me. You helped me realize what I wanted and how I wanted to be treated and that I have complete control over how I allow people to treat me.
Sam, you gave me the best gift that anyone could give me, you gave me the gift of insight of what I’ve always wanted.
I’m sorry I pushed you to change. I realize now that we want different things, and that doesn’t make either of us wrong. I will not compromise anymore, and I hope you don’t either.
I know you’ll probably torture yourself for a long time to come—over everything you did or didn’t do—but I hope that every once in a while, you stop and let yourself enjoy a nice whiskey or the way the air smells just before it rains. Promise me you’ll allow yourself to be happy again. The world needs a little more of the carefree Sam you keep tucked away from everyone but your close friends and family.
I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to go back to what we were before my crazy suggestion, but I hope you don’t let my presence deter you from spending time with your friends. Maybe we can draw up a new arrangement?
I’m still pissed at you, but I realized the last thing I want is to be with someone who doesn’t want me back. I deserve more than that. I deserve to be with someone who chooses me first, so that’s exactly what I plan on doing.
Goodbye, Sam. I guess I’ll see you around.
–Maggie.
P.S. Thanks for everything you did to help me with the studio. I can’t wait to get back to my life with a clean slate.
I press my fingers against my temples and rub as I finish reading the email. I don’t know whether to be happy she sounds so good or upset that she doesn’t seem to miss me at all… If she sounded that good three months ago, what must she be like now? She probably doesn’t even remember I exist.
My shoulders sag in defeat, and I let out a frustrated sigh.
Simon claps me on the shoulder, and I jump. “Welcome to rock bottom, brother. The good news is you can only go up from here.”
“I don’t know, Si. I think I may just have to build myself a little house down here because I don’t think I’m climbing out of this hole anytime soon.”
“So, you’re just going to give up?” Dad’s voice comes from behind me, and I turn to find him staring at me with Charlotte tucked under his arm. Jamie stands beside him, shirtless with a whole-ass permed mullet, a mustache, and his arms crossed judgmentally over his chest.
I have to shake my head to check if I’m hallucinating because he looks so ridiculous, but I guess people really can change a lot in three months.
“Were you all just standing there waiting for me to admit I fucked up?”
“Son, we’ve been planning this intervention since your punk-ass ran off to Africa. Do you know how hard it was for me to not slap the shit out of you when I saw you?” Dad snaps.
Charlotte elbows my dad. “We just don’t like seeing you so miserable.”
