Page 77 of A Lot to Unpack
I raise an eyebrow.
‘You would come with me?’ I squeak.
‘I scrub up all right,’ he jokes. ‘And I’ve got a black tux with me – because you never know, in New York.’
‘You had me at scrub,’ I reply. ‘I would love you to come with me.’
He genuinely looks as happy as I feel right now.
‘Perfect,’ he replies. ‘Well, I’ve got a couple of meetings to wrap today, some unfinished business to put to bed, but how about I have a car take you shopping? Spend your last few hours in New York in style?’
‘Why are you so perfect?’ I ask him.
He just laughs.
‘My recent reviews haven’t been quite so glowing – so thank you,’ he jokes. ‘But, really, you’re worth it. You deserve all of it.’
I pretty much launch myself at him, knocking the bagel wrapper from his lap, wrapping my arms and legs around him and squeezing him tightly.
‘Well, that’s adorable,’ he says.
‘I’m just in a really good mood,’ I tell him.
‘Good,’ he replies.
I’m not just in a good mood, and it’s not just that I’m excited either; I think the main thing I’m feeling is relief. I am so, so glad that I didn’t swap the contracts. I could have done, so easily, and he probably would have never known, but I would have known, and I could never have lived with the guilt.
The longer you tell a lie, or keep a secret, the harder it gets to undo, and the more damage it does when it finally comes out.
I’m so happy I didn’t go through with it. I was only doing it for my job, for my future, but things just look and feel so much brighter now. I’ve definitely made the right decision.
Finally, it feels like my luck might have changed.
30
I always think it’s one of those silly, jokey things people say, when they declare that they’re living their best life, but today I get it, I totally get it, because that’s what I’m doing. It’s a real thing.
I’ve spent today dashing around the shops of New York, killing time while I waited for Jordan to wrap things up at work. I bought a dress I definitely couldn’t really afford, tried on shoes I’ll never be able to afford, and walked the streets like I was Carrie Bradshaw – just without the weekly sex column or her inexplicably generous credit limit.
Now I’m in the back of a black limo, acting like I belong, being whisked off to the airport where I will be – just let me clear my throat, before I say this – catching a private jet back home. And with Jordan, no less, and I honestly can’t believe he’s real. That he wants to fly with me to Leeds. To go to Hannah’s wedding with me. Surely that would freak most men out, so early on? But not Jordan.
Oh, and not only is this great news for me, because I actually really like him, but it’s good news for the wedding too. Because Jordan is the kind of man you want on your arm. He’s got thateasy charm that everyone laps up, he can talk about anything and sound like the smartest man in the conversation – I can see him now, working the room, chatting to my relatives, making my mum swoon, and laughing – even if it’s just politely – at my dad’s dad jokes. Who knows? He might even find them funny. Stranger things have happened lately.
I don’t think my family are going to believe he’s real – I don’t even think they believe I’m going to show up. They know I’ve been working in New York, but I’ve barely spoken to them.
Actually, now feels like the perfect time to call them and drop the bombshell. To let them know that not only am I coming, but I’m bringing a plus one.
I call my mum.
‘Hello, love,’ she says. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Hi, Mum! Yes. How are you? Is Dad there?’ I check.
‘He’s right here,’ she says.
I can hear him in the background, yelling.
‘Tell her if her flight’s mysteriously delayed again, we’re sending in a search party,’ he calls out.
