Chapter Twenty-Eight
Juniper
The grocery store is insanity. There are carts everywhere, stuffing and cranberry sauce flying off the shelves, and checkout lines that wrap around the aisles. I should have taken Lis’s advice and not waited until the day before Thanksgiving to get the rest of the items on our list.
The burnt-out man behind the cash register swings each item through the scanner, and they beep one by one. He checks his watch and yawns.
“Sixty-five forty-two.”
I give him a credit card, and I dig through my purse for a few reusable shopping bags.
“I’ll need to see ID with this. No signature.”
“Sorry. Wrong one.” I switch that one out for my personal card. “Here, use this, please.”
I roll my fingertips over the elevated numbers on my new business debit card. When I returned home from Ireland last month and went back into the office at The Edge for the first time, Ethan didn’t bring up what happened. He sped right into the upcoming editorial, told me what he was looking for in pitches, and assigned me a few pieces with scandalous headlines to entice readers to click.
So I did what any sane, reasonable person would do: I quit. And I reported Ethan to human resources. I didn’t realize how toxic the workplace was until I walked out that final day, free from Ethan’s disgusting comments, Nancy’s unreasonable demands, and all those obnoxious listicles.
Lissie has guided me through the freelance life, more than happy to share the wisdom she’s gained from working countless odd jobs alongside acting. She advised me to open a separate bank account, and depositing that first check was a surreal experience.
When I step outside, the chaotic holiday foot traffic irritates me less than it used to. Everyone’s prepping for some time off work and to see family. Maybe I’m extra sentimental because I know that feeling—the excitement of seeing family. I can hardly wait for a month from now when Cara and everyone will fly in for New Year’s.
Well, almost everyone.
I hop on the train and, in order to not think about Aidan, I build a to-do list on my phone. Tomorrow, Lis’s aunt will come over, and we’ll lounge around and eat nonstop, so we’ve got to create a cooking plan. Ordinarily, I’d have Friday and the weekend off from work, but I have two assignments due early next week, so I should finalize those.
I’ve worked hard, sending out pitch after pitch, with a lot of them getting accepted. But the self-employed income hasn’t blown me away. Fortunately, one of the former editors at The Edge reached out to me when she saw “freelance” listed on my LinkedIn. She founded her own site focused on design and architecture in the last six months, and while that wasn’t my beat at The Edge , she said she always admired my work ethic. When she asked if I would like a reliable twenty hours per week of writing copy for the business, I jumped at the opportunity. I not only get a steady income, but I have a boss who won’t call me by some cutesy nickname. Along with my other freelance work writing lifestyle articles and covering events across the city, I earn more than any paycheck from The Edge , and I’m infinitely happier. The subjects I cover vary, but I suppose that’s one thing I can thank Ethan for—the ability to craft a compelling story about literally anything.
As I haul the groceries off the subway, my phone pings.
LIS: Where are you??
LIS: Get here ASAP
JUNE: Off the train, be there in 2
JUNE: Everything okay?
I smile to myself as I turn the corner onto our block. Lissie knows I’ve been emotionally fragile this month, so she’s been extra protective—lots of check-in texts throughout the day, my favorite chocolates stocked in the cupboard, and an invitation to her mom’s for Christmas so I’m not alone. Part of her hyperdiligent attention is because of the call from my grandma’s nursing home. They informed me that she succumbed to her dementia at the beginning of November, passing away in her sleep. She was my grandmother, and she raised me, but she never really showed me love.
The guilt and sadness of the past still weighs me down. I find some kind of strange reassurance in knowing she’s not in a constant state of confusion and pain. It’s complicated, and I think it always will be. Thank goodness for therapy.
But the real reason I’m in the habit of crying myself to sleep is because of a guy I spent two weeks with who now couldn’t care less about me. Who was supposed to be here today, actually. That familiar pang in my chest returns, and I take three slow breaths.
As hard as it’s been to not pick up the phone and call him, Aidan made his goodbye clear. Cara and I talk or text most days, but I shouldn’t overstep my bounds to ask her about him. I want to respect his space and his wishes for as long as he needs. Forever, even. I have to, no matter how much it hurts.
When I open the apartment door, Lissie faces the couch where Aidan’s sitting.
Aidan.
I stumble into the living room and drop my bags of groceries with a thud. I channel every bit of restraint to not pounce on him. He’s real. He’s here. My heart jump ropes into my throat.
“Hi,” I croak.
“Hi.” His eyes look gentle, hopeful. “I, uh, had that flight, so I hope you don’t mind me here.”
“N-not at all.”
Lis walks forward without a word and picks up the bags I’ve dropped. “Go get ’em tiger,” she whispers before shrinking into the kitchen.
“Do you—do you want something to drink? Eat? You must be tired after traveling.”
He shakes his head and paces by the couch. I can tell he’s already run his hands through his hair plenty of times the way it’s sticking out in multiple directions, but he does the motion again anyway. He’s got his familiar scruff growing in and some dark circles. He looks jittery and nervous.
“I’ve been a wreck,” he says, as if reading my mind. Even so, Aidan’s the most handsome wreck I ever laid eyes on. “And I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too. I messed up. Badly.”
“Please, you—you’ve apologized so many times to me. And in multiple ways.” He stops pacing and makes purposeful steps toward me. “I read the article.”
“You did?”
“I did.”
“I meant every word, Aidan. I do—”
Before I can finish, he paces forward, and his lips find mine, and all is right with the world. My breaths come easy again. His kiss reassembles me after getting ripped to shreds, and I think I could inhale him. When we pull apart, he thumbs away the tears from my cheeks.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I whisper.
He smiles and then presses his mouth against my cheek, my jawline, and my neck.
“I had to see you,” he says. “Had to. That impulsive, erratic man who bought a plane ticket on a whim, that’s me. It’s who I am. It’s who I want to be all the time, and not some man who’s stuck living every day the same.”
He pulls me in for another kiss, my cheeks smearing tears across his.
“I understand why you did what you did.” He rests his forehead against mine. “The choices you had, they were imperfect. It was an impossible situation, and I’m sorry I was such an eejit over it.” He kisses me again, and I could levitate through the roof. “But I’m ready to go all in. If you still want me, that is. I’m not too late, am I?”
“You’re right on time,” I say with a laugh. “And of course I want you. I’ve only been able to think about you.” I rest my palms on his chest, confirming that he’s not a figment of my imagination. “I promise to be honest with you, always. To not hide behind anything.”
“Good. I like who you are. Too much.”
We dissolve into another kiss, his hands sliding underneath my shirt as I hook my fingers into the waistband of his pants. I can’t wait to get these off and—
“Ahem.”
We turn our heads to see Lis emerge from the hallway. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“It’s fine,” I say, wiping my mouth.
“Sooo…” She looks at me, her eyes asking This guy’s not here to destroy your heart, is he?
When she’s assessed the situation and sees us both smiling like fools, she claps her hands together. “Cool. I need to, uh, get my steps in and close those rings, so I’ll be back later. Sometime.” Lissie doesn’t own a fitness watch. She hurries out the front door, flashing me two big thumbs up on her way out.
We’re alone. Just us.
“I’m excited to show you the city,” I say, wrapped up in him.
“Where to?”
“Your choice. There’s the touristy spots. Statue of Liberty. Times Square. But also my New York. My favorite dumpling place. My go-to bar. My bedroom.”
“Mm.” He pretends to ponder the options, causing me to giggle. “Let’s start there.” He leans in, smiles, and whispers against my lips, “But I’ll go anywhere with you.”