Page 125 of That Fake Feeling
Justas my eyes settle on the two figures with their backs to us, one of them shuts the door, pulls back their rain-slicked hood, and shakes out her glossy brown shoulder-length hair.
33
ROSE
“Iwon’t miss the rain, that’s for sure.”Ishake my umbrella over the threshold before pulling the coffee shop door shut to block out the torrential downpour.
“Well, you’ll be back in theNewYorksunshine tomorrow,”AuntJensays, wiping her rubber clogs on the doormat. “Andin your cute new home.”
Aftergoing bug-eyed from browsing for days on end,Ifinally settled on a new place yesterday and sent the deposit.It’sonly four hundred and fifty square feet, but that’s nearly luxurious forManhattan.It’sin an old building but has been recently renovated, so it’s the best of both worlds, with a shiny new bathroom, kitchen, and floors, but original features like a fireplace and crown molding.
Bestof all, it’s only a twenty-minute walk to school, so no more messing with buses or subway trains.
Oneof my professors lives in the same building.Shedid me a huge favor by taking a look at it and told me it was even better than in the photos andIshould snap it up before anyone else could.SoIwas happy to take it without seeing it myself, andI’mdelighted with the deal.Havingmore money to play with doesn’t meanI’mgoing to waste a penny of it.
AuntJenplaces her umbrella in the stand by the door and unzips her raincoat with a swoosh, sending droplets of rain flying.
“Thenyou can do the most important thing—find that handsome young man.I’mso excited you’ve decided to tell him how you feel.”
“Shh,”Itell her. “Theentire place doesn’t need to knowI’mon a mission.”
Iturn to face the shop and pull off my drenched hood, my eyes blurry from raindrops still trapped in my lashes.Janice, her husband, and a guy at the counter seem to be standing perfectly still and staring at us.
Theguy is very much the size and shape ofConnor.He’sbeen on my mind more than ever sinceIdecided to go see him whenIget back toNewYorkand confess thatI’vefallen hook, line, and sinker for him.Maybehe’ll brush me off, but at leastI’llknowIdid my best and won’t have to live with regrets for not trying.
Myheart has had a hollow ache since the last timeIclimbed the stairs to my room at his house after our final conversation, andIdon’t want to suffer the same regretAuntJenhas lived with for more than thirty years.
Connorconstantly lives in my head—the smell of his skin, the touch of his fingers, the way that bit of hair always flops onto his forehead.AndsinceI’vebeen here,I’vewishedIcould tell him about every new, fun, or weird thingI’veseen and done.
Everythingreminds me of him—a couple in a rowboat in aTVcommercial, an email newsletter fromTheLearningVillagewith photos of kids using the music room that’s now fully up and running, and the cinnamon toastAuntJenmade yesterday which prompted anewsound from her whenIsmeared it with peanut butter.So, it’s no surpriseI’mnow hallucinating men his exact shape and size.
ButasIwipe my eyes and he comes into focus, the man at the counter isn’t just the same proportions asConnor, he also has the same weekend bag thatConnortook to the beach house hanging across his body.Anda piece of hair hangs across his forehead in exactly the same way…Butno, it can’t be.Connorwouldn’t be here inCatastrophe.Thatwouldn’t make sense.So, it absolutely can’t be.
Myheart races, pauses for a second as if it’s not quite sure what to do, then races even faster.
Itis, though.
It’sConnor.
Standingright there.BytheCatastropheCoffeecounter.Abundle of something wrapped in pale green paper in his hand.
Tinglesrace across every inch of my skin, likeI’mbeing tickled all over with a feather.
AuntJennudges me in the side. “Rose?Yourumbrella’s dripping all over your sneakers.”
Ilet go of the handle, allowing her to pull it from my hand and drop it in the stand.Myeyes never leaveConnor, as ifI’mhypnotized by him.Which, in a way,IguessIam.
“Theusuals, please,Janice,”AuntJensays as she moves toward the counter peeling off her soggy raincoat.
Janiceand her husband stare, motionless, atAuntJen.
Shestops in her tracks, her coat halfway down one arm, and stares back. “What?”
Theonly part of any of them that moves areJanice’seyebrows, which look set on making a break for it in a northerly direction.
AuntJensnaps her head back to me. “What?”
Shefollows my trance-like gaze until her eyes also land onConnor.
