34. Rosalyn
THIRTY-FOUR
ROSALYN
The wine sits on my tongue, and I close my eyes as I soak in the rich flavor.
My lower back aches from maneuvering all the large tubs and lids in my cramped sink, but I got everything washed.
I could’ve saved some for the morning, but now I can sleep in.
It’s a mild evening, and the breeze from the open balcony door feels nice after a day dodging the sun, moving from umbrella to umbrella.
I adjust my feet on my little coffee table and lift the wineglass back to my lips.
But before I can tip my glass back, my phone vibrates with a notification.
I lift it off the couch arm.
It’s a new email for my business account.
Opening it, I see it’s the confirmation for the final payment for today’s event.
Then I set my wine down and hold the phone closer to my face.
Is that…?
He wouldn’t.
I close the email, then reopen it .
“What the fuck?” I whisper into the darkening room.
I pull up my bank account.
My pulse is skittering.
I don’t know how to feel about this.
I refresh my bank app, and sure enough, the extra eight thousand dollars is still there.
An eight-thousand-dollar tip.
I plant my feet on the floor and lean forward.
What is he doing?
I’ve gotten some big tips before. Even a few thousand dollars once.
But nothing this big, and certainly not for this small of a job.
Eight. Thousand.
My head spins, and—probably against better judgment—I pick my wine back up and take another sip.
Then another.
I can’t accept this.
I can’t…
Eight.
An image of myself, sitting on the forest floor, crying my eight-year-old eyes out flashes into my mind.
Is that why he chose that number?
Because the last time we saw each other was when I was eight?
I gulp the wine this time.
The money would be nice. And if it was from anyone else—literally anyone else—I’d accept it.
I stare at my new bank balance and groan. Because I know I can’t keep it.
Even if I never see Nathan again. With our history. With what happened in the pantry… I have to give it back.
Swallowing down the rest of my wine, I stand.
Leaving the glass next to the sink, I turn off the few lights that are on and head to my bedroom.
Inside my nightstand, beside the velvet bag holding my silicone friend, is a small piece of paper. With Nathan’s signature.
And his phone number.