Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Grace
I’m so fucking stupid. I don’t even know what possessed me to offer to bring Andrew lunch.
Like I’m some kept woman fetching her man his next meal and waiting at his beck and call.
We’re just friends. Friends don’t ditch their entire day at the drop of a hat to bring lunch like they were summoned only as a thoughtless ruse to spend time with them.
And they definitely don’t cancel plans with their sister in hopes to, what?
Get laid? Because that wasn’t what was going to happen today.
Then why did I do that? Why did I call Jade the second I decided I was going to bring Andrew some ramen to let her know I was going to have to take a rain check on our trip to the children’s museum with Avery.
I reach my car, my hands fumbling with my keys, and my phone buzzes in my bag.
A short single buzz indicating a text message.
I can bet the pack of unopened gum and the twenty-dollar bill I have roaming around in there it’s Andrew.
I should just ignore it. Maybe covertly silence it and put it on Do Not Disturb mode for the rest of the day without sneaking a glance at what is most likely to be a clueless text message.
I, of course, do nothing of the sort because curiosity is my biggest weakness.
So is hope. Hope he’ll tell me to come back, maybe even beg.
Hope he’ll ask me why I left so suddenly.
Hope he’ll tell me the cute office friend who sabotaged our lunch is just a coworker and not someone who seems to be showing him a keen interest in more things than just being his colleague.
I huff a sigh and reach for my phone. Just as suspected, it’s Andrew. Some of that irritation—with a wavering scrap of anger—melts, and I wonder if I’m being too harsh.
Andrew
Thanks for lunch.
There goes that hope, flitting away as the regret settles in my gut, and the irritation returns tenfold.
It sits right alongside all the coulda-shoulda-woulda moments replaying in my head.
I should be eating an overpriced hot dog at the children’s museum and buying Avery a bubble gun or a stuffed bear from the gift shop.
Not riddled with embarrassment and shame.
Too frustrated to go home and simmer, I set about running some errands.
More things I put off because I planned to bring Andrew lunch.
I’m about to pull out of my parking spot and head to the grocery store to pick up some apples and yogurt when my phone rings through the speaker in my car.
Teeny’s name lights up the screen on my panel, a welcome reprieve from a particular someone I’d prefer not to hear from for the rest of the day.
“Hey, Teeny,” I call as I exit the lot. I try to snuff away my dejected tone, not wanting to bring up the cause of my current sulky mood. Especially since it’s because of her baby brother.
“What are you up to?”
“I was just going to the store to stock up on a few things. What’s up?”
“Nothing,” she answers. “I was just wondering if you wanted to hang out. Everett’s out of town for some work thing, and Sadie’s with Leo for the weekend. So, it’s just me for the night.”
“Sure,” I say, considering her offer for barely a second. A night with Teeny to distract me from what I practically ran away from sounds like just the thing I need. As long as I don’t have to even think about Andrew.
“You want to have dinner at my place? We can do takeout.”
More takeout. I just hope this has a completely different outcome from my last takeout run. Something more amicable and gratifying. “Sure. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
No matter how many times I walk into Teeny’s mansion, I’ll never get used to the sheer size of it.
We’re sitting at her dining table, the chandelier hanging above us creating a kaleidoscopic effect with the light reflecting off it.
It’s dark, but I know just outside the large glass wall sits a stunning infinity-edge swimming pool.
The same pool I ogled Andrew in with his short swim trunks and glistening skin dripping with chlorinated water. What a fool I was.
“You want another bottle of the white or something else?”
“I’ll take a Perrier if you have any.”
She nods, scooting out of her chair to walk into her kitchen to her fridge.
We’ve been picking at the sushi rolls I brought over for dinner while she supplied the wine.
The litter of trash along with two wineglasses and a finished bottle of Riesling has collected over the last hour we’ve gabbed and laughed.
I’ve forgotten, or at least temporarily dismissed, my afternoon with Andrew.
The reminder of his bubbly office girlfriend and the staggering realization that Andrew and I would make as much sense as trying to mix two immiscible liquids has been dulled by a full stomach and a low humming buzz.
My head feels clear and free from all the muddled thoughts Andrew put there with his tattoos and beckoning silver chain.
I’m ready to move on from all of it. I want to wash it all away with a can of refreshing mineral water and resume my life.
My dull, boring life full of awkward blind dates and frozen dinners.
Teeny disappears into the large pantry in her kitchen.
While I’m waiting for her to come back, I hear my phone buzz a few times in my purse.
It’s out of my reach, which is an intentional choice.
A diversionary tactic so I’m not bothered or distracted—or quite possibly tempted—but when the incessant buzzing becomes urgent, I huff a sigh and walk over to my purse.
It could be my parents or Jade, and the thought that my family might be trying to reach me causes me to give in.
When I dig out my phone and find that it’s the exact person who I’d been planning on avoiding, my mood immediately sours.
Four text messages and two missed calls. All from Andrew.
Andrew
Hey, you left so suddenly. Did you make it home okay?
I’m about to have another bag of chips for dinner. Kinda miss you.
Can you at least let me know you made it home okay?
Did I do something to piss you off?
I’m about to chuck my phone back in my bag when another text message comes through. The tone of it is darker, more insistent and intense.
Andrew
Grace. Seriously. Text me back. Let me know you’re alive.
As much as I’d like to continue this one-sided conversation and make him suffer a little longer, a small niggling part of me feels bad for making Andrew worry.
One more message can’t hurt. Just to let him know I’m still in one piece.
And then I can wash my hands of him. No more jumbled, messy friendships and confusing lunch dates.
I’m alive. Don’t bother yourself with worrying about me.
It’s curt and dismissive, and I’m sure confusing as hell. But a petty part of me doesn’t even care. I want him to feel bad. I want him to feel just a pinch of the irritation and regret I feel. I hate that I feel so damn stupid and embarrassed, and I want him to feel just as upset.
Andrew
Grace. Come on. What’s going on? Are you mad at me?
No. I don’t even know why you’re texting me. I thought you had to work.
What the hell am I doing? I’m egging him on, that’s what I’m doing. Showing him how deeply he’s crawled under my skin when that was probably never his intention. I need to chuck my phone into Teeny’s fancy pool.
Andrew
I do. But when you never texted me back, I got worried.
Like I said, I’m fine. So just worry about your work and your friend.
I regret it the second I sent it. I sound jealous and bitter, which I’m absolutely not. And I don’t even know what possessed me to say something like that. Forget Teeny’s pool, her garbage disposal sounds like the more appropriate place for the ticking time bomb in my hand.
Andrew
Are you talking about Olive?
I don’t care what her name is. Just leave me be and concern yourself with what you have going on at work.
Andrew
Grace. I’m coming over right now.
I’m not even at home.
Andrew
Where are you?
I’m having dinner with Teeny.
I purposefully leave out the minor details of my exact whereabouts. All he needs to know is I’m busy, and he’s interrupting a completely relaxing night with my best friend.
I’m about to tap out another message to him.
Something equally flippant yet purposeful so we can end this conversation, but I stop short when Teeny’s phone buzzes on the dining room table.
Teeny rushes out of the pantry, places a cold Perrier on the counter from the small drink fridge she has in there, and answers her phone.
I return my attention to my phone, trying to figure out how to stop this redundant back and forth when Teeny’s words catch my attention.
“I’m at home. Why?” I look up at her. She has a confused furrow cutting between her brows and one hand is braced to her hip. “I’m just having dinner with Grace.” Another pause as her puzzled scowl deepens. “Okay. I’ll have to look for it.”
She hangs up, and instead of sitting back down, she heads to her stairs while calling over her shoulder, “Hold on. I’ll be right back.”
I’ve forgotten all about my message to Andrew, and by the looks of it, so has he. I don’t bother sending him anything else. It seems I’ve made my point, and he’s leaving me alone for the night. Good.
A sudden pang hits my chest. It’s unexpected, and it feels a little like disappointment.
Was it so easy for him to give up? Was this Olive woman so much more important that he’s waving a white flag and throwing in the towel just so he can go and spend more time with her?
How low do I sit on his totem pole of priorities?
Probably right around the bottom below slutty swim trunks and LEGO.
And several notches below his “work wife.”