Anyway. I see from ur file that you’ve recently started a new job. That must be thrilling! Tell me all about it!
xx,
Jenna B
Personal Success Concierge™
Bestmillenniallife.com
Dear Jenna,
I have not had a chance to listen to the podcast yet—obviously, or else I would have found a way to let you know I really don’t need your services. Maybe I should check out the app (haha lol, as you say).
All best,
Riley
Dear Riley,
U r frickin’ hilarious! U crack me up! Seriously, I have tears of laughter rolling down my cheeks now.
So tell me about ur job . . .
xx,
Jenna B
Personal Success Concierge™
Bestmillenniallife.com
Dear Jenna,
I wasn’t trying to be funny, but I guess it’s good to know I made you laugh.
My job is not going that well at the moment, if I’m being honest. I’m feeling a little overwhelmed. Plus, I’m afraid if I screw up, I’ll not only lose my job but it could end up having serious consequences for a friend.
All best,
Riley
Hey Riley,
UGH. That sounds heavy. Here’s a quote that always inspires me when I’m feeling overwhelmed: “I cheated on my fears, broke up with my doubts, got engaged to my faith, and now I’m married to my dreams.” I’m not sure who said it because I saw it as a meme on Pinterest, but I’m pretty sure it was someone famous. And I like it because I feel like it works on so many levels. Hope it inspires u as much as it does me!
xx,
Jenna B
Personal Success Concierge™
Bestmillenniallife.com
CHAPTER 12
I arrived at Tuttle General for the second time that day. The plan was to see if I could find David to clarify a few things, and see if I could get one of his father’s colleagues to talk to me about what he had been like to work with. I walked quickly through the lobby toward the elevators, but before I got there, a voice called out my name. A raspy Swedish-accented voice. Damn.
“Riley!”
I turned around slowly and plastered a static smile on my face. “Hey, Ridley.”
Ridley floated up beside me and kissed me on both cheeks. She looked radiant, of course, her bright blond hair shining even brighter under the fluorescent lights—she was the very essence of health and vitality, a sharp contrast with the hospital setting of illness and death. She once again wore a belly-baring tank top and long cotton skirt, but today she wore a bright boho-chic kimono atop the whole outfit, which was so impossibly stylish that she looked like a maternity-store model as opposed to a real-life pregnant person. It made me want to puke.
“What are you doing here? You are not sick, I hope?” Ridley asked with a look of genuine concern on her flawless, not-even-kind-of-bloated face.
“Just here for work. Have to do some interviews for the Davenport obit.”
“I am here for a checkup.” She pointed to the double doors just opposite the conference room: the Women’s Health Associates office suite where Dr. Wilson, my—and Ridley’s—OB/GYN worked. “Thirty-five weeks today.” She put her hands on either side of her baby bump and swirled them, just as she’d done the other night.
Again, I had a niggling pang from somewhere deep within. It was hard to believe that thirty-five weeks ago I still thought Ryan and I had a future together. Maybe the feeling was nothing more than a physical manifestation of surprise. At least I hoped so.
“Well, hope you get a good report!” I said brightly. “See you—”
“Riley?” She interrupted me. Double-damn. “Would you like to have coffee with me sometime?”
“Oh, um, well, gee . . .” I was about as good at responding to being asked out by my ex-boyfriend’s baby mama as I was by cute doctors.
She reached out a long, toned arm and touched my shoulder. “I’d like us to be friends.” She flashed me the brilliant smile containing her perfectly proportioned teeth that fell into a straight line with just the barest hint of pink gum tissue peeking out from above. It was the kind of smile that made all mankind fall to its knees. But I was not all mankind, and I was not interested in being friends with Ridley. She was fine—a nice person, I’m sure—but she was having Ryan’s baby, a distinction I used to believe would be mine, and so we did not need to be friends.
“Sure,” I said in as noncommittal a way as possible. “Let’s do that sometime! See you ar—”
She again interrupted my getaway, this time by pulling me into a tight hug. “Oh, thank you, Riley! I was so nervous to ask you, and Ryan said I shouldn’t bother you—but I have not made any female friends since moving to Tuttle Corner and I think you and I have so much in common—I just know we are destined to be the best of friends!”
She was so tall that my head was at her breast level, and as she hugged me with more force than I felt was necessary, the side of my face smushed into her boobs—the only part of her that seemed to be swollen from pregnancy.
“Okay. All right,” I said, as I pulled free. “That’s good enough.” I felt eyes on us and turned to see David Davenport coming off of the elevator, a look of bemusement on his handsome face.
“Hi,” I waved him over. “Fancy seeing you here,” I said, and then immediately regretted it. Not only did cute guys make me nervous, but inexplicably they made me talk like a seventy-year-old greeter at Wal-Mart.
“Hey,” he said, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at Ridley. Of course.
“David,” I said, making the obligatory introduction, “this is Ridley. Ridley, this is David Davenport.”
Their eyes met and when they shook hands it was like a chemical reaction. Two beautiful people colliding,
