High Tea & Flip-Flops

by Linda Cassidy Lewis

  My phone signals a new text message. Everything blurs for a second when I see it’s from him. Afraid to read it, I slap my phone face down on the sofa cushion.

  “It’s all over, isn’t it, Chelsea? He doesn’t love you. He’s telling you he’s not coming back. He’s marrying her. And you’re sitting here talking to your laptop screen like you’ve lost your mind. Just read the damn message.” I turn the phone over.

  I emailed the partial book file to you. Please don’t rush through reading because I’m still editing the last three chapters.

  Huh? I read it again. “Oh come on. Seriously? This is the message he said he sent me weeks ago.”

  I shake my head at the mysteries of cell phones. As soon as I lay mine aside, another alert sounds.

  I agree with most of the editor’s notes, but I’m not sure I want to make one of the changes. I need your input. Please come talk this over with me. At your convenience, of course.

  “What the hell?” I’m being tortured by ghost messages from Jeremy. I dial his number again. This time it doesn’t even ring. A recording tells me the number is not in service. Crushed by the message behind that message, I end the call and toss my phone on the sofa. He must have canceled his service after I called the first time.

  The ache in my throat is unbearable as I close my laptop and head back to bed. It hurts too much to be awake.

  Sometime later, when I finally realize the ringing phone is not part of my dream, I launch myself out of bed and down the hall. My heart, which refuses to listen to my head, hopes it’s Jeremy calling.

  It’s my mom.

  “Have you looked at the website?” she asks when I mumble hello.

  “What website?”

  She sighs like I’m deliberately acting clueless. “The Penny James website, of course.”

  “No. Why?”

  “Jeremy changed it and—”

  “I changed it, Mom. The new book is coming out. So I added—”

  “No. No. No. I’m talking about the Meet Penny page.”

  I open my laptop and click the shortcut. Seconds later, I’m looking at that page. “Ohmygod. Jeremy’s claiming authorship.”

  “Well, yes, but look, he calls you his co-author.”

  “No, don’t you see? He’s not hiding anymore.”

  “Oh. That’s right. Good for him. But, Chelsea, he called you his co-author.”

  Yes. He did. Both our pictures are displayed on the page. Side by side. With our real names. When did he make these changes?

  “When did he do that?” asks my mom.

  “This is the first I’ve seen it.”

  “Well, he told me how much you’ve contributed, but I didn’t realize—”

  “What? When did he tell you that?”

  “Oh … um … we’ve talked.”

  “When I wasn’t there?”

  “Um, a couple of times. But, sweetie, isn’t this great? Now you don’t have to be so stressed about pretending to be the author.”

  “Mom, this is still pretending. Jeremy is the author. You know that. And don’t brush me off. I want to know about these private conversations you had with—”

  “Oops. Sorry, sweetie. I have to run.”

  What the hell? My mother just hung up on me!

  Wait a minute. Am I still asleep? I bite my lip. Would I feel that if I was dreaming? I stare at the laptop screen again. That’s such a great photo of Jeremy. He looks so—

  Stop it, Chelsea.

  When did he make these changes? It must have been before Snooty Bitch showed up. So why didn’t he tell me he’d made the huge decision to out himself? And now, of course, he’ll be sorry he named me as co-author, but he’s so wrapped up in her he’s forgotten to change it back. Well, I’m already logged in. I’ll do it myself.

  Jeremy is Penny James now, so I edit the page to remove any reference to me. Besides, business is business. If he wants to name me as co-author, he needs to draw up a new contract.

  Despite my protests, normal life continues. I still have to eat and sleep and shower and clean up after those activities. I’ve just returned from the laundry room when Gabi walks in.

  “Are you busy?” she asks.

  I almost laugh. “Since when do you ask if I’m busy?”

  She takes her usual spot on the sofa and starts folding my towels. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m okay. How are you?”

  “I’m good.”

  I stare at her for a moment, waiting for her to say why she’s here, but she just keeps folding towels. “Okay, Gabi. What’s up?”

  “Your mom told me Jeremy’s admitting authorship on the Penny James site.”

  “Yeah, and that’s great if he’s decided to come out of his author closet, but I’m sure he’s changed his mind about naming me as co-author, now, so I changed the website back.”

  “When?”

  “As soon as I saw it.”

  “In the last half hour?”

  “No. A few hours ago.”

  She points to my laptop on the coffee table. “You’d better look again.”

  I do. The page loads, showing both mine and Jeremy’s photos.

  “What the hell? I know I changed that.” Again, I delete my photo and any reference to me and reload the page twice to make sure it took.

  Gabi’s frowning. “But if he wants to credit you with—”

  “Can we not talk about Jeremy?”

  She finishes folding the towel in her hands and then heads toward the kitchen. “Can I get you something?” she calls over her shoulder.

  “Coke.”

  She comes back with water for her and a Coke for me. “I’m sorry you’re not in a good place right now. You’d started acting like your old self again because you were really getting into working with—sorry. I forgot you don’t want to talk about him.”

  “You’re right. Working as his assistant did kick me out of my funk. But that job’s over. It’s time to move on. I’m ready to get back on track with our plan.”

  For a moment, Gabi looks blank, and then a series of expressions flit across her face. “You don’t mean the boutique.”

  “Very funny, Gabi. What other plan have we talked about since high school?”

  She stares at me until I have to look away. Apparently, I missed the memo. Gabi and I no longer have a business plan.

  She lays her hand on mine. “I’m sorry, Chels. I guess I thought you’d just know. I mean, with the baby … I don’t want to be a working mother. Remember how we hated that our moms couldn’t be class mom or go on field trips with us and stuff?”

  “Yeah. Sure.” I feel like I just got body slammed, but I turn back to her, hoping I’ve worked up a believable smile. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course you’ll want to be a full-time mother.”

  “You were never really into the boutique idea anyway. Right?” Gabi squeezes my hand and then lets go. “I mean, that’s not your thing. That was all my idea.”

  “Right. I would have been behind the scenes. Keeping the books, doing the ordering, and stuff. And I can do that anywhere.” Her smile tells me I convinced her everything is cool. I should have majored in drama. “Yeah. My brain just isn’t functioning … since Jeremy … ”

  I burst into tears. I didn’t mean to, but I don’t bother to check the flood. Gabi will think I’m crying only over the loss of him.

  Jeremy’s phone is ringing. I reach over to shake him awake, but grab only pillow. My eyes fly open. “Dreaming,” I mumble.

  I grab my phone to check the time and see I have three missed calls. All from Gabi in the last twenty minutes. After lying awake half the night, I can’t believe I slept so deeply I missed my phone ringing twice earlier. I hit call back.

  “What’s up, Gabs?”

  “Why is Jeremy calling me at work?”

  I fall back on the bed with a sigh. “How should I know?”

  “Are you ignoring his calls?”

  “I might, if he made any.”

  �
��He hasn’t called you?”

  “No, Gabi. Did you forget I mean nothing to him now?”

  “He hasn’t even texted?”

  “No. Why should he? And why do you even care?”

  A moment of silence. “Well, twice on Saturday, someone called here asking for me. Chloe took the calls. She says he didn’t give his name or leave a message, but it was some English guy who sounded serious.”

  “That doesn’t mean it was Jeremy. You give your business card to—”

  “Hold on.”

  She mutes her phone, and I stare at the ceiling while I wait for her to come back. It probably was Jeremy calling the boutique office, but why call Gabi and not me? Instead of telling me directly that he’s not coming back, is he going to ask her to relay the message? Of course, chicken shit coward that he is.

  She’s back. “That was Jeremy calling the office again. He lost his phone in the airport on the way to London and couldn’t think how else to get your number. I gave it to him, so I’m hanging up now.”

  “Gab—” I’m still holding the phone against my ear when it rings. I look at the screen, but it shows only Unknown Caller. I let it go to voicemail. I’m sure Gabi told Jeremy she had me on hold, but I’m not ready to hear his voice. I lay my phone on the bed and get up to pee. Then I go to the kitchen to make coffee.

  Avoiding him is stupid, but I’m not sure I want to talk to him yet. I’m not sure I can. That’s also stupid because I tried to call him yesterday morning on business, which is probably the only reason he called me today.

  “Get a grip, Chelsea.”

  With a giant mug of coffee in hand, I return to the bedroom. I listen to his voicemail: “This is Jeremy. Please ring me as soon as possible.” Then he recites his new phone number. I have to listen to it again because my heart was too distracted by the sound of his voice for my head to pay attention to the numbers.

  To delay returning his call, I enter his new number in my contacts list. Then I drink one mug of coffee and half of a second before I hit dial. His phone rings four times, and he’s out of breath when he answers.

  “Chelsea … hello. I was afraid you’d ring off … before I answered.”

  Great. I’ve probably interrupted him and Ms. Bitch in bed. “Well, apparently, you were busy, so—”

  “No!” He takes a deep breath and holds it for a few seconds before exhaling. “I was just running out to my car for something when I heard the phone ringing upstairs. So … hello.”

  “You said that.”

  “Yes. Well. Uh … Gabi told you what happened to my phone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So I lost my contacts list.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Right. So, why do you keep changing the website?”

  Called it. This is just a business call. “I’m not your co-writer. But congratulations on you claiming authorship.”

  He says nothing for several seconds. “Thank you. But it would be dishonest not to credit you with co-writing. How can you argue against that?”

  While I’m sitting on my bed, his voice sounds too intimate. I grab my mug and head back to the kitchen. “You did all the writing, Jeremy.”

  “I did all the typing. What do you think I did with the ream of notes you gave me? What about all the scenes we brainstormed? Probably a third of the dialogue comes straight from your mouth. How are you not co-author?”

  I set my mug in the sink. “Well, maybe I’ve done more on this third book we’re … we were working on, but not as much on the second, and for the first I—”

  “I don’t care. It’s simpler to name us as a team for all the Penny James books. I trust Thursday will be soon enough to make the partnership legal?”

  “Thursday?”

  “That’s the soonest I can return. I still have business to conduct here for the next couple of days.”

  He’s coming back? I can’t help it; my heart quickens. A second later it thuds. I drop into my chair on the patio. Jeremy’s not coming back to me. We’re business partners. That’s all.

  I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. “It would have been nice if you’d told me you were leaving, Jeremy.”

  “Believe me, this was not a planned trip. An emergency situation arose that I needed to handle here. But I sent you a text. And then my phone was … lost. And I couldn’t ring you because I didn’t have your number memorized. I tried emailing you, but you didn’t respond. The only other thing I could think to do was ring the boutique, but Gabi wasn’t there on Saturday. So—”

  “I never got your text. Or your email. That’s suspiciously convenient, don’t you think?”

  “Suspiciously convenient? Are you angry with me? You are. And that’s not fair, Chelsea. I’m clearly not at fault.”

  “Not at fault! Seriously? Good-bye, Jeremy.”

  He calls back immediately, of course. Yes, I’m angry—and hurt, don’t forget hurt. I’m so damn angry I turn off my phone. But for me, that’s like being stranded in the desert, and I turn it back on fifteen minutes later. I have ten missed calls and four voicemails—all from him. I don’t even bother listening to the voicemails before I call him back.

  “Do we have business to discuss, Jeremy, or are you just harassing me?”

  “I spoke with Gabi, and—”

  “I know you did, she gave you my number.”

  “Yes, but then I rang her back because you wouldn’t answer your phone, and now I understand why. We’ve had a massive miscommunication, Chelsea.”

  “Get real, Jeremy. ‘Massive miscommunication’ is a massive understatement. Don’t call me again unless it’s business—very urgent important business. I will not respond to your calls, and I will not listen to your voicemails. Got it? Good-bye.”

  This time, I leave my phone turned off for good. Then I shower and dress and get in my car. I don’t know where I’m going, but I need to drive.

  CHAPTER 22

  My drive ends at the beach. Breathing in the sea scents and bathed in sunshine, I stand on the pier watching the waves. I’m surrounded by people, talking, laughing, holding hands, and stealing kisses. I’ve never felt so alone in my life.

  After a few hours of sitting and walking and trying to fill the hollow inside me with junk food, it occurs to me that my mother might be worried. I turn on my phone long enough to text her and say I’m all right but don’t feel like talking to anyone.

  It’s midafternoon when I leave the pier, and I’m walking along the beach when I see a crowd up ahead. My heart thuds at the thought someone has been injured, maybe drowned. As I get closer, I’m relieved to see no victim lying on the sand. Instead, the fifteen or so people, mostly male, are surrounding a tall blond man. A familiar man. Dusty.

  I pick up my pace, but when I get to the crowd, I stand back a bit, watching. I know a couple of these guys. They used to surf with me and my ex, Kyle. Speak of the devil …

  “Hey, Chelsea,” Kyle calls from the other side of the crowd. We dated for over a year, so I can tell, even from this distance, he’s all puffed up like he’s personally responsible for Dusty’s presence here. Like they’re besties or something.

  “Kyle,” I say and give him a lukewarm smile. I look away, back toward Dusty—who’s now staring straight at me. And smiling.

  “How’s it going, Chelsea,” he calls.

  I smile back. “It’s going.”

  Two seconds later, Kyle steps in front of me. Behind him, the crowd parts as Dusty moves toward me.

  “How does he know you?” Kyle asks with a sneer, making it clear he thinks I’m unworthy to stand on the same beach as the great Dusty Haines.

  Dusty answers him. “We’ve spent some glorious hours together, dude.” Pushing Kyle aside, he steps forward, drapes his arm around my shoulders, and kisses me. “Is it time to leave, babe?”

  “Yeah. We’ve got that barbecue to get to.”

  “Taking off, dudes,” Dusty tells the crowd. “Hang loose.” His announcement is greeted by murmurs and groans—and Ky
le’s cursing. “Thank you for rescuing me,” Dusty whispers.

  We walk away up the beach. I don’t know where Dusty’s headed, but I stay by his side.

  “That was my ex,” I say.

  “Yeah, I figured that out. Obnoxious jerk. How did you stand him?”

  I shrug. “Maybe I was obnoxious too.”

  “Never,” he says. “About that barbecue—”

  “Sorry, that’s the first thing that popped into my head.”

  “No,” he says, “that was a good one, but now I’m starved. Got time to share a meal with me, or is your white knight anxiously awaiting your return?”

  Here’s where I could lie and save some pride, but what’s the use? “Jeremy turned out to be not so white,” I say. Black sheep. “He’s engaged to someone else.”

  Dusty stops dead. “For real?”

  I nod.

  “What an idiot,” he says, shaking his head.

  We resume walking. I’m trying to ignore that he’s moved his hand from my shoulder to my waist. I guess we’re having dinner together.

  Dusty wasn’t joking that I made him hungry for barbecue, so he follows me in his car to this genuine soul food place I know—well, genuine as far as I know. Your nose picks up the mouthwatering smells a block away because they cook the meats outside in smoker grills made from steel drums. Looks like the real thing to this SoCal girl.

  Usually, I try to avoid eating messy foods on dates because I’m sort of a klutz, right? But Dusty has a way of relaxing me. It feels like we’ve been friends for ages, like if I had barbecue sauce all over my face and hands, he would make himself even messier, and we’d laugh about it.

  “So,” I say as we wait for our order, “was Kyle acting like a jerk already or just after he found out we’d met?”

  “Already,” Dusty says. “I’ve learned there are two kinds of fans: one kind follows your career, admires your skill, and likes to discuss the sport with you. The other follows your career, is jealous of your skill, and acts like you owe them something.”

  “And Kyle is the second kind.”

  “You got it.”