Chapter 48
JAMIE
I wake up in the reclined first-class bed, taking stock of the dim cabin.
It’s so easy to believe that the past two weeks have been a dream—that I’m still on my way to our first destination, and the trip is only beginning.
I really would believe it, if not for the ache in my chest and the in-flight TV in front of me clearly displaying our destination. My neck feels oddly bare without the collar, and the glands there itch under the surface. I keep rubbing them, trying to make the sensation go away.
The airport feels like a strange hallucination, and baggage claim is purgatory. My bag appears on the rumbling luggage belt, as easy to spot as I’d first hoped, though it’s only mattered twice and the bag looked so garish next to Morgan’s designer luggage.
I haul it off the belt, struggling with the weight.
I know Morgan would have swept it out of my hands, steadied me, scolded me for trying to pick up something so heavy.
My eyes sting. But mostly I feel numb.
I just need to get home, get back to my routine. I’ll adjust.
The cover story is that I got bronchitis, which is also how I’ve gotten away with not calling Mom to catch her up since before the night at the casino.
She surprises me at the apartment with chicken soup. I really appreciate it, but if I’m honest, I kind of want to be alone.
Still, it’s nice to listen to her as she catches me up on the guy she met at the hotel right after I left. His name is Vance, and he was a guest from two towns over. They’ve been on a couple of dates. It’s going well.
She seems really happy. “I know it’s soon, but… I’d love you to meet him sometime.”
I offer a smile that reaches my eyes thanks to years of practice, but it doesn’t quite reach my heart. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
“What about you? Oh, I never meant to spend that long talking about me! I’m so sorry.”
I consider telling Mom. About everything. But it still feels surreal and… I don’t want to be a downer. I’m not even sure how I feel.
So I just say, “There’s not much to add, really. It was pretty boring after I got sick.” I thought I might have to pretend harder, but after seeing how Mom reacted when I walked in, I’m pretty sure I look like shit. No pretending required.
“Aw, I’m sorry to hear that, hun.”
“I got to stay a few nights at one of Morgan’s houses, though. It was pretty cool. And honestly, I’m glad we cut it short. I can’t imagine doing that for two more weeks. So, silver lining. Tell me more about Vance, though. He sounds cool.”
And then she’s happily rambling again.
Morgan was right when she said it’s better if other people don’t know.
Maybe I should forget too.
#
The cover story requires me to spend another half a week at home before I go back to work, and it’s for the better. I’m not presentable enough for the office. I go through six tubs of ice cream and rewatch every season of Home Wreck Fixer.
When I finally go back to work, there’s a little pot waiting on my desk with a succulent and a tiny sign that says Get well soon.
The card underneath it, written in Eileen’s handwriting, says,
I wanted to get you flowers, but Morgan says flowers die, and this won’t. She also says, DON’T OVERWATER IT. Get well soon.
Office of Morgan Hunter, CEO
I’m not sure whether I’m about to laugh or cry. Fuck, I need to get over this. I tuck the card away and slid the succulent to the brightest area of my desk.
Lily finds me, and our chatting gets my manager’s attention.
They spend the first day peppering me with good-natured questions and complimenting the fireside chats.
We hit our fundraising goals despite cutting the tour short, but I know that means the goals were too low.
I’m sure we could have raised at least twice as much if we’d kept going.
Lily’s busy with her own project now, so over the coming days we meet for cordial lunches but don’t talk much. She’s now fully immersed in Artemis’s research, and I’m a month behind.
A week later I finally get a project assignment, and ramping up on the new technology is enough to keep me occupied.
I find the closet Starbucks and start an afternoon coffee routine, and it reminds me of Eileen. I shoot her a text,
Hey, kept meaning to send this. I’m sorry I didn’t get to say a proper goodbye before the campaign was over. Thanks again for all the help. And I really had a great time shopping together.
Eileen’s reply is prompt as usual. Aw, no problem! I’m back in town tonight, want to grab coffee tomorrow?
I meet her at the same Starbucks, and she seems genuinely happy to see me. We sit outside to enjoy the last of the comfortable late-spring air before summer hits, chatting about surface-level stuff.
Then she says, “Hey, I… I don’t want to pry or anything, but I want you to know I’m always here for you, if you need it.”
“Yeah. Thank you, I… I really appreciate it.”
“How did it go?” she asks quietly.
I’m pretty sure that other than Morgan, she’s the only one who knows I wasn’t really sick.
“I mean, it was…” I struggle for a word, then finally shrug. “Perfect. In every way.”
Eileen scans my face. “Sometimes Mor just needs… space. If you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, that… that makes sense.” I scrape the edge of my coffee cup with my thumbnail. The sage and flower gel polish is due to be removed, well grown out and starting to lift at the edges. It’s the only evidence left of the time I spent with Morgan, and soon it’ll be gone too.
Eileen leans closer, her conspiratorial tone pulling me out of my head. “I’ve never seen her like this.”
I glance up, not quite daring to read into the words. “Really?”
“Yeah. So… give her time. That’s my two cents.”
“Thanks.” I’m not sure I believe Eileen, but… I appreciate that she has my back. “And thanks for meeting me today.”
“So formal,” Eileen says with a teasing scrunch of her nose.
“I just… I appreciate you taking the time.”
“Well, I can’t function without my caffeine. Same time tomorrow?”
Surprise ripples through me, followed by a gentle warmth. “Oh, sure.”
“Coffee buddies,” Eileen says, cheers-ing my latte.
I think this means Eileen and I are friends now for real.
So no matter what, at least there’s that.
#
Another week passes. Two. Three. I appreciated what Eileen said, but… I don’t think Morgan is going to reach out.
I’ve moved on, I think. Kind of. I don’t teeter on the verge of tears every time I think about her, so that’s progress.
I call my doctor and adjust my suppressant dose to make doubly sure I won’t go into heat again. I’ll eventually have to plan a tolerance break, now that I know the long-term effects of suppressant usage, but… not now. Not for a while.
The bonded pair of cats is still at the shelter, and I check their listing every day. Part of me feels like getting cats is admitting that we’re not going to go finish the trip, that Morgan won’t whisk me away again.
I put it off for another two weeks, and then I cave. Mom helps me get things set up and brings Vance along. He’s a total cat guy, and he helps me pick out a big, sturdy cat tree.
“Those little carpet things just don’t cut it,” he explains patiently. “They need a safe place up high to hide away and keep an eye on things. You would too if you were a tenth the size of your roommates.”
I see why Mom likes him. He’s calm with a dry sense of humor, and he clearly adores her.
Egg and Bacon settle right in. Their meowing for dinner and erratic racing around the living room at two AM quickly become part of my daily routine.
Just like that, it’s been almost three months since the trip.
The stretches of time between thoughts of her get longer and longer.
My mind is totally immersed in the spectrography results from my latest experiment as I check my mail, and my first thought when I flip through the bills and advertisements to the heavyweight matte black envelope is it must be a new kind of spam mail.
But then I see her name in gold.
And my stomach flips.
I drop the rest of the mail and carefully open the envelope.
You are cordially invited to the thirty-ninth birthday party of Morgan Hunter…
My heart seems at risk of pounding out of my chest. Hope and dread war within me.
I guess I’m not over her.
My forebrain claws to the front and reminds me I’m now a… professional acquaintance of Morgan’s. As fancy as the invitation is… it’s not personalized. So it’s just… business.
The party’s in two weeks. I don’t think I’m going to go.
#
The next day, Eileen and I are getting our usual coffee.
“Oh!” she says. “I almost forgot. Do you know what you’re wearing to Morgan’s party? I know the invitation says casual, but it’s Morgan casual, so like… not at all.”
My brain short-circuits thinking about Morgan again. “Uh…”
Eileen’s brow furrows. “You did get your invitation, right?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Good.” Eileen presses a hand to her chest. “I was in charge of addresses, so it’s my ass on the line. Do you want to wear your new suit?” Her eyebrows give a teasing wiggle.
I try to sound casual. “I’m… not sure I’m going. It’s been really busy with my new project…”
Eileen doesn’t even blink. “Do you have a funeral?”
“Uh, no.”
“Wedding?”
“No…”
She gives a firm nod. “Then you’re going.”
“Are you sure that…”
“Please don’t leave me hanging,” Eileen pleads. “It’s going to be, like, all high society types. I need at least one other humble Starbucks drinker there.”
“You can always make friends with the catering staff?”
“Ha-ha. Very funny. Please… Prettiest pretty please with a thousand cherries on top?” Eileen is, apparently, a master of puppy dog eyes.
My resolve slips. “I’m just not sure…”
“I never did get to see your whole outfit together. So... you owe me.”
It’s hanging in my closet with the dry cleaning receipt still attached. I haven’t touched it since I unpacked.
My mind scrambles for an excuse but comes up empty.
Eileen may be a beta, but fuck it’s impossible to say ‘no’ to her.
I heave a sigh of defeat, and her eyes shine with glee.
“Okay, okay. I’ll go.”