As I hike around the back and side of the house to get to the driveway, I struggle to keep the tears of rage and hurt in check. Unfortunately, “resolve” has never been my forte.
More than an hour later, when there’s a knock at my door, and I open it to find a delivery person weighed down with what appears to be a hundred pink and white roses in a cut crystal vase, I snort and almost close the door in her face. But it’s not her fault my brother’s a jerk.
After I unburden her of her load and set the flowers aside on the tiny table in my entryway, she takes one look at my tear-puffy face and says as she thrusts a clipboard toward me with a delivery log to sign, “Oh. Now I understand.”
I chuckle mirthlessly. “Yeah. But flowers aren’t going to get him out of the doghouse.”
Plus, since when does Greg send me flowers for anything? Or admit he was wrong, come to think of it? Never. And roses? He’s so clueless. Maybe he was the one who got me that lingerie gift card.
I close the door on the courier and pluck the card from the mass of buds that are close to opening and becoming more beautiful than they already are.
This oughtta be good. He must feel awful to have plunked down the dough for these. The vase alone…
Maura,
That win was for you.
Yours,
J
Eleven
Reluctantly Willing
Two days later, I arrive at work with a whistle on my lips. I should be exhausted after my marathon phone conversation with Jet last night, but I’m buoyant. Bubbling. Beaming.
When I first received those flowers, my initial reaction was dismay. Because I’m weird. But then I realized if I’m going to worry about where all this is going with Jet, I’ll have to do something to stop it, and that’s too much work. So I’m going to go with it.
It’s been the best decision I’ve ever not made. Decision-making is a major bummer and always stresses me out. It’s so much better to simply do nothing and let someone else make all the moves. So far, I’m okay with all the moves Jet’s making. He’s sweet, funny, attentive, and thinks I’m “awesome.” What’s not to like about that?
Cassie (Carmen? Chastity? Oh, well, whatever her name is) hands my schedule to me and says, “Wow. Did you get your hair colored or something?”
I grab a strand from my shoulder and peer down at its ends. “No.” My voice distorts as I squash my chin to my chest to get a better view. “Does it look different?”
She shakes her head, befuddled. “Maybe. You look, like, lighter.”
Continuing toward my door, I shrug. “Hm. Weird.”
“Yeah. Anyway, your first appointment is here and waiting.”
“I’ll be right with them,” I tell her, carrying my stuff into my office and settling in for the day.
My cell phone chimes as I hang my purse on the door hook. Unable to resist, I dig it out to read what I assume is going to be a text from Jet.
My stomach gurgles when I see, instead, Roses? Someone’s got it bad.
Rae. Dagnabbit! How the heck does she know about that? There wasn’t a whisper of it online. I know, because I signed up for a service that sends me alerts any time Jet’s name is mentioned. (Who’s the stalker now?) If he and I are going to be a thing, though, I don’t want people knowing stuff about us that I don’t even know, ya know? I want to stay ahead of the gossip. Maybe Jet told her? That poor, sweet, innocent man. He and I are going to have to have a talk. Rae is not his ally in this game. The sooner he realizes that, the better.
One of the best things about texts is that you can ignore a message and claim you didn’t know it had arrived. In this case, I can only pretend so long, since Rae’s all-too-aware of how regularly I check my phone. But I have a while before she becomes suspicious I’m avoiding her.
Not enough 5-hr energy n wrld 4 me 2 stay awake n this pats defense revu
says the text from Jet that pops onto the screen before I can set down my phone on my desk.
The usual me would text back something flirty, but I need to get to work, so I don’t have time to think about how it makes me feel that Jet Knox sends me illicit texts during playoff preps. My gut reaction is to discourage him. I don’t want anyone to find out and treat me like a modern-day Yoko if the team loses Sunday. Silencing the device, I slide it underneath a pile of papers on the corner of my desk and concentrate on the stack of job descriptions already printed and ready for my first client. All thoughts of Rae and Jet will have to wait.
It isn’t until after my first appointment ends that I have a chance to peruse the rest of my schedule. For the second time today, my stomach reacts unpleasantly. My entire afternoon is blocked out for a job fair planning meeting. It’s for the spring fair, so I’m merely sitting in, observing Arnold. Still, it’s an unwelcome reminder of the herculean responsibility I’m doing my damnedest to pretend doesn’t exist.
The happiness I was feeling a few minutes ago dissipates like bubbles in a long, hot bath that’s gone lukewarm.
When Carmen/Cassie/Chastity (I definitely need to figure out her name for real, no matter how temporary she’ll be) buzzes me as I’m gathering my things to leave for the day and announces Colin’s arrival, I experience a brief panicked moment. His new job only started yesterday! What could he possibly need so soon?
As soon as he opens my door, he says, “Sorry I’m so early. If you’re not ready to go yet, I understand and
