Chapter 32
CHAPTER 32
NOW
[email protected] 6:17 PM
Paula,
Thanks for coming in the other day. Looks okay for a first draft! Think something is missing, though? Can’t quite put my finger on what. What do you think? Left some comments in the margins for you. Get back with the revised version next week?
Eddie
Looks okay.
I read the email twice. Then once more just to make sure I’d gotten it right.
Not good, perfect, exciting. Not even boring or awful. Okay .
What was a piece of writing if it didn’t evoke… something in its reader?
Nothing was ever just okay.
Then: something was missing?
How could a fifteen-page deep dive be missing anything? And what was an editor for, if not to be precise on what exactly was missing—how one might take a mediocre (“Okay”) draft and make it shine?
I’d replied with an extremely vague email that conveyed next week would be no problem, then thought about all the ways it would be.
I’d read that draft and Eddie’s comments another four times before Maeve found me cross-legged on my bed, blanket burrito-wrapped around me; the room completely dark and the only light coming from my screen.
I’d surpassed breakdown number two by then. And one or two texts to Henry.
Okay , ten messages to Henry. Maybe more. I’d lost count.
Maeve didn’t flick on the light, thank God, but instead closed the door behind herself to join me on the bed. My cursor blinked on the page, my unlocked phone displayed my chat with Henry—the text bubbles all blue. Shamelessly, she read them all.
“Before you say anything,” I deadpanned, unable to care about the pathetic picture she’d walked in on. “They’re all work-related.”
Maeve’s hands shot up in surrender, dropping the phone back onto the bed.
She nudged my shoulder with hers. “I was only going to say he read them five minutes ago.”
New development. The last I checked, he hadn’t even bothered opening them. When my eyes flicked to my best friend, they were probably bloodshot.
Really, I’d excused the unopened texts due to the time. It was past eleven by now, probably closer to midnight, and Henry still kept an early bedtime. So he’s probably asleep, I’d told myself.
Well, he wasn’t.
Maeve gave me a pity-smile I felt I deserved this time. When she got up, she pulled me with her, and I landed on my feet with a loud groan.
“Have you eaten?” she asked unnecessarily. I’d been holed up in here since six, so take a wild guess.
My stomach answered for me. “But—” My gaze drifted back to the laptop despite it, and Maeve had to literally push me out of my room, then shut the door behind us when we got into the hallway. The light was disorienting for a second.
“There’s no point in staring at that draft a second longer, Paula,” she said, maneuvering me down the stairs and delivering me onto the couch. She steered toward the kitchen, emerging with a pizza box. “We got one for you. I don’t know how good cold vegan cheese is, but here you go.”
Maeve nudged Pip onto my lap to sit where she’d previously slept peacefully. And although reluctant, my cat was about to curl up on it again, already turning on the spot, kneading my legs when she went stock-still instead.
Her tiny head shot in the direction of the door just before it rang. So loudly, she took it as her own personal sign to run up the stairs, paws clacking across the floor.
Maeve and I exchanged a look. I think we were both wondering if we were about to get brutally murdered.
“Did you forget to pay for the pizza?” I asked, unable to stop myself from taking a bite despite the situation.
“That was two hours ago. We obviously paid for the pizza,” she hushed back, narrowing her eyes at me before getting up. On her way to the door, she grabbed the empty vase we’d been meaning to fill with fresh flowers as a potential weapon.
Henry used to make sure that same vase held new bouquets once a week. So when we broke up—and the flowers stopped, obviously—the place had felt empty without them. We really did plan to just get them ourselves.
It never happened, and I’d gotten used to the empty thing again.
Maeve raised the vase above her head, ready to swing. She grabbed the doorknob, twisted it, and forcefully pulled the door open.
“Oh.” The vase lowered. So did the piece of pizza from my mouth. “Henry,” she said, kind of in warning, as if I couldn’t see him in our doorway. Mere feet away, hair disheveled, in oversized T-shirt and… sweatpants.
Domestic , came to mind right away.
Henry’s eyes followed the would-be weapon in Maeve’s hand as it lowered, a frown on his lips. “Is Paula—??” Which was when his gaze wandered into the house and connected with mine.
I blinked at him, not saying a word. He mirrored the sentiment, and I wondered if he was thinking about our last encounter, too. If he remembered he hadn’t called when he said he would as well.
A scowl tugged on Maeve’s lips when I got up. I felt too aware of every single one of my limbs as I crossed the room, like I was another step away from forgetting how to walk entirely. One look at my best friend and a reluctant nod from her later, she fled up the stairs to give us privacy.
I couldn’t quite find it in me to care when I’d closed the door behind me and stood in front of Henry. Felt his warmth, smelled him, his minty toothpaste.
“Hi,” I said so quietly I might as well have whispered the word.
The way his lips pulled up, the way the worried frown on his face disappeared… everything about the moment reminded me of our last encounter.
His hands on my body, his lips on my skin, his breath heavy and uncontrolled. The way I couldn’t think of anything but him and his groans and the way he would’ve had me right then and there if we hadn’t been interrupted. The way we could’ve picked up where we’d left off if he’d just—
“You didn’t call.” And I tried to sound unbothered—cool and calm. I couldn’t tell whether I’d succeeded.
Something in his expression twitched. Like the fact he was here, that it was almost midnight, and he wasn’t asleep but here , ten seconds away from an argument with his ex-girlfriend, only really sank in now. He blinked the realization away.
“I figured—” But he cut himself off, shook his head. His shoulders sagged. “I honestly don’t know what I figured. I thought you might not want me to call. After we said this shouldn’t happen. And then it did, twice.” His brows pulled together, like he had to physically restrain himself from rambling on. “I thought you might be regretting it.”
I couldn’t help but huff in amusement, leaning against the closed door behind me. “You’ve never been one to question your actions. Or lack thereof.”
Henry’s head shook harder, and his eyes batted open to connect with mine. He took a step toward me, hesitant and slow. “That’s never the case when it comes to you. You make me nervous, remember?”
I swallowed thickly. “Right now?”
I felt the door against my back and watched him take another step toward me. So close, my neck craned up to keep our eyes connected. “Yes,” he said, barely breathed the word. “Very much so.”
My lips twitched, just once. “Why are you here, Henry?”
“You texted.”
“And you didn’t reply,” I reminded him.
“Because I was on my way to you.”
His words hung between us, and I tried desperately to grasp for a response that kept my cool mask of nonchalance in place. But I was a very chalant girl, and I couldn’t help the soft smile on my lips when I asked again, “Why?”
The porch light above us flickered, and it seemed like Henry had just remembered his own reasons. His eyes darted across my face, taking me in, noticing my red eyes, the stress-induced circles under them.
He frowned. “You seemed about two minutes away from a breakdown.”
“Oh.” Well… “You’re about two breakdowns too late for that?”
The reminder roughly threw me out of Henry-land, where problems were secondary, and I hadn’t just written an okay profile on him.
He considered me for a long moment, and I could tell he was trying to find a way to fix whatever was wrong. Even if he didn’t have details, and even if he hadn’t yet come to terms with the fact that he couldn’t fix everything—that there were things outside of his control.
“Fuck it,” he muttered to himself before giving it a try anyway.
When Henry threw me across his shoulder, I yelped. Loudly. Then held onto his torso upside down like my life depended on it. Clutching and grasping until he opened a car door and slid me into the passenger seat.
He leaned into the car, over the seat I dumbfoundedly sat on, hands on either side of my legs. “Wait here?”
And before I could answer, he kissed me. Again, and again until I followed his lips when he’d tried to draw away, and then whined when he really did bring distance between us. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.” He pleaded like I might really disappear if he blinked one too many times. He waited for my nod, then closed my door, jogged back to the house and disappeared into it.
My body slumped into the black seat the second he was out of sight, breath embarrassingly heavy as I tried to get the pit of my stomach under control—the heat between my legs to cool down.
It was too easy with him. Forgiving and forgetting and letting him carry me off into the night like nothing had ever happened between us. And I tried to remind myself that I should be cautious, that I should remember who he was and what he was.
Ex -boyfriend.
He did not give me enough time for the reminder to settle. Five minutes later, he was back with my phone and laptop balancing on top of the pizza box in one hand, and one of Maeve’s light pink duffle bags in the other.
I wouldn’t have known where to look for mine if he’d asked.
He put the bag into the trunk without a word of explanation, then fell into the driver’s seat with a huff.
Henry placed the electronics on the backseat and gave me a kiss, put the box in my lap and gave me a kiss. Then, when he turned the key in the ignition, as if he couldn’t help himself, leaned across the console to give me another kiss. Lingering, and almost forgetting he’d started the car.
I could bear the silence for about five minutes, in which he’d put some distance between us and the house. “Where are we going?”
Henry’s eyes shifted from the road for a fraction of a second to look at me, but the lack of a response was not deliberate. His brows pulled together. He scowled. “I don’t know.”
The words lingered, the weight of them indescribable.
“You don’t… know?”
He seemed as surprised by the statement as I was. A little helpless, too. In all the time I’d known the man beside me, not once had he… not known something. He always had a plan. And a backup plan for the plan. Sometimes another one just in case that failed, too.
Henry Pressley’s life was foolproof. And yet, he’d shown up at my place unannounced to drive off into I don’t know s.
“I came over because you seemed stressed. In the texts.” He backtracked his thought process. “And then you were there, and you looked stressed, too. So I said—” His brow furrowed.
“Fuck it,” I offered, like he might’ve forgotten what had pushed him to literally carry me off into the night.
“Yes.” His eyes jumped to mine, connected for a second. “Fuck it.”
Fuck it , like his busy schedule hadn’t always caused problems in our relationship. As if the fact he couldn’t be spontaneous, couldn’t do things without planning them through and a month in advance hadn’t been the fuel in… many of our fights.
I’ve been getting better at prioritizing.
I didn’t ask for specifics. Just enjoyed his company, the music from the speakers, the whoosh when we passed other cars, and the pizza I devoured. And I think I might’ve fallen asleep the moment I swallowed the last bite.