Chapter Nine
Winter
I don’t use the phone number given to me, no matter how much I want to. Because what the fuck. What. The. Fuck.
It’d taken me a week of nonstop calls to the director of Fairbanks’s animal shelter to agree on a date and time for Moskins’s event, only to get booted.
The director is a seedy older man with very little enthusiasm about the situation, despite the kind of press it could bring for their organization.
Which, frankly, could use the donations.
They’re overfull and underfunded and need someone like Moskins to come in and save them.
He acted as if I was asking him to give away free animals and do surgeries at no cost to the public. I’m trying to run them into the ground; I want the opposite results. I’d been flipping off my phone receiver the entire time he questioned what he would get out of it.
All that work. Gone.
And if I had to guess, it’s because Moskins is mad at me. Or maybe he’s angry at his wife for giving me both of their numbers.
Kourt: Let’s egg his car
I snort at my sister’s reply after explaining that my Friday is now clear, thanks to my client getting his manager to pull me from my own event.
It’s all Thomas Moskins’s fault. His agent called Janel, saying he thought it was best if I stayed out of the shelter event—that he would ensure everything ran smoothly.
Janel, to her credit, fought for me. Her confusion matched my own when he told us that it was better I didn’t wind up in any more photos together.
Neither of us knew what he was talking about.
Until Farrah had shown us an image of me and Moskins that was posted on his account.
Not a picture I took.
Not one I posted online and tagged him in.
But I was still paying the price for his choice.
So, did I want to call him up and bitch him out? Yes. But did I want him to have my number and use it as leverage to get me kicked completely off his case? No.
He would not win.
He couldn’t.
Janel told me to take the day off after the unexpected change of plans, even though I could tell she was swamped with work.
When I asked where Cody was, because I hadn’t seen him lurking around, she’d gotten quiet and said he took time off.
Then told me to enjoy the day, dismissing me from asking more questions.
And, frankly, I don’t want to be there anyway. I’m still getting emails and calls about the event, which I’ve had to direct to Janel and add to her workload since I’m not allowed to participate.
The problem with having a sudden day off is not knowing what to do with it.
I’m so used to working, I don’t usually get to have a life.
My version of fun is watching The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives using my sister’s Hulu account and playing free games on my phone because I typically can’t afford to do anything else.
I’m not much of a reader. I used to go to the library when I was younger and use their computer to play games, not pick out books.
The head librarian tried to convert me into a bookworm, with no luck.
She’d given up after the third time I failed to return one on time, and eventually waived the late fee when Kourtney came in saying she didn’t have the money to pay it.
Then I’d felt bad for stressing my sister out and stopped going entirely.
I enjoy listening to audio books, but they get expensive. Kourtney buys me audio credits for my birthday so that I can enjoy all my fairy smut—her words, not mine. Not that she’s wrong. I love book boyfriends with large wingspans as much as the next girl.
But the credits from my last birthday were used a long time ago, so I’m back to zero. Which means no wingspans for me.
What do poor people do for fun? Cook? I don’t have food at the house, unless you count Hamburger Helper, eggs, and ramen noodles. Work out? I snort at the thought. The only workout I do involves running my mouth to Kourtney when someone pisses me off.
Which reminds me.
I type out a message.
Me: Eggs cost way too much money
Me: Would ramen have the same impact?
Kourt: It would smell delicious, not bad. We could raid the fish market for carcasses. Luca would easily fit into a dumpster
I laugh at the thought of her telling him to climb into the trash to dig out fish bones. She would too. If Luca knew someone had hurt my feelings, he’d volunteer in a heartbeat if it would make me feel better. God, I love that kid.
Me: Don’t do that to my favorite boy
Kourt: You’re right. Then I’d have to smell him
Me: We’ll think of something
Unfortunately, there isn’t much revenge to be had that wouldn’t backfire on me. I got banned from an event for doing nothing. I can’t imagine what Moskins would do to me if I did something to his car. Would he call the cops? Have me arrested?
Revenge is not worth that.
I suddenly wish I’d done better at keeping up with friends.
I still talk to a few people I went to college with.
Once in a while, I even have dinner with my high school bestie, Rayna.
But everyone has lives now. Nobody prepares you for how hard making new connections is as an adult.
It can be isolating trying to exist in a world without friendship.
Sadness engulfs me, then more anger.
Because I shouldn’t be bored or pity myself for not having more people in my life. I should be at the animal shelter helping set up and petting cute puppies and cuddling with fluffy kittens. I was even thinking about adopting, dammit!
Okay, maybe adopting would be too far. Sure, I’ve always wanted a kitten, but I can barely afford my own food. There’s no way I’d make a cat suffer with my lifestyle.
I told myself that when one of my student loans is paid off, I can get something for myself.
Ideally, a car that isn’t covered in rust with two hundred and fifty thousand miles on it.
But a feline companion sounds nice too. Maybe that’s not the responsible choice, but falling asleep with someone soft and warm sounds pretty good to me.
When I get home, I kick the front door closed and drop my things on the small kitchen table pushed against the wall.
My space is small, a little cluttered, but clean.
Mostly because I’m sick of my sister complaining whenever she comes by for movie nights.
But it beats going to her place and listening to Brad moan about our poor movie choices because it doesn’t involve the military or someone being abducted.
In hindsight, maybe I need to have a serious talk with Kourtney the next time she’s over. Because what the hell is with that?
I’m not sure why I’m pulled toward the piece of paper I hung on the refrigerator, or why I even kept it to begin with. I should have thrown it out the second I got it. Dumped it in the coffee shop trash on my way out the door.
But I didn’t.
I stare at the two numbers jotted down in smeared ink from where I’d accidentally rubbed my hand against it. The numbers are still legible—too legible.
And maybe it’s loneliness.
Maybe it’s the need for an explanation.
But I type the second number into a new message thread and hover over the keyboard in contemplation.
“This is a bad idea,” I murmur to myself.
I send the message anyway.
As soon as the text delivers, dread fills my chest. I drop my phone on the table and close my eyes. “What did you do, idiot?” I chide myself.
I start pacing, wondering if I can unsend the message. As I reach for my phone, it dings with a new message that drops my heart to my butt.
“Oh my God.”
Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.
“You should have gotten a kitten,” I grumble to myself, slowly opening the new thread to see the message on the screen.
Emaly: I’d love to meet up! I can pick you up in an hour. Send me your address
This is a bad idea. A spectacularly stupid one, in fact. I blame my friends for all having better things to do. I blame my sister for having a full-time job and a child.
And I definitely, one hundred percent, blame Thomas-Freaking-Moskins for taking away my one and only distraction that helps me forget how lonely I really am.
But it’s too late now.
Wetting my lips, I thumb out a reply that contains my address and send it to my client’s wife, hoping this doesn’t come back and bite me in the ass.
*
Emaly Moskins-Yokav is prettier than I remember. She’s also nicer than anyone I’ve ever known. However, that’s not hard when the only real person I have to compare to is Kourtney. And I’m pretty sure my sister was born with frown lines on her face.
The sleek silver Equinox I slide into looks fresh off the lot and far too nice for someone like me to be sitting in. I almost feel bad that my flip-flops probably have dirt on them when I study the pristine mats laid out.
“It’s a rental,” Emaly explains, earning back my attention.
She smiles from the driver’s seat. “That’s why it’s so clean in here.
Trust me, the one I have back home is storage for lost lip glosses, hair ties, and phone chargers.
There’s also chips in the glove compartment and pretzels in the side door because I get hangry if I skip meals. ”
I crack a grin. “Emergency rations,” I say approvingly. “Smart.”
She pulls away from the curb as soon as I’m buckled in. “I’m happy you reached out. I was hoping you would before I left.”
Left? “Where are you going?”
She pauses for a moment, contemplating whether she should give me any details. “California,” she finally answers. “I work in San Diego at a children’s hospital. I’ve been gone to spend some time with Thomas and my family, but it’s time to go back to the kids.”
My eyebrows go up. “Wow. That must be hard.”
Her smile wavers, and I worry that I’ve pressed too much for something that’s none of my business. “I’m a surgical oncologist. And it’s a very tough job.”