Page 92 of Take 2
I sigh and shake my head at my own pitifulness. “It’s me, Mom. I’m at Cece’s, and my phone … is dead.” That’s less embarrassing than the truth.
“You’re here? When did you get into town?”
“Just a few hours ago. I wanted to check with you before I show up at your door.”
“That would have been quite the shock. Do you have a rental? Need me to pick you up? Have you eaten dinner?”
“Um, I think those are all no’s. I’ll get a Lyft, don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t be silly, I’ll come get you and we can—”
“It’s already ordered, Mom.” I point to the phone in Stephen’s hand so he can turn my lie into truth.
“All right. I’ll go run to the store then to get something for dinner and the cinnamon rolls you love, and do you want—”
“You don’t need to fuss over me, Mom.”
Cece laughs from the other side of the kitchen island, where glasses of all shapes are going into the dishwasher.
“Try to stop me,” Mom says. “Okay, I’m going. Your dad is out, but you know the garage code.”
Everyone in Madison knows their garage code. They haven’t changed it for twenty years. That’s something I can’t get away with in LA.
“All right. I’ll see you soon.” I end the call and put Cece’s phone on the counter.
Stephen leans on his elbows across from me. “You’ll get me banned from Lyft for switching the rider.”
“Better than getting you fired for getting a DUI when you had called out sick for work.”
“That’s fair.”
Cece dries her hands and hangs the towel on the range. “You can’t leave your phone off forever.”
“I probably could. The bigger challenge is that pretty much all the notifications I’ll have on it will show up on my computer when I open it up.”
“And not even the avoidance of personal drama is enough to thwart thetrueworkaholic.” Stephen smirks and bobs his eyebrows.
“We all need a line we won’t cross.”
“What are the possible outcomes?” Cece asks. “It seems like he’d be trying to apologize …”
“I don’t want him to. We don’t work in real life. Our relationship can’t survive LA. The fact that it went up in flames while we were still in Monaco doesn’t affect that. It was inevitable.”
Cece and Stephen share a frown. He wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. “We just want you to do whatever will make you happy.”
Now, if only I had any idea what that would be.
My parents’ house is empty when I get there. I leave my suitcase at the bottom of the stairs and trudge up to my former room. The fitful sleep I had in Nice wasn’t particularly helpful. I dozed off a little on the flights, but I haven’t gotten any decent sleep in a timeframe I cannot wrap my mind around due to travel and time zones.
When I collapse onto my old bed, my exhaustion is such that I can’t dwell on thoughts of the last good night’s sleep I got. It’s deep enough to drop my well-built defenses and blur the lines between Preston and Ryan. Only a fleeting image of curling up to Ryan flashes through my mind before I pass out.
Cinnamon and Café Bustelo fill my senses, and I wake up more than a little confused as to where I am. I sit up and rake my fingers through my hair. The green scrunchie comes out with my hand, and my hair falls around my shoulders. I slip it around my wrist by habit … and because I’m a masochist. A laundry basket filled with the folded contents of my suitcase sits on the dresser. How long have I been wearing this outfit?
Tempting as the smells wafting up from the kitchen are, I need a shower desperately. Despite myself, I can hear Preston’s mocking concern over me showering without any food in me. Hotel Sheridan has provided me with bottled water on my nightstand, so at least I get a little hydration. My memories are a bigger problem than low blood sugar as I try to wash off every touch from the last two weeks. Afterward, I find a pair of leggings from my freshly washed laundry and an old Badgers T-shirt from my dresser. I go downstairs with my hair twisted into a towel.
“There she is!” My dad puts down his newspaper and rises from the kitchen table to give me a hug.
“Hi, Dad.”
