Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
I know in my other life—the before and after, I like to call it—that I taught elementary school. It was one of the realities I couldn’t avoid. I had to formally take medical leave to get paid. And I’m still planning on quitting—I needed to know where to send my letter of resignation.
And yet, Zev and Partida have got me thinking about a lot of things. Elementary still doesn’t feel right—not really. But maybe, on some weird level, it also doesn’t feel wrong.
If our lives had captions, mine would say: Rosalie Conrad’s life is like a novel with half its chapters ripped out. Loose pages sit in her fireplace, making no sense at all. The real problem: she doesn’t know what to save and what to let burn.
“Grammy,” I say, sitting at our little kitchen table where my grandmother is eating her morning yogurt and granola. “What were your honest-to-goodness thoughts when I changed from secondary education to elementary?”
Grammy balks out a laugh. She dips her spoon into her bowl once more, but it hovers; it doesn’t quite make it to her mouth. “Honestly, darling, I thought you’d gone crazy.”
“Right?” I slink back into my seat and sigh. “That’s how I’m feeling. Why would I do that?”
“Are you asking?” She lifts one brow. She knows the rule. Everyone close to me does. They are only allowed to share when I ask.
“I am,” I say, for the first time in over seven months wanting more on this topic. Nerves sprint throughout my body. I’m suddenly too warm. But I don’t back down. I want to know.
She lets her spoon fall back into the bowl and folds her hands together. “I have no idea.”
I scoff, sweat pooling at my neck from just having asked the question. “So helpful, Gram.”
“Well, I’m sorry, dearest. I think that’s something you’d have to ask Fran or your mother.
I was never really made aware. I was shocked and supportive.
And—” She pulls in a long breath, closing her eyes, like she’s thinking hard.
“You were wonderful. You are an excellent teacher, Rosalie. I’ve never met someone so clearly called to a profession. ”
“For elementary?”
“For teaching.” She shrugs, shoving another bite of her breakfast into her mouth. “In my opinion, you could teach anything.”
I tap my toe, my knee bouncing beneath the table. “Maybe I should go back to school.”
“Maybe you should!” Grammy says, much too excited.
My eyes turn to slits, and I test her. “Maybe I should go bungee jumping.”
She slaps the table. “Wonderful idea!”
I cross my arms, staring her down. “Maybe I’ll take the redhead and go get hitched in Vegas.”
And my sensible grandmother grins. “I love it!”
“Grammy!” I whine. “Are you even listening?”
“I am listening, dearest. As long as you’re living and moving forward, I’m going to approve. Do I get to go to Vegas? Either way, I approve.”
“You haven’t even met Zevulun,” I groan.
“That’s not my fault!” She sighs contentedly. “And yet, I already approve.”
I roll my eyes and huff out a breath. “We aren’t even dating!”
“Maybe you should be,” she says.
“Maybe you should go bungee jumping with me,” I throw back at her.
“Maybe I will.” She isn’t afraid of my glares. Nope, she just grins, then shoves another bite into her mouth.
“Why did you use the redhead as your outlandish example?” Fran asks, arms crossed as she studies me.
I lean into Fran’s couch. “Grammy likes him. She’s never met him.” I sigh, eyes wide. “But she’s pretty sure she’s half in love with the man.”
“And what about you? Do you like him?”
Fran, my romcom-loving, wedding-planning matchmaker. Oh boy. There’s a reason I haven’t introduced my best friend to Zevulun. She’d have us shipped with a wedding planned before the end of summer. She can’t understand that my heart is still figuring things out. It’s stuck in the past.
My fingers trace over the sewn ridge on Fran’s very grown-up couch. It’s nothing like that used green velvety thing we used to own. “As a friend. Yes.”
“But you said he’s sort of… hot.” Fran takes one quick sip from her lemonade. “In fact, there was nothing sort of about it. You said you’d never met a specimen like him. Plus, there was that whole bum incident on the Fourth—”
“There was no bum incident. There was stripping and—”
“Close enough.” She shrugs.
“And he wasn’t stripping.”
She waves me off. “Doesn’t matter.”
“I’m pretty sure it does,” I huff and sink into my couch cushion. “Seriously, why did I tell you that he’s cute? Of course you’d take it out of context.”
“You also said, sexiest man alive contender. And you told me because I’m your best friend, you love me, and who else are you going to tell?”
I gasp. “I did not say that!”
“You did.”
I groan out a dramatic sigh. One that makes me want to tell myself to get a grip. Though… I might have said that. The fact is, Zev is a fantastic male specimen. “Fine. But Frances—”
Fran’s turn to gasp.
I keep talking. “While Zev is handsome and very nice, he is just a friend. We both know I have confused romantic feelings right now, and I should probably figure those out before moving on. Not to mention, my brain is literally broken.”
She smacks my arm. “Your brain is not broken. It’s in the shop.”
I snort out an unintelligible sound.
“You do need to figure things out and move on because Robert’s no good. Not to mention married. The sooner you understand that, the better.”
My heart palpitates with her words. I trust Fran. I always have. But my heart and head trust Robert, too. It’s confusing. It’s like Fran and Robert are on two ends of a tug-of-war rope—and I’m the rope.
“How do I figure it out?”
Fran shrugs. “Action.” She stabs the table with her pointer finger.
“You do something. You can’t sit in this space of uncertainty.
” There’s so much conviction in her voice.
Then—she glances at her watch, and her sweet tone is back.
“Shoot. I have an appointment with a very anxious bride. I can’t be late. ”
I stand. “You’re fine. I need to head out anyway.”
“I’ll see you later,” she says, getting to her feet and hugging me goodbye. My best friend is all grown up. A real job and she’s married. She’s so responsible.
I head out to my car but check my phone before I start the engine. I have one text message.
Rosalie? It’s Robert.
I stare, heart thudding, and then my fingers text—
Me: The vampire?
Robert: Nope. The engineer.
That’s him.
Me: How’d you get my number?
Robert: I have connections.
Robert: What are you up to?
Me: Lunch with Fran.
Robert: Ah. Fran. She still hates me.
I stir in my seat. Fran told me to take action. Robert doesn’t know that I’ve forgotten the last six years of my life. Maybe he’ll shed some light on his side of things.
Me: Well…
Robert: I don’t blame her.
Okay… That doesn’t exactly say innocent.
Me: You don’t?
Robert: Well, no. She thinks of me as this awful cad who did you wrong. I’d hate me, too.
Thinks? So… there is another side to this story.
Action it is.
Me: Are you saying you didn’t do me wrong?
Robert: Rose, we both know we were drifting apart. Life had gotten so hectic. And we let the most important thing fall to the wayside. Us.
I reread his text, my heart pounding in my ears.
Me: Silly us.
Robert: I’m just glad we’re moving forward. That we can be friends again.
Friends. Of course. Because Robert Pattinson is a very married man. See? He was being polite the other day. That’s all.
Robert: What would you say to drinks? Or dinner?
Me: Like a double date?
I assume that’s what he meant. But I need to interpret this as clearly as the cleanest glass. There’s too much fog and forgotten in my life as it is.
Robert: If you want.
All at once, the racehorse patter of my heart turns to thunderous pounding.
Maybe Fran’s right. If I’m going to get over Robert, I need to take action. I need to see him with his wife. A happy couple, living their lives. Moving forward. Sure, it’ll hurt like Hades. But I think it’ll help, too.
Me: Okay. Where should Zev and I meet you?