Thirty-two
Danica
I’m panting as I round the final corner of my Sunday-morning run. Lately, the only way I can sleep at night is if I’m truly exhausted, and my new job and these runs get me there. The rhythmic thump of my sneakers on the pavement continues until I reach Anna’s block. There I slow to a walk and begin to cool down, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.
That’s when I see her—Sandrine Wright—stepping away from the building in her chic attire. My heart, already racing from the run, lurches painfully in my chest.
She sees me and glares. I don’t know why she’d be upset with me if she’s the one leaving Austin’s place. Though it certainly stings that he’s moved forward with her or gone back to her?
He has the right to spend his time however he wants. We never declared ourselves to be anything long term, and he said that made me perfect. Then evidently he bailed the moment his mother raised an objection. So much for me not listening to anything she said. He can’t even bring himself to respond to my texts now.
But none of that quells the surge of jealousy that courses through me. For all I know, they’ve been sleeping together this entire time. Maybe he’s working through a jumbo box of condoms with her too. The thought sickens me.
I watch Sandrine stroll away, her heels clicking against the sidewalk as my composure crumbles. “Damn it,” I mutter as I fumble with the keys to the building. Sandrine’s presence is an arrow through my heart, an unspoken confirmation of what I’ve been trying so hard to ignore for the last week.
Inside the lobby, I lean against the wall and let out a shaky breath.
“Control, Danica,” I whisper to my reflection in the mirrored surface of the elevator doors. The mantra steadies me as it has for years. I used it all the times I had to keep it together growing up because I worried maybe my father’s infidelity was my fault.
As the elevator ascends, carrying me to the loft, I realize there’s no escaping the truth. Austin has moved on, or perhaps he was never truly with me at all. And here I am, caught between the lies I’ve told myself and the reality I’m too afraid to face.
The elevator dings, and I step out. I pause at Austin’s door. I know he’s in there. I could use the overnight bag I left with him weeks ago as an excuse. But I’ve sent emails and left voicemails, and he’s not responded. I need to just leave it alone, keep my dignity intact.
“Get it together,” I scold myself as I continue down the hall to Anna’s condo because tears won’t change anything—not the past, not my mother’s choices, and certainly not Austin’s. You’ve got things to get done. Stop this moping.
I grab money and my grocery bags and head back out to the Embarcadero. In no time, I’m weaving through the bustling farmer’s market. I’m on autopilot, seeking normalcy in the routine of Sunday shopping, when a familiar voice calls out from the crowd.
“Danica!” Emerson waves from a stand bursting with heirloom tomatoes. Caroline is there too, flashing a bright smile.
“Hey,” I manage, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear.
“How are things at Unmanned?” she asks as they approach.
“Amazing!” I say, painting a smile on my face. “They’re expanding, hiring like crazy. And the owners are solid guys, really supportive.”
“I spoke with Zhu Tau, and he thinks you’ve been just the shot in the arm they needed.”
“Wow, that’s quite the compliment.” I should be thrilled to hear that, but work talk feels trivial compared to the turmoil of my personal life.
“Are you here for anything specific?” Caroline asks.
“Uh, just the usual stuff, lunch salads, since I can’t get out of the office and I don’t want to hit the lunchroom. I can’t burn those kinds of calories, and it all looks too good,” I murmur, my gaze drifting over the stalls.
“Come with us,” Emerson says, looping her arm through mine. “We’re getting things for a barbecue later. You should join!”
“Thanks, but I’ve got a mountain of work waiting for me.” The lie rolls off my tongue. What I have is a mountain of self-pity and unanswered questions.
“Too bad,” Caroline chimes in, plucking a ripe tomato and weighing it in her palm. “These parties are always a lot of fun.”
“Maybe another time,” I offer with a half-hearted smile. We wander together among the stalls, the two of them chatting about marinades and side dishes while they fill their canvas bags. I follow along, picking at produce without any real intention of buying.
“Seriously, think about coming tonight,” Emerson urges. “You have to eat, right?”
“Sounds tempting, but I can’t.” I shake my head, feeling the weight of loneliness settle deeper. “Really, I appreciate it, though.”
“All right, if you change your mind…” She trails off with a knowing look.
“Thanks,” I say.
They continue down the line of vendors, their laughter mingling with the sounds of the market. For a moment, I consider what it might be like to go to their party, to dive into the distraction of smoky grills and friendly banter. But the thought is fleeting. What if Austin were there?
“Hey, what did you think of the EnergiFusion party?” Emerson asks, looking back.
I give her a small smile. “It was beautiful,” I say truthfully. “The venue, the decorations…and I was really happy for Austin and his partners.” My gaze drifts, settling on a stand of vibrant flowers that seem to mock me with their cheerfulness. “I’m just sorry things are so challenging for him right now.”
Emerson’s brow furrows slightly as she studies me. “I didn’t see much of you after the first hour or so,” she says. “Was everything okay?”
I reach for a clamshell of strawberries, not really seeing them. “Yeah, it was fine. Just—you know how it is. I promise you don’t want to hear my drama.”
She doesn’t let it go. “Did you leave because you and Austin had a fight?”
Surprise flickers through me. How did she even know I left early? “No, no fight,” I admit. “It was just… It was my first time meeting his mother.” My voice drops, a whisper meant only for Emerson. “I don’t think it went very well.”
“Ah.” Emerson nods. She reaches out, touching my arm in a brief gesture of support before changing gears. “In that case, I really feel like you should reconsider attending our barbecue.”
“I’m sure it’ll be quite the feast, but once I go home and get in work mode, it will be hard to get me out again.”
“Mason and Dillon usually go head-to-head with a silly competition,” Emerson says. “They’ve been talking about ribs, so there’ll be plenty of food. Your work will always be there,” she adds. “I know you’re doing great.”
I nod, a faint smile touching my lips despite the turmoil inside. “Sounds intense.”
“Intense and delicious!” Caroline chimes in, looping her arm through mine. “You should come, Danica. There’ll be tons of people taste-testing and having a good time.”
I hesitate, the image of Sandrine leaving my building still too raw, too vivid. “I’m not sure,” I murmur, glancing away.
“Danica, think about it,” Emerson insists gently. “We’d love to have you there.”
I nod. And maybe a barbecue is just what I need to get out of my own head. But I’m just not there yet.
We meander further, passing stalls laden with colorful fruits, artisanal breads, and homemade jams.
“Look at these,” Caroline says, drawing my attention to a flower vendor’s stall. “Aren’t they gorgeous?”
“Beautiful,” I agree.
“Hey, you had a good week, remember?” Caroline nudges me with her shoulder. “Why not celebrate? Get yourself some flowers.”
I bite my lip, considering. A part of me—the part that grew up learning not to expect much—wrestles with the idea of such an indulgence. But another part wants to embrace it. I’ve earned something nice. I’ve been working hard, and I can choose to live differently than I did in the past.
“Okay,” I finally say, stepping forward. I select a bouquet of whites and pinks with cabbage roses, hydrangea, and baby daisies. “For celebrating the small things.”
“Exactly,” Caroline beams. “You never need a man to shower you with flowers. Buy them for yourself.”
With the bouquet cradled in my arms, I inhale their sweet fragrance, allowing myself this simple pleasure. “I should get going,” I tell them. “Have fun at the barbecue tonight. And may the best chef win.”
“Thanks, we will! And don’t forget, you’re always welcome,” Emerson calls after me as I start the walk back home.
I stride along the sidewalk, the bouquet of flowers in my arms. They really are beautiful, but with each step toward home, I remember Sandrine outside the building and her glare as she left.
I push through the front door and head for the elevator. Soon it dings its arrival, and as I step inside, I catch my reflection in the mirrored walls, my hair in a ponytail, blue eyes that spark, even if they carry more questions than answers, and a figure that holds its ground, even when it doesn’t feel like it.
Danica Winters , I tell myself silently, “ You’ve got this .”
The elevator doors open to my floor, and I step out. Again breathing in the scent of flowers, I unlock my door and go in, ready to get some work done and, even if I’m not ready for the social gauntlet of a barbeque, move beyond my current headspace.