Chapter 36
May
Two Weeks After The Wedding Date
The canvas grocery bags dig harsh pink bracelets into my wrists as I lug them up to the fifth floor. Dropping them on the welcome mat, I rummage for my apartment key.
I really, really need to look for a new place with an elevator.
When I open the door, Kotka darts from the windowsill, pretending she wasn’t just swatting at pigeons outside. She struts over and paws at one of the bags, inspecting the contents. A can of crushed tomatoes rolls onto the hardwood floor and she gives me a disapproving look.
“Don’t worry, I remembered the cat food you like. And it’s not cheap, I might add!”
I take the stack of mail I’ve tucked into one armpit and add it to the ever-growing pile on my kitchen table.
It’ll get sorted one day. Life has been…
complicated. Last Sunday’s newspaper stares up at me next to the mountain of envelopes.
I’ve read the same two articles upwards of a hundred times—probably enough to memorize the copy to the punctuation mark. But I can’t throw it away.
Self-sabotage or some perverse desire for pain compels me to pick it up again. It’s already opened to the lifestyle pages, the print smudged where my fingers have held the edges.
On the left side, a headline reads:
John “Trip” Coldwell, Heir To Coldwell Fortune, Wakes From Coma
Below it, a picture of Trip—three-piece suit, hair slicked back, no earring in sight—frowns out at the reader.
The photo is both mesmerizing and disconcerting.
It’s not the Trip I know. But I still can’t pull my eyes away.
The article itself is similarly devoid of Trip’s personality, or much mention of Trip at all.
After listing the items on his résumé, it goes on to talk about the Coldwell oil dynasty and fortune.
My heart burns to see the human behind the photo.
But this is what it will be—what I need to get used to.
Trip will become someone behind a screen, or in print.
Even less human than the spirit who stood in this apartment.
I shake my head, and my eyes roam to the headline lower down on the right-hand side:
Carter Coldwell And Sabrina Carmichael Call Off Wedding
No photo, and an article shorter than the length of my thumb. I’m sure the families’ respective PR teams did everything in their power to minimize the story here. After all, what is the story anyway? Two people fell out of love. Tale as old as time.
I should text Sabrina. Last time we spoke, she was getting ready to leave for London. She’s probably back there already. I haven’t asked her whether she’s reconnected with Trip. To be honest, I’m not sure I want the answer right now.
Scrolling through my phone, I find my latest text chain with Carter. Our conversations have been sparse of late, but I still decide to send him a message asking how he’s holding up. It’s okay between us. Or, at least, it will be someday.
My phone buzzes in my hand and Zuri’s photo pops up on the screen.
“Hey, Z.” I turn on speakerphone and hoist the grocery bags onto the kitchen counter.
“Oh, good. I can call off the search party.” Her sarcasm cuts through the line.
I roll my eyes and place a cereal box on an upper shelf. “I missed a few calls. Sorry.”
“Um, yeah. A few calls after the love of your life called off his wedding and then some mystery cousin of his woke up from a coma? What the hell is going on over there in your world?”
I press my thumb and pointer finger to my eyebrows. “Let’s just say it’s a long story. Best told in person. Want to get lunch later?”
“Can’t, sorry.” Her words are clipped.
“Okay, tomorrow, then.”
“Not sure I’ll be able to then, either.”
There’s muffled noise on the other end of the line—a female voice that’s not Zuri’s and then a door slamming shut.
“Z? What’s going on?”
Zuri’s voice comes out strained, just above a whisper. “Libby. Oh my god. Guess who showed up at my apartment last night.”
I turn the volume up and stop shuffling through the grocery bags, propping my butt against the counter. “Are you hiding in a closet?”
“My bathroom. Guess.”
I press my palm to my forehead. “I don’t know. Harry Styles?”
It would make sense given the level of glee in her voice.
“No.” She drags the word out. “Sabrina Carmichael.”
I freeze. Did I hear her correctly? Maybe my mind is being influenced by the number of times I’ve read those articles.
“Libby? Did I lose you?”
“I—I’m here.” Picking the phone up off the counter, I turn it off speaker and hold it to my ear.
“Say something,” Zuri hisses. “I’m freaking out here, Lib.”
I clear my throat. “Why is she there? I thought she was back in London.”
“I know. Apparently her whole family went back already.” There’s a pause. “Libby, I think there’s something between us.”
“Like, what between you?”
“I don’t know. A spark? The only way I can describe it is ‘electric.’ Not to mention, she’s insanely hot.”
The world tilts on its axis. Zuri and Sabrina? But Sabrina’s in love with Trip.
My hands itch for something to do. I move to the kitchen table and rip open envelopes from the top of the massive pile.
“Back up, Z. Say more. When did this all start?”
“Well, you were there when we first met, at Babcia’s. I thought she was stunning, obviously, but didn’t think there was anything more to it.”
“You did flirt a little.”
“Sure, but that’s who I am, Libby. A flirt. Anyway, then there was the night of the bachelorette party, when I stayed later than everyone. Oh my god, that Ginger dress she wore was killer….”
I chuckle, my fingers slicing through one envelope flap after another.
Rip. Rip. Rip.
Bill. Trash. Keep.
Sabrina asking if I’ve ever felt an instantaneous spark.
Sabrina telling me there’s another person.
Sabrina running out that night when Zuri arrived at my apartment.
Oh.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” I sort the envelopes into piles like a madwoman, the initial pile dwindling to a small hill instead of a mountain.
“She was engaged, Lib. I didn’t know if I was reading the situation correctly.”
Fair. I certainly read it all wrong. “Okay, so what is the situation now? You said she showed up last night, so—she slept over?”
There’s clinking, like Zuri is sorting through her medicine cabinet. “Yes.”
“Z! Oh my god!”
“I know, I know.”
“So what happens now?”
My eyes fall on a small, lumpy blue envelope at the top of the pile. I pick it up and run my hands over the paper, trying to determine the contents inside. The handwritten block lettering on the front is unfamiliar.
“I have no idea. What do I do?”
“Well, you might start by leaving your bathroom.”
“I had, actually, figured that part out myself.”
I think back to the sparkle in Sabrina’s eye when she told me there was someone else, her determination when she made up her mind about the wedding.
At the time I thought it was all for Trip.
A laugh threatens to bubble out of me at how wrong I was.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about. You’re amazing and clearly, Sabrina has excellent taste and recognizes what a catch you are. Just be yourself.”
Zuri exhales through the phone. “Thanks. I love you, Lib.”
“I love you too.”
I break the seal of the envelope in my hand. Two items fall from the paper into my palm. A small piece of card stock flutters to the floor and lands at my feet. My breath catches as my fingers unfurl to reveal the cold, hard objects in my hand. A small, smooth gray stone and a diamond earring.
I kneel to the floor and look at the card next to my shoe.
An address is written in the same block lettering on the cream-colored paper.
An address I recognize. There’s no other writing, no signature.
I flip the paper over, looking for answers.
The opposite side contains only two words, the text slanting as though it was written by someone in a hurry.
Please come.
I squeeze the stone and earring in my hand, the metal biting into my skin. “Hey, Zuri, I’ve gotta go.”