18
Friday, December 20
4 days until the wedding
Jenny
It’s been a rough day. I spent several hours this morning trying different angles to figure out who Caleb’s stalker is, with no success. My computer program glitched, and I had to restart it from the beginning. A check-in with Ron and Bradly revealed they have no leads.
I’m on my way to have lunch with Eddie, who’s back in town for the day. This time there’ll be no Dean to save me. He’s with Caleb, who has a matinee performance. Eddie and I are supposed to meet at a local deli. I get there first and grab a booth by the window. It’s snowing even harder today, with gusts of wind that blow flurries across the sidewalk.
On the corner, a man dressed up like Santa Claus rings a large brass bell rhythmically. People passing by drop cash into a bucket that hangs swinging from a pole. Even though I’m inside, I can hear that faint repetitive chiming.
Eddie’s late. Bored, I pull up the list of suspects that Dean sent me. In another tab, I open Caleb’s Secret Santa website. I flip back and forth between the two, trying to figure out who the stalker might be. When a voice clears loudly next to me, I jump, startled. It’s Eddie, standing over me. Guiltily, I place my phone face down on the table.
“Hi,” I greet him brightly, hoping this meeting will go better than the last.
He shoves a brown paper–wrapped sandwich at me. “Here, got your favorite. Grilled cheese made with marble rye.” He sits down and unwraps his tuna salad on white.
I grab it and tear open the packaging. The smell of toasted bread hits me, and I close my eyes, inhaling it. “Yum. Gwen’s mom is the best at making these sandwiches, but this comes in second place. I’ll give you some money for it,” I tell Eddie, knowing what a cheapskate he can be. When he got lunch for our department meetings in L.A., he’d make everyone pay for their own meal, down to the taxes and tip. It was always a nightmare, reporters grumbling as they opened the calculator apps on their phones. Nine times out of ten, I’d pitch in extra cash at the end because we were short.
“No need,” says Eddie as I take my first bite.
I almost spit my food out. “Really?”
“It’s fine.” He gives me a benevolent smile, which I don’t buy for one second.
“Why are you being nice?” I ask, my mouth twisting with suspicion.
He holds up his hands, like I’m about to rob him. “We can be friends, Jenny. Maybe something more?”
I put down my sandwich, quickly losing my appetite. “What?”
He swallows his food and takes a drink of soda, drawing out the silence.
“Eddie,” I warn, wishing I could throw the salt shaker at him.
“It’s just that seeing you with your new boyfriend got me thinking,” he says with his mouth full.
I almost laugh when he calls Dean my boyfriend. What a ludicrous idea. We could never be more than friends.
Then why can’t you stop obsessing over when you were in the changing room together? About how warm his hands were? My annoying inner voice asks questions.
“Well, quit it. There’s nothing to think about,” I say to Eddie and to myself.
Eddie leans over the table, closer to me. His expression sincere, he says, “We were good together, Jenny. It’s hard for me to admit it, but I was wrong to break up with you. I want you back.”
“I’m sorry. What?” I sputter.
“I mean it.” He argues, “We make sense. You and this Dean guy, what’re you thinking? You’ll be home in L.A. in a couple of weeks.”
I suck in a breath, offended he doesn’t have faith in my fake relationship. “Dean and I can do it,” I tell him, with no idea where those words are coming from. He’s right. I will leave New York in less than a week. A relationship with Dean would be doomed from the start.
“How?” he scoffs. “Are you going to do long-distance?”
I lift my chin. “I’m willing to try it.”
Eddie crumples up his napkin and throws it angrily on the table. “You really like that guy enough to stay with him?”
“Yes. Yes, I do,” I declare, half-rising from my seat. “What Dean and I have is—it’s special.” A detached part of myself raises her eyebrows at my theatrics, but hanging out with Caleb must have improved my acting abilities because I dramatically clutch my heart and turn away. “I won’t give him up, not for anything.”
“You’re making a big mistake.” He also half-rises, shaking his finger at me. At that moment, his phone goes off. We both stare down at it and see the name of Eddie’s boss, our editor-in-chief, flash on the screen. Eddie sends me one last burning glare, rearranges his face, and picks up with a happy sounding, “Hello.” He sits back down and begins a tedious conversation about the summer issue and who they should feature on the front page.
After a few minutes of this, my eyelids grow heavy. “I’m going to go get a cup of coffee,” I whisper. Eddie nods, waving me away. There’s a long line at the deli counter. By the time I return, Eddie’s off the phone and eerily calm.
He slides a couple sheets of paper my way. It’s my latest article about Caleb. The one that should run in this weekend’s edition. It has red ink slashed all over it, corrections Eddie has made to my work.
“This was boring,” he says. “Redo it and send it back to me later today.”
I check my watch. “It’s already past 2:00 p.m., and I have to do a feature on Caleb at his restaurant tonight,” I protest.
Eddie pushes himself up and dusts crumbs off his shirt. “Guess you better get working on it.” Without a good-bye, he turns and walks out of the door.
It’s only after he’s gone that I notice my phone is sitting face up on the table, though I could have sworn I left it face down.