Chapter Twenty-One
Twenty-One
My biggest worry about being back in my bed is unfounded: there isn’t any trace of Alec in here.
I set the shopping bag down and pick up a pillow, pressing it to my face.
The sheets are crisp and smell like fabric softener.
Eden. She got rid of his things, too—the toothbrush, the swim trunks.
If there was anything else he might have left here, I’ll never know.
I shower until I’m loose and drowsy, dry off adequately, and pull on sweats and a tank top before falling backward onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. Pointedly ignoring the blue shopping bag. I’m not ready to see my things and remember how they looked in his hotel suite.
From beyond my closed bedroom door, I can hear Eden quietly moving around the apartment. Making coffee. Unloading the dishwasher. Taking out the trash and recycling. Her presence is sweetly reassuring. With a groan, I roll myself up in my blankets, squeezing my eyes closed.
But suddenly, I am wide awake. There is a ticking bomb in here with me. I open my eyes and stare across the room at the bag.
Read what I wrote.
Whatever else is in there, there is a note.
I should not read it with tired eyes, an exhausted brain. I should not read it feeling as emotional as I do.
I know better, but kick away the blankets anyway, get up, and cross the room.
Inside the bag is my ugly Post Malone hat, the game console Alec bought for us only a week ago. But not everything in here is something I forgot at the suite. There’s a small box of fresh doughnuts. An expensive bottle of Zinfandel.
Alec’s dress shirt that I wore when I tied his bow tie.
I bite my lips, holding in the pained gasp as I curl it into my chest, inhaling.
The last item, at the bottom of the bag, is a postcard with a beautiful picture of Laguna Beach. On the blank side, Alec has written only a handful of words.
Gigi,
I know you are upset.
But please answer my calls.
—A
His calls?
My heart drops and a frantic, heavy bolus of adrenaline hits my bloodstream. He never had my other number.
I meant what are you doing in LA.
I couldn’t, he’d said. I had to—
Oh God. No.
You could have talked to me, I’d said.
His expression, so controlled. You’re right. I could have.
The way he reacted like he’d been pushed when I told him I’d left the Batphone here. How he quietly told me I was making assumptions about why I’d found him on my doorstep.
I trip into the bathroom, falling to my knees and checking the trash.
Eden cleaned everything. There’s nothing but a fresh bag there.
A sob rips from me but when I stand, I see the Post-it note on the bowl of the sink:
I turned it off, but it’s in your nightstand. If you throw it away again, I promise to leave it there. —E.
With shaking hands, I move to the bedroom, pull the Batphone out of the drawer. In the time it takes to turn on, I force myself to pull in deep, intentional breaths so I don’t panic. The screen comes to life.
Nothing.
Nothing.
There’s nothing.
I turn, sitting on the floor, leaning against my bed, struggling against the throat-swelling sting of disappointed tears.
And then my phone buzzes in my palm. With blurry eyes, I look down at a screen that is lit up with dozens of notifications. Missed calls. Voicemails.
I check the time stamps. Barely two hours after he called and told me to “please take care,” Alec called me back.
And then again.
And again.
And again.
His calls span Friday afternoon and deep into the night. They start up again before sunrise on Saturday.
Fourteen missed calls in total, all while I was at my parents’ house, assuming he was on a plane, assuming he had prioritized everything above me. His first voicemail is seven seconds long. “Gigi. Please call me back. I’ve changed my plans and am not flying home until Sunday.”
Twelve more missed calls and then his second, and final, voicemail, from late in the afternoon on Saturday. It’s just over a minute long.
“Gigi.” He pauses, exhaling slowly. “Right. I don’t know why I keep calling when you haven’t answered any of the other times.
But I heard earlier today that you lost your job and am gutted.
Here I am, in the thick of this stupid internet hurricane and yet I’m at an absolute standstill.
Since you won’t answer, here is what I wanted you to know.
I’d planned to fly home to Sunny to discuss how to handle this.
But I tried to leave and absolutely could not get on the plane without you.
I kept hearing your voice on the phone, telling me over and over that you didn’t understand.
It was all a blur, but I must have been cold to you.
” His words break, his voice cracking. “After everything—to be accused… well. I was in shock.” He breaks off again, huffing out another breath.
“Anyway, so here I am, wandering LA, doing absolutely nothing, letting this problem fester. Retracing our steps the past two weeks and wondering how on earth it is that I could fall in love in a matter of days. But I did. In fact, I think I fell in love in a matter of minutes, with the woman sitting opposite me at a hotel bar. She was exhausted but mesmerizing, wearing a red dress and nothing else.” He goes silent for a beat.
“Gigi, I can’t let the present circumstances rob us of the chance to see where this can go.
” I hear him swallow and then pull in a shaky breath.
“I suppose I’ll call you again when I get to London. I hope you’ll answer.”
I cup a hand over my mouth, capturing the sob that escapes. I could have been with him this weekend. We could have been weathering this storm together. Regret sends a staggering wave of nausea through my gut, and I have to close my eyes, tilt my face to the ceiling and suck in air.
… wondering how on earth it is that I could fall in love in a matter of days.
In fact, I think I fell in love in a matter of minutes, with the woman sitting opposite me at a hotel bar.
I close my eyes, remembering. Rewriting the horror of seeing the photos of us online, reclaiming that night.
She was exhausted but mesmerizing, wearing a red dress and nothing else.
Curiosity presses gently at the edges of my thoughts, propelling me to my feet. I search through the suitcase I’d hastily packed at the Waldorf Astoria. I rifle back through the contents of the shopping bag he left on my doorstep. But I can’t find my red dress anywhere.
Retrieving Alec’s shirt from the bag, I pull it on, climb into bed, and listen to his voicemail again and again and again until I fall asleep.
When I wake up, the apartment is still, sounds muted. It’s a few minutes before two, meaning a miracle has occurred and I’ve slept much of the day away.
Outside my room, the lights are out and late-afternoon sunlight slants into the front window, turning the yellow couch a soft gold, turning the big blue chair a vibrant turquoise.
The apartment is spotless. There are fresh flowers on the small dining room table, and a note that says simply: I love you. —E.
For the first time in days, I feel like I can pull in a deep breath.
Eden has set out a bowl of leftovers on the kitchen counter with pointedly obvious instructions.
Step 1: Place bowl in microwave.
Step 2: Heat for two minutes.
Step 3: Carefully remove bowl from microwave.
Step 4: Get a fork.
Step 5: Use fork to put food in your mouth.
Step 6: Repeat step 5 until the bowl is empty.
I’ve just finished step 1 when the doorbell rings.
I know it isn’t the downstairs neighbor telling me we’re being too loud.
I hope it isn’t the upstairs neighbor warning me they have a water leak.
Maybe Eden forgot her keys. Maybe Mom wanted to check on me.
Maybe… I laugh dryly as I let the train of thought die an abrupt death.
But, I remind myself, Alec is going to call me when he gets to London. And that’s a start.
It’s only when I open the door that I’m conscious I didn’t bother to comb my hair after my shower.
In fact, I haven’t glanced in a mirror in several days.
I find myself facing two beautiful women while I’ve got birds’ nest hair and am wearing Alec’s dress shirt, a stretched-out tank top, and no bra.
I immediately recognize one of them, but she is the second to last person I expect to see there.
“Georgia,” Yael says in disgust, “you look like garbage.”
The woman at Yael’s side smacks her lightly, and recognition hits like a slap. “Don’t be mean. She’s had a very shitty weekend.” Sunny Kim gives me a familiar, dimpled smile, and my lungs take a nostalgic nosedive.
I look back over my shoulder. Yes, I’m in my own doorway. Yes, I appear to be awake. Yael and Sunny stare at me, waiting for me to say something. I manage only, “What is this?”
Sunny steps forward, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. “Hi.”
On instinct, I lift my arms, too, tentatively snaking them around her waist. There’s a familiarity to the feel of her against me. Her grown-up body still carries the echo of her younger one. “Hi.”
“I realize this is a surprise.” She pulls back, placing her hands on my shoulders and holding me at arm’s length. “But you actually do look awful, G.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” My brain is finally catching up to my eyes. I look over at Yael, who is unusually casual in a T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. I look back over my shoulder again. Still in my doorway. Still awake. I narrow my eyes at Yael. “I thought you were on a plane to London.”
“I am not,” she says simply.
“But Alec is,” I explain very slowly.
Sunny turns to look at Yael. “Can you imagine if our planes actually crossed paths midair? He would never stop lecturing me.”
I don’t know if it’s the wrong time to point out that they both seem very flippant about letting a distraught Alec Kim fly home to London, where he will not find his sister waiting for him.
In fact, I honestly don’t know if the average person would understand what is happening right now and I am just a mental mess, or if they are being intentionally confusing.
“I have no idea what the hell is going on.”
Yael rolls her eyes. “Then for fuck’s sake, Georgia, let us in.”
At least these two appreciate a good cup of hand-brewed black coffee.
They hum into their mugs, quietly complimenting the flavor.
It unspools my memories of my morning here with Alec, his unapologetic sweet tooth, the signing later that day, his proposition that I stay with him at the hotel, Yael’s warnings…
I have to admit I don’t entirely feel like Yael Miller is Team Alec right now.
I don’t understand her motives at all. Why isn’t she with him?
Alec may be right, and Yael may be in love with Sunny, but Yael is his personal assistant.
She handles everything for him but lets him fly back to London alone in the middle of a crisis? Heat creeps up my neck.
“How are you holding up?” Sunny asks me.
“It seems like the more important question is how you’re holding up,” I say, turning my gentler attention her way.
She laughs humorlessly. “It’s been a terrible few months, but I suppose the silver lining is that instead of constantly worrying that the other shoe is going to drop, the other shoe has actually dropped.”
“Yes, I think even if Alec hadn’t been photographed outside of the club, your and his association with Anders would have eventually come out anyway.”
“Exactly.” We stare at each other for several long beats, and finally our smiles break out in unison. “God, it’s so good to see you,” she says. “You became the most perfect version of your future self. And you’re just right in front of me.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” My heart does a heavy, contented squeeze behind my breastbone.
With a small smile, Sunny sets her coffee down on the table and tucks her legs beneath her.
We’re the same age—our birthdays are only one week apart—but engulfed as she is by the cushions of our big yellow sofa, she seems so much younger.
Her posture, her energy—it all feels very youthful.
How could anyone hurt this person? A wave of heat passes over me, and I relate very intensely to Alec’s protective streak.
“You did an amazing job with the story,” Sunny says. “I’m very grateful.”
I watch her, unsure what to say other than “Thank you.” I want to say that I’m sorry it exploded the way it did, but if the people who are behind the crimes end up being held accountable, we’ll probably all admit that it was worth it.
“We all have a bit of a mess to sort out,” she says, “but I didn’t want you to wonder whether it was worth breaking it. It was.”
Much like her brother, Sunny has capably read my thoughts. “I know that’s why Alec wanted to fly home to London,” I say. “To make a plan with you about how to handle the fallout.”
“He struggled to leave LA because of his feelings for you,” she says, “and so I felt the need to take charge of this. I’m sure you’ve noticed that Alexander’s tendency is to want to shelter me from the pain of this situation, and I appreciate it.
I really do. But I don’t want to be coddled anymore.
I don’t want to be protected. And like you said, it’s only so long before my own association with Josef is going to come out.
” She picks up her mug again. “So, not that it isn’t amazing to see you for the sake of seeing you, but I have a proposition. ”
Thunder rumbles beneath my ribs. “Okay, let’s hear it.”
“Word on the street is you’re unemployed.” She grins. “How’d you like to put your journalist cap back on and help me make some waves?”