11. Sunny #2
I frown. I worry that Sam is right, but I still don’t want to believe it. I mean, the connection Dex and I had wasn’t a figment of my imagination. Was it?
“Seriously,” Sam says more gently this time, “I’m sorry about you and Dex. But if you want to come to this party with me and Claire tonight, there will be tons of theater majors there. You’ll have your pick of broody actor types to date.”
“Thanks.” I sigh. “But I think I need to take a break from guys.”
And that’s exactly what I do. As a junior and a resident assistant this year, I have a dorm room all to myself, which makes it easy to immerse myself in schoolwork. I shift my focus back to where it was always supposed to be, I guess—getting into Northwestern Law School.
I can’t bear the possibility of running into Dex in Beachwood during breaks from school, so I tell my mom I have to stay on campus and study.
She doesn’t take the bait at first. She hates the idea that I won’t be coming home, even though she’ll very likely be at work.
So I tell her the truth: I don’t want to see Dex.
Now that she understands. So instead of me coming home, she visits me for a weekend here and there, when she can.
At least now she won’t accuse me of not “keeping my eye on the prize.” I officially make it to April without so much as kissing a guy.
My grades are impeccable, and my mom is thrilled, particularly when I tell her I was offered a job doing data entry for a legal research project on the Chicago campus.
“It’s an interdepartmental study focusing on the mental health of children in the juvenile justice system,” I explain to her over the phone.
“Oh Sunny, that’s going to look great on your law school application! I’m so proud of you,” she says while stifling a yawn. It’s a Saturday morning and she just got home from the hospital. “See, I told you Dex was a distraction. Look how far you’ve come this year without him. ”
My stomach lurches. I’m silent.
My mom yawns more deliberately this time. “Well, I’m going to get some sleep, sweetie. Long shift last night. I’ll talk to you soon. Enjoy your weekend,” she says, then hangs up.
I put down the phone and just stare at it for a minute before I log onto my computer to check my email. I’m expecting some forms to fill out for my new job, but I only have one new message.
And because my mom’s unsolicited comment about Dex hit me like a punch to the gut…
And the Universe apparently has a pretty twisted sense of humor…
That message happens to be from Dex’s dad.
John Dexter .
My heart thumps wildly seeing his name in my inbox. The subject line reads, “Summer.” I click open the message, my hands trembling.
We hope you’re well, darling. Just a note to say that you’re most welcome to intern at my office again this summer, if you think that would be a worthwhile opportunity for you. Wishing you the very best, always. John
I almost forgot that he used to call me darling. Instantly, the floodgates open, and I break down in tears.
I’ve spent the past six months trying my damnedest to repress, ignore, escape, deny the inconceivable pain of losing the one true love of my life, and in the ten seconds it takes me to read an innocuous email from his dad , I crumble to bits .
Sounds about right.
I call Sam right away. I don’t know how much she even understands in between my heaving sobs, but she instructs me to pack a bag for the weekend and says she’ll be outside my dorm in fifteen minutes to pick me up.
For the first hour I’m at their apartment, all I do is cry on the couch while Sam and Claire stand in the kitchen with their arms crossed, disagreeing over how to handle me in not-so-hushed whispers.
Sam wins the coin toss, but when two mugs of her special tea don’t do the trick, Claire, who was the last of us to turn twenty-one and is eager to get carded, leaves for the corner store with a triumphant grin and comes back with a bottle of tequila, which turns out to be much more effective.
We sleep in on Sunday, get brunch, watch movies all afternoon and, before I leave, I use Sam’s computer to respond to Mr. Dexter’s email.
Thanks so much for thinking of me. I just got a job helping with a legal research project on the Chicago campus at Northwestern, so I’ll likely stay here this summer. Hope all is well. Warmly, Sunny.
Then I go back to my dorm room and, feeling depleted both physically and mentally, I crawl into bed and pass out.
When I wake up the following morning, I have one new message from John Dexter.
Of course you did, darling. We’re so very proud of you. Best of luck.
Tears start to form in my eyes again, but I take deep breaths like Sam taught me, and I’m able to will them away. There’s no time for tears. I’m starting my new job today.
I finish getting dressed and catch the intercampus shuttle to downtown Chicago.
It’s a cold, gray day, which sums up the entirety of January through May in the Windy City.
I walk past the law school and eye a group of first-year students heading to class with Civil Procedure treatises in one hand and large cups of takeout coffee in the other.
They look stressed.
I heave a sigh and continue toward my destination—an academic building just south of the law school. I find the office on the third floor. There’s one person checking in ahead of me, so I wait by the windows. I’m gazing at the lake’s choppy waves when I hear a voice from behind me.
“Sunny? Is that you?”
I whip my head around and am met by a mountain of a man—broad shoulders, prominent biceps and pecs under a soft knit sweater.
Because he’s so tall, it takes a few seconds before my eyes fly up to land on his, which are squinting at me through a pair of stylish Clark Kent glasses.
It’s not until I see his kind smile that I recognize him.
“Asher Abadie!” I exclaim. It’s tall, thin-as-a-rake, Asher from middle school. But he isn’t thin as a rake anymore.
He looks down at the clipboard in his hand, then back at me. “My boss gave me your CV about five minutes ago and told me I’d be training you. I wondered if you were the same Sunny from Beachwood and, as soon as I saw your curly hair, I knew. ”
I’m rattled. Those are the same words Dex once said to me.
But now’s not the time to think about him.
“I’m impressed you remember me,” I tell Asher. “You only went to school with us for a couple of years, right?”
“Yeah, my dad was in the Air Force, so we moved around a lot. But you have one of those faces that’s hard to forget,” he says before clearing his throat and looking down at his shoes.
“I remember you had that crush on…what was his name, again?” He looks back up.
“Oh right, Dex. I’m surprised he’s not some famous Hollywood actor yet. You still talk to him?”
“No. We’re not in touch anymore.” My heart aches saying the words. I hope Asher doesn’t notice. “So, you go to Northwestern too?” I ask, desperate to change the subject.
“I do. Psychology major. And you’re interested in—law?” he asks while flipping through my CV.
“I am.” I guess.
My romance-writing dream is all but dead. I mean, how the heck am I supposed to write happy endings when my own love story is a tragedy? But, again, it’s not the time to worry about that.
“Have you been working on this project for a while?” I ask, struggling to bring back my attention.
“Almost two full years now,” Asher says as he combs his fingers through his hair. His sweater lifts, revealing a hint of his abs, and something flutters in my stomach.
Probably just nerves on my first day of work.
“Let me show you to your desk, and we can get started,” he continues.
We walk into an adjacent room where several people are working quietly on computers, most of them with headphones on.
“So, this is you,” he says, pulling a chair out for me.
I take a seat, and he reaches across me to maneuver my mouse.
I have to make a concerted effort not to stare at the rock-hard triceps barely hiding underneath his rolled-up sleeves.
Wow. Asher sure has changed since he was a gangly preteen. How did he get this ripped? He must work out a lot. Shit! Did he just ask me something?
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I’m mortified.
Asher smiles. “I was just wondering if you’ve done data entry before.”
“Oh,” I say, hoping he can’t feel the heat wafting off my face. “Actually, no.”
“Well, it’s very simple and, honestly…” His voice trails off as he looks around to make sure no one’s within earshot.
“It’s a little boring,” he continues with a smile.
“But you’ll get the hang of it quickly. So here’s the database, and you’re just going to use these documents over here”—he points to a stack on the table—“to fill in these charts over here,” he says, now pointing at the computer screen.
“And if you have any questions, I’ll be right across the room, so feel free to grab me. ”
“Sounds good,” I say, trying not to react to the fact that he just invited me to grab him.
Ugh, what’s wrong with me?
“You haven’t had sex in, like, a year—that’s what’s wrong with you,” Sam explains later that night at her apartment. We’re sitting cross-legged on her couch, and I’m praying that she doesn’t offer me any tea.
“It hasn’t been that long,” I say with a bit of a scowl. “But almost. ”
“Well, I’m happy for you! This is the first time you’ve been attracted to a guy since…” Sam pauses. “You-know-who,” she whispers, as though referring to Lord Voldemort. “This is big!”
She’s right. It is big. Maybe I can move on from Dex after all. “Well, who knows if the attraction is mutual,” I say with a sigh. “And even if it is…this time I want to take things slowly.”
Sam is quiet for a second, and I imagine she’ll come back with a snarky remark about how I need to get laid. But instead, she rubs my knee and says, “That sounds like a good plan.”