Page 155 of Fake As Puck
I buy a flight for Friday afternoon before I can talk myself out of it.
Then I text her:What are you doing this weekend?
She responds immediately:Working. Why?
Your boyfriend is coming to see you.
Three little dots appear and then disappear, so I type another message.
Your very real, very eager to see you boyfriend.
Don’t book your flight.
Why not? I was just about to.
West, don’t. I won’t even be in town.
I deflate. Is she serious?
What do you mean you won’t be in town?
I have work, so I won’t be home.
My gut sinks. Shit, really? I put my phone down and stare at my empty house. I wasn’t expecting to hear this. Thank God I didn’t book the flight.
I’m sorry. I want to see you too.
I pocket my phone and head down to my home gym to drown out the anxiety rolling through my body.
44
“Shit, Tessa! He almost booked a flight to LA.” I press the phone against my ear as I pack the last of my things into boxes that are already stacked by the door.
“Oh, that would be so bad,” Tessa says. “So bad! You’re starting the drive tonight, right?”
“Yes. I should be there on Friday. Is this like the worst idea ever? I mean, now I don’t know if surprising him is a good idea. He hasn’t texted me back, so I think I might’ve pissed him off.”
“You sound just like him with your anxiety. It’s fine. Don’t overthink it. Stick to the plan. I cleaned your entire house today, so you can’t back out now. It’s going to be the best surprise.”
I look at my empty apartment and sigh. “I feel so bad. I feel like I should just tell him I’m coming.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I wouldn’t be in town so don’t book the flight down here to see me because I won’t be here.”
“Perfect. You’re not going to be.”
She’s right. By the time his potential flight would have landed, I’ll be somewhere in Seattle with everything I own hitched to the back of a U-Haul.
The moving truck is parked outside my building, my Honda Civic hooked up behind it like a loyal pet following its owner to a new life. I’ve never driven anything bigger than my car, and the sight of the orange and white behemoth makes my stomach flip.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I say, taping up the final box.
“I can’t believe you waited this long to do this.”
“What if he changed his mind about wanting me there permanently? What if I’m being presumptuous?”
“Liv, the man has been miserable for weeks. He bought plants because they reminded him of you. Plants that he immediately killed because he doesn’t know how to take care of anything green.”
