Not until I could figure out how to deal with my feelings for him.
“You’re not happy,” Kathy said, her enthusiasm dimming. “Is it because I got hummus? I thought you liked hummus.”
A collection of treats and drinks peppered the table, our favorite snacks set out for a late-night screening of reruns of The Big Bang Theory. It was more like a Superbowl spread with BBQ chicken wings and blue cheese dip, but it was perfect.
“It’s great,” I said and hugged her. “Thanks for helping me cart my bags in.”
“No problem.” Kathy pulled back and held me at arms’ length. “Seriously, are you OK? You seem a little…uncomfortable?”
“I guess it’s just weird being back.” I sat down on the sofa next to Tabitha the tabby. The cat made a disdainful prrt of noise and jumped onto the armchair. “Well, excuse me.”
“You know how Tabby is,” Kathy said and sat down next to me. She slung her arm around my shoulder and drew me to her side, wiggling me back and forth. “She hates you now, but she’ll fall asleep on your head tonight.”
“Looking forward to it.” It wasn’t a joke. I’d woken up about ten times with the cat chewing on my hair or purring softly on top of my head or draped halfway across my face. Kathy said it was because she liked me, I figured it was some form of revenge for me refusing to refill her kibble bowl when there was perfectly good kibble in it in the first place.
“It really is weird to be back,” I said, scanning the space. My candles on the TV stand, next to our flat-screen TV. The old clock in the corner that had stopped working but that Kathy insisted we keep because it was the first gift her mother had given to her as a housewarming present.
The apartment was big enough for the both of us but small enough to remind us that we hadn’t made it. We were two creatives on the up-and-up. Kathy’s rocket was sparking already, shooting across the sky.
I hadn’t even left the ground.
So, why was it then, that I couldn’t stop thinking about him?
“So, tell me everything,” Kathy said. “How was the wedding?”
I laughed, a short series of barking ha’s.
“What? Did I miss something? Apart from the wedding, I mean.” Kathy stuck out the corner of her tongue and let me go. She scooched back on our worn beige sofa—we’d gotten that secondhand and figured it had once been white or at least cream-colored—and dragged a plate into her lap, then topped it with wings, carrot sticks, cucumbers, and dressing.
“You missed everything.”
“You’re so sweet.”
“No, I mean, well, shit, it was insane. I don’t even know where to start.” I searched around for the right words. “There was no wedding.”
Kathy gave the appropriate shuddering gasp in reply to that. “Are you kidding me?”
“No.” And I broke into the story, from beginning to end. Kathy was the perfect audience—gasping at all the right points, head shaking when necessary, laughing when I told her how horribly wrong something had gone. But by the end of it, she was in disbelief.
“And that’s it?” Kathy asked. “Nothing else happened? What about you and Jacob?”
“What about us?” I countered. “Ugh, scratch that. There is no us. There never was us, and that’s the point. It was a mental fairytale. Oh my god, who am I kidding? It was a nightmare. I had sex with him, and then this happened.”
“Honey.”
“You were the one who told me to avoid him, Kath. I tried, I did. And this is the result.”
“Yeah, but I would never have said that if I’d realize you’d come back like this.”
“Gee thanks.” I rolled my eyes heavenward. “I feel even better now.”
“I’m serious, Chloe. Maybe you should talk to him. Clear the air or something. Find out how he feels, because if he’s feeling how you’re feeling then…I don’t know, you might need to have a deeper discussion.”
“Are you serious?” I asked, chewing on my bottom lip.
“Hell yeah, I’m serious.” Kathy grabbed my arm and squeezed. “Come on, Chloe. You deserve some closure, and it’s clear you don’t have it.”
“Why’s that so clear?” I asked.
“Because of how you talk about him. Every time you mentioned him you lit up like a friggin’ Christmas tree.” Kathy grabbed my handbag from the side table and rifled through it with fingers I could only assume were moist from all the chicken and dip. “Here,” she said and thrust my phone at me.
“That’s the phone I used in France. I need the other one.”
“Oh, OK.” Kathy lifted herself off the sofa, deposited her plate on the table, then went for my bedroom. We’d always been like this—so used to each other’s company that we were close as sisters.
Tabby jumped off her armchair and onto the coffee table. She started sniffing around the discarded chicken bones.
“No, Tabby!” I hissed. “Get down.”
She gave another indignant prrt and leaped off onto the floor. She trotted into Kathy’s room, her tail straight as a poker.
Kathy rushed back out a moment later. “There,” she said. “I switched it on and everything.”
I took the phone from her then held it limply. “I don’t have his number.” The realization stung. I liked him, and I didn’t even have his number. “God, what am I doing? This is crazy.”
“Give it here,” Kathy said and held out her palm.
I gave her the phone, and she set to work tapping and scrolling and doing whatever it was she was best at doing when it came to phones.
“There!” She handed it back. “Number’s on the screen.”
“This is a landline.”
“It’s his office number here in LA. I’m sure he’ll have someone there.”
“It’s seven p.m.,” I replied.
“So? Everyone at those big firms works extra hours. You’ll probably get his assistant, and then she’ll put you through to his cell phone, and then you’ll talk, and he’ll tell you how much he misses you,” Kathy said, grinning at me and clasping her hands to her chest.
“OK, who are you and what have you done with my friend?” I poked her on the knee. “Since when do you care about all this romantic stuff?”
“Whatever. Just make the call. Don’t be a chicken.”
And she had me there—I was definitely stalling. I stared at the screen then finally hit my finger against the green phone icon. I pressed the cell to my ear and listened.
The line clicked and the rings started. I mentally counted them.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
“No answer,” I said. “There’s no answer.”
“Try it again.” Kathy patted me on the knee.
“No, Kath, there’s no one there. No one’s answering, and even if they did, this is so not what I should be doing. Calling his work number so I can speak to him? And about what?” I asked, the phone still to my ear. “To tell him that I—”
“Hello?” Jacob’s voice came down the line.
It was a shock to my system. I stared directly ahead at Kathy, not really seeing her. She’d been replaced by an image of him.
“Hello, this is Jacob King speaking. Who’s there?”
He was at work, late, already. As in he’d come right back from France and decided work was where he needed to be. He hadn’t tried contacting me, like I had him. I licked my lips. This was dumb. I tugged the phone away from my ear and hung up.
Kathy groaned. “Are you kidding me? You totally chickened out.”
“Dude, what is the cardinal rule about dating? The girl never calls the guy! The girl never calls the guy.”
“What kind of sexist nineties shit is that? Don’t act like you’re doing this because of anything other than the fact that you’re chickening out,” Kathy replied, pointing at me. “You call him back right now and tell him you want to meet up to talk.”
“No.”
“You’re doing it,” Kathy said and dove across the sofa for the phone.
“No!
Kathy! No!”
My friend pressed a hand to my head and reached for the cell. I held it out above her head, both of us grunting and heaving. A concerned meow came from the doorway to Kathy’s room.
“Gerroff!” I squeaked as the phone started vibrating in my hand.
“Woo rall ’im back aight ’ow!” Kathy said, her face smooshed against the couch. I’d managed to get her into a semi-chokehold.
“Kathy!” I hissed.
“Givie a phone,” Kathy grunted.
“Kathy, it’s ringing. The phone is—would you stop moving for five seconds?! The phone’s ringing!”
She extricated herself from my grip, pressed her hair back from her reddened face.
We both stared at the screen. It was the number we’d just dialed. Jacob’s office.
“Oh my god, he has caller ID at his office,” Kathy whispered. “Answer it. Answer it!”
“No!”
“Too late,” Kathy said and swiped her finger across the screen. The call connected.
I gasped, but pressed the phone to my ear, holding my breath.
“Hello? Who is this?” Jacob said. “I received a call from this number.”
I pushed myself off the sofa and paced across the room, my breaths catching in my throat. “Yeah, hi. It’s me.”
“Who?”
“Uh, it’s Chloe,” I said.
Awkward. So, so awkward.
And indeed, an awkward silence greeted that declaration.
“Oh,” Jacob said slowly. “Hi. What do you need from me?”
That was it? No “how are you” or “nice to hear from you” or anything? “I—uh, yeah. OK, this is going to sound really dumb, probably, but I thought maybe we should meet up some time to talk about things.” I waved my free hand around, grimacing at Kathy.
She gave me double thumbs-up.
“You do,” Jacob said, and his tone was ice. None of the attraction we’d shared was in his voice. There was no desire.
He used you. That was all the vacation was to him.
“Yeah. Just because we didn’t really leave things on good terms. I kind of left without saying goodbye.”
“Sure.”
Another quiet. Terrible, oh so terrible. “So, uh, would you like to catch up some time?”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Jacob said.
My stomach came crashing down and plummeted right through the floor and into the center of the earth. Oh. My. God. My cheeks flushed bright red, and I pressed my hand to my face to cover it. “You don’t,” I said.
“I don’t. I think we should keep our distance from each other, Chloe. Like we agreed. It’s for the best this way. You have your goals and life to get on with, and I have mine.” He was so certain and gruff about it too.
“OK. Yeah. Totally. Have a good night.”
“Chloe—”
“No, that’s great. OK, be well. Bye.” I ended on a ridiculously high note and hung up. I tossed the phone onto the armchair nearest me and shook my hands as if the call had dirtied them. But it was shame that clung to me, every inch of my mind and soul. “Oh god, oh no. Why did you let me do that?”
“What? It didn’t work out?” Kathy asked, and her face fell. “Are you—what?”
“No, it didn’t work out. No. He doesn’t want to see me. He thinks it will be a bad idea. Whatever attraction we had for each other is clearly gone, and now I am probably a laughingstock to him. I can’t believe this. I can’t even—”
But he was right. We had agreed on that, to keep our distance. I was the one who was willing to put myself out there when I shouldn’t have been. He’d taken my virginity. He’d broken my heart. Twice.
“Come on.” Kathy held out her arms. “Let’s eat wings and watch TV. There’s Ben and Jerry’s in the freezer, too.”
“Flavor?”
“Chocolate Fudge Brownie,” she replied.
I sat down and rested my head on her shoulder. “You’re an angel.” I didn’t cry, though the tears clogged my throat.
Tabby appeared and took a running jump onto my lap. She settled there, purring. I stroked her and allowed the tears to come.
Twenty-Eight
Chloe
Five weeks later
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I said and pressed my hand to my mouth.
I was in the Flapper Club in downtown LA about to head on stage to start my set. I’d landed the gig last week, and everything had gone well so far. My sultry singing style suited the twenties-themed club, and I got to wear awesome costumes with beads.
“What’s wrong?” Kathy asked.
She had the night off from the diner and had decided to come out and see me sing. No pressure or anything. Not that my friend placed pressure on me, it was odd having someone with a familiar face in the audience. Even if that face would be lit up with joy while I sang.
I scanned the club. The turnout was pretty good for a Tuesday night, most of the tables full, lit by little lamps, people eating and drinking, talking amiably while background music played.
The small wooden stage up front was backed by crushed velvet curtains and held a single mic. The pianist would sit below me—my pet peeve. It was a standing mic, so I could move it back and forth on the stage but not walk down to interact with the pianist or the audience.
I was one-hundred percent the center of attention when I was up on that stage, which was fine. I liked it, but it was nausea-inducing, apparently.
“Honey?” Kathy tapped me on the arm.
I forced a smile. She’d cleaned up for the night, a sleek dress that wasn’t exactly twenties but fit her slender, athletic body perfectly. Her hair was styled to the era.
“Yeah?” I asked.
“What’s wrong? I’ve never seen you like this before. Are you nervous or something?”
“I’m always nervous before a performance.” But not quite like this. I’d sung in front of bigger audiences before. I swallowed bile and tried to focus on anything other than the nausea.
“Do you want a drink? Maybe it will calm your nerves?”
“I never drink before a performance,” I said, which was true, but that wasn’t the reason now. The smell of Kathy’s Long Island iced tea made the nausea worse. And it was so damn strong.
I swallowed a second time.
“If you say so. Well, I, for one, am super excited to see you do this. I know you’re going to be awesome.”
“Thanks,” I said, smiling back at her. “You’re too sweet.”
“Chloe?” The manager gestured toward me then nodded to the stage.
I gave him a thumbs-up and sauntered toward the front. The manager, Clyde, went on ahead of me and took hold of the mic. The gentle hum of background music cut out.
“Ladies and gentleman, the Flapper Club is proud to present our favorite songstress and local beauty, Chloe Grace!”
A smattering of applause traveled through the room, punctuated by a whooping call from the bar—Kathy, of course. I forced a smile and sauntered onto the stage, putting on the sultry act I did best. I gave a little shoulder wiggle, then took hold of the microphone and nodded to my pianist.
He struck the first chords of my original song, a slow crooner that would appease the evening dinner crowd.
I started slow and soft, blinking my eyes beneath the downlights. My gaze roved over the audience, and for the briefest moment, a glimmer of total insanity, I imagined Jacob was out there, watching me.
My pulse raced, sweat streaked down my spine, and the nausea came again.
I stumbled over a lyric, and a few heads popped up, swiveled toward me.
Shit. Shit, I’m fucking up.
I stopped singing, the bile creeping up the back of my throat now. “Excuse me,” I managed, before turning and rushing off the stage and for the back of the bar. I pushed through a door which led into the hallway and the staff toilets.
Oh god, don’t throw up. Don’t do it.
I smashed into a stall and did exactly
what I hadn’t wanted to.
After, I rose from my knees and flushed, grabbed for toilet paper and pressed it to my mouth. “Oh god,” I groaned. “What the fuck?”
“Chloe?” Kathy’s voice in the bathroom, bouncing off the walls. “Chloe, are you OK?”
“No?” I opened the stall door and tottered out. “God. No, I am not OK. I just threw up everything I’ve ever eaten.”
“Oof,” Kathy said and waved a hand in front of her face. “I can tell. Here.” She rummaged around in her handbag and removed a bottle of water and some Tic Tacs.
I rinsed my mouth out and drank some water down then chewed on a few mints. “Ugh,” I murmured. “Ugh, that was bad.”
“What’s going on? Was that stage fright?”
“No, that was not stage fright. That was something else. I don’t know what. I think I’m sick.”
“Then you’d better come home, honey. Come on, let’s go talk to Clyde. I’m sure he’ll let you go.”
“Yeah.” I followed her out of the bathroom, nerves building in my stomach. I was never sick. I was pretty careful about what I ate and how much exercise I got. I hadn’t been in contact with anyone who was ill. This didn’t make any sense.
Or does it?
* * *
“Here you go. Lie on the sofa, and I’ll get you a bucket,” Kathy said the minute we’d gotten back to the apartment. She swished off to the kitchen immediately, and I lowered myself onto the sofa.
For once, Tabby didn’t leap off in a huff at my presence. She merely opened one eye and flicked her tail. A warning not to get too comfortable. I yawned and pressed the back of my hand to my mouth.
I wasn’t nauseated anymore. Just tired. And confused. Whatever illness this was, it had come and gone. God, it had better be gone—I had a meetup with Addy tomorrow to discuss her upcoming nuptials. They’d decided to marry in LA this month, and she was nervous about it.
“I have a question,” Kathy said as she re-entered the room.
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