Page 81 of A Lot to Unpack
But what I won’t tell them is the truth, that he’s gone, and that it hurts more than I thought it would.
More food arrives – something beautiful but overly garnished. I push it around, trying to feel grateful.
I can’t though. It’s all wasted on me today. Not even the free food and unlimited movies can cheer me up.
I might be in first class but my heart – not to be overly dramatic – is hanging off the outside of the wing by a thread.
And sooner rather than later, life will be off pause, I’ll touch down in reality, and I’ll have to deal with it.
Shit.
32
I sigh so heavily as the taxi pulls up outside my parents’ house that I actually think I up the price on the cabbie’s meter.
‘Here we are, love,’ he tells me.
I really have missed the Yorkshire accent. There’s something so welcome about it, so friendly. I’ve never met this man before in my life and yet I feel like I know him. I’ll bet he drinks Yorkshire Tea, watches rugby league, drinks pints, says hello to his mates by giving them a hard slap on the back and saying, ‘Nah then, lad.’
It’s nice to see a familiar place too, my parents’ house, the street I grew up on. You know when going home feels like coming home? Back to where it all began, somewhere you can decompress, reset, figure out where you’re supposed to go from here. The mothership – but not in the cringe way people refer to their mum, I mean like I’m an actual alien, and I’m returning to base to, like, I don’t know, decontaminate? I’m sleep deprived and jetlagged. Is it showing?
I can see Mum at the window, practically tearing the curtain off the rail in her attempt to watch out for me. Seeing thetaxi outside, she dashes for the front door – but not before straightening her curtains. She is expecting guests, after all.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen, eh? I’m dragging my suitcase up their driveway, on my own, struggling because I collected it from baggage claim with a broken wheel. To think, I’ve spent a week enjoying first-class travel, five-star hotels, drivers taking me wherever I needed to go. And now I’m here, alone, struggling.
I thought this was going to be so different. I thought I would have Jordan with me, handsome as ever, excited to charm my parents in that way only he can do, getting to know them a little before we all went to the wedding as one big happy family. Serves me right, for getting ahead of myself, for letting my imagination run away with me. I felt so hopeless and demoralised after Ben, I never thought I’d dream again, so it’s been nice, to not only act like everything was going to be okay, but to believe it too. I guess I was kidding myself.
Oh, and I’m so knackered. I didn’t sleep at the airport. Obviously. I sat awake in my impossibly quiet hotel room overlooking the runway, watching the planes take off and land, trying to decide if that glow in the distance was the Manhattan skyline. If it was, it felt like looking into a snow globe. A bubble. Its own little world – and Jordan’s still in there somewhere. Probably hating me. Probably trying to work out how I could be so stone cold, to sleep with him, all while being part of the coup.
Paige really played me. She spun her tragic story – months of being cheated on, a brutal divorce, trying to save her business and mend her heart at the same time – and I, in my soft, sad, squishy, too-trusting state, just… believed her. She told me she’d accidentally deleted a few clauses in the contract – and I believed her. She told me all that horrible stuff about Jordan, and, all together now… I believed her!
I joked about corporate espionage, like I was being cute. But really? I helped her try to swap out a legit, legally sound contract with one that would give her the whole company, leaving Jordan with nothing, totally screwing him over. Can you get in trouble for something like that? Legal trouble, I mean. Morally I feel well and truly bankrupt.
The worst thing is that Jordan actually cares about Matcher. He talks about connection, love, helping people. And Paige? She just wants to keep capitalising on the chaos. The hook-ups, the ghosting, the never-ending parade of dick pics.
Ugh, and I helped her, because I needed a job, and I felt bad for her. Thinking about it, it’s probably why she hired me in the first place. She didn’t need an expert in espionage, she needed someone sad and skint. Someone who would do whatever they were told without asking questions. She didn’t need a super sleuth, a criminal mastermind. She needed someone naïve, desperate for a job, who would do her bidding for her. The fact I was heartbroken didn’t hurt either.
And now I’ve not only put Jordan’s company at risk, but I’ve betrayed his trust. It could have been so easy. He liked me. I liked him. We were both finally ready to move on, to trust again, and I’ve blown it. He’ll probably never trust anyone again, and I’ll never trust myself.
Mum opens the front door before I get to it, almost taking it off its hinges. You can tell she’s excited. She’s all dressed up – Dad too.
‘Here she is,’ she says, arms open. ‘Oh, love, it’s so good to see you.’
I force a smile.
‘Hi, guys,’ I reply.
‘Welcome home, kid,’ Dad says.
They both come out to hug me, full of warmth and welcome, but then they realise I’m alone.
Mum peers behind me, scanning the taxi as it pulls away.
‘Wait, where is he?’ she asks, her smile dropping. ‘Where’s Jordan?’
I give her a tired smile.
‘Hello, Mum. Dad. Lovely to see you too,’ I say sarcastically.
