“You call him Harry?” Daren said, his voice all sappy and sentimental. “That’s so sweet.”
She shot him a look and he schooled his features. “Sorry. Not the time. That’s crazy that you rode in the same cab.”
“It’s like the universe is playing some cruel game of hide and seek. Even though I left, I can’t seem to get away from him. And seriously. What are the odds? The same cab? Chicago has millions of cabs.”
“Maybe not millions. And drivers often stay in the same parts of the city. He was somewhere around your apartment building, it’s maybe not that crazy. But still. I see your point.”
That maybe made a little bit of sense. Zoey had ridden in cabs with the same driver before on her way to or from work. But it was still pretty unbelievable.
“Do you mind if I ask why you did leave?” Daren asked. “You weren’t leaving him, were you?”
Zoey didn’t answer. How could she?
“It’s complicated?” Daren finally asked.
“Yeah,” Zoey said with a sigh.
“Hang in there,” Daren said, giving her arm one more squeeze. “And text the super about your faucet. It’s not a hard fix, but you shouldn’t use your shower until he takes care of it.”
Zoey nodded. At least she had a guest bathroom she could use. “Thanks. Please tell Ryan I’m sorry I woke him up. I owe you guys.”
After texting the super, Zoey pulled up her text thread with Harry and stared at his lack of response. So he was in Chicago. Somewhere close enough that he’d been at her apartment a few hours before.
Why hadn’t he responded? If he’d come all this way, if he’d made the effort to find her apartment, why not respond to her text? She sent one more message, promising herself that if he didn’t respond after this one, she’d be done.
My neighbors told me they saw you today. Are you still in town? Can I see you?
She plugged the phone in next to her bed and gathered her things to haul them to the tiny guest bathroom on the other side of the apartment. Even after her shower, Harry still hadn’t responded.
Zoey curled up under her comforter and turned off her lamp, willing herself to forget Harry long enough to get some sleep.
Try as she might to turn her brain off, one thought kept pushing to the surface. This was not what going home to Chicago was supposed to feel like.
Chapter 16
Harry sat in Ms. Emily’s kitchen, his head between his hands. “I just couldn’t do it,” he said. It had been three weeks since he’d flown to Chicago and then home again. He hadn’t been to see Ms. Emily in all that time. It was a cowardly thing to do, but he was almost embarrassed to face her. He’d stood outside Zoey’s apartment door. He’d sat in the lobby of her building. He’d ridden in cabs around and around her block. But he’d never gotten up the courage to see her. As time went by, he felt more and more foolish, so much that it not only kept him from texting Zoey again, but from seeing Ms. Emily as well.
“I guess when I saw her apartment, her neighbors, when I envisioned her life in Chicago, I realized she was right. I was expecting her to leave her life behind. I wasn’t thinking about what was really on the line. I acted like the only thing she had going on that didn’t revolve around me was taking care of you.” Harry looked up. “Not that you weren’t the most important thing.”
Ms. Emily smiled. “I know what you mean.”
“I think I screwed up,” Harry said. “I should have supported her doing the interview. I should have told her I was willing to make it work, even if she did have to move back to Chicago. I mean, I wouldn’t want to do long distance forever, but I shouldn’t have pressured her to make a final decision so soon. I should have been willing to give her space, to support her career choices.”
“You have to understand, Harry. Zoey feels a lot of pressure from her mother to get married, to have a family. And she wants those things, too. But she’s always fought hard against the idea that that’s all she was meant to do. She’s always been a dreamer. She wanted to make something of herself. To make a difference in the world. Then she lost her job and I think it shook her. When she moved out here, she found a new version of herself in the life she shared with you. I think it scared her how much she loved it. Maybe it felt like she had to choose.”
“But it doesn’t have to be one or the other, does it?” Harry asked. “I would never expect her to walk away from something that’s important to her.”
Ms. Emily cocked her head. “Wouldn’t you?”
Harry’s gut tightened. He had asked her to give it all up. Had dismissed what was important to her in a matter of words. “It isn’t what I meant to do. I would never expect her to give up her career.”
“I’m sure that’s true. I think Zoey will figure out that she doesn’t have to pick one or the other. She might just need a little time.”
Harry shook his head. “I don’t know. She told me it was her dream job. And now she’s got it. I’ve been watching clips, as many as I can get my hands on, and she’s really good at what she does. Plus, she seems happy.”
“Harry. A news broadcast is not an accurate reflection of her emotions.”
Ms. Emily made a good point. But Zoey did look happy. There was a light in her eyes, cheesy as that sounded. She seemed content. Harry thought of the three-word response he’d sent her the last time she’d texted him, telling him she knew he’d been in Chicago. By the time he’d gotten the message, he’d already landed in L.A..
I’m sorry, Zoey, he had texted.
It was the last time they had communicated.
It hadn’t been hard to keep himself busy. He’d taken Hannah and Oliver to Portland for two weeks—his mom had taken some vacation time to come with him—to do the renovation for the special needs family, and then the week after they’d gotten back, Hannah had started kindergarten. Hannah had asked about Zoey enough times that he couldn’t forget her completely, but he’d been able to focus on the next thing enough to keep himself from wallowing too completely. Or worse, from reaching out to her and begging her to come back.
Which is exactly what he wanted to do. He never would, though. He’d never risk making her feel like he expected it.
“Have you talked to her lately?” he asked, looking up to meet Ms. Emily’s eye.
She nodded. “She calls once or twice a week.”
“Is she happy?”
“Sure. In a way. But I think she misses you too. She’s asked about you.”
Harry perked up. “What did you tell her?”
“Harrison Beckford. This is not an elementary school playground. I’m not going to play she said, he said with you. If you want to talk to Zoey, call her.”
Ms. Emily was right, but it was easier said than done. Each day that passed without talking to her made it feel that much harder to initiate a conversation. What would she think? Would she forgive him for showing up in Chicago only to freak out and fly home without seeing her? Would she forgive his insensitivity for suggesting her career wasn’t important? Would she still want to see him? Would she want to give him another chance?
If anything was clear, it was that he hated his life without her in it. Things were fine. The show was fine. The kids were fine. His family was fine. But without Zoey in his life, the world had lost its shine.
Chapter 17
Zoey sat at the anchor desk, minutes before going live, and reviewed her notes for the broadcast. It was all pretty straight forward. It had been a relatively slow news day and the headlines were pretty low key, but she was fine with that. They’d been covering a high stakes murder trial the last few weeks; she was ready for something a little tamer. After headlines, they’d be doing an extended weather segment—snow in October was odd, even for Chicago—and then they were airing a pre-taped interview with a Chicago-native author who had written a self-help book. Something about finding your best life through intentional dreams and aspirations.
Zoey wasn’t necessarily big on self-help books. At least, she never had been
before, but she’d been in the studio when they’d filmed the interview earlier that day and she’d been captivated by something the author had said.
“A poorly defined dream is like a young girl dreaming of the wedding, without giving any thought to the groom,” she had said. “What’s a wedding? It’s an event. But life isn’t about events. It’s about people. About connections. What kind of marriage do you want? What kind of job do you want? Dream about what you want to get out of your life and let that set your priorities.”
Zoey had pulled out her phone and immediately written out what the author had said. There was truth to the words. It resonated in Zoey’s gut and spoke to her in a meaningful way. What she couldn’t figure out is if that’s what she had done. Had she dreamed of a job, of accomplishing a thing that no one her age had ever done before just because she liked the thrill of accomplishing something big? Had she thought about what she wanted to actually get out of her life, or had it all just been about the accomplishment?
“Live in sixty seconds,” a producer called out, pulling Zoey’s attention back to the present.
It had been almost two months since she’d started at Channel 4, and she loved what she did. There was no denying that.
But at the end of the day, at the end of every day, Zoey was lonely. And the longer she was away from Harry, the more Zoey was convinced there was only one man that could make that loneliness go away.
“In five, four, three . . .”
Zoey watched her producer count down the last two numbers silently then looked directly into the camera. “Live in Chicago, I’m Zoey Williamson and this is Channel 4 News.”
After the broadcast, Zoey snagged a copy of the author’s book from the studio. There were several copies laying around—they’d been sent over from the publisher—so she didn’t think anyone would miss just one. She took it home, ate leftover Chinese from her fridge while running herself a bath, then settled into the tub and started to read.
“In a world where we are programmed to achieve, achieve, achieve, are we brave enough to acknowledge that what we achieve might not be the thing that makes us happy?” Zoey read out loud. She reached up with her toe and turned on the hot water, running some fresh warmth into her nearly tepid tub. She was shriveled to true raisin status, but she couldn’t put the book down long enough to actually get herself out of the water.
She read the line again.
Zoey had been chasing her dream of anchoring the evening news since her first semester of college. And she’d managed to get it. But now what? She’d told Harry she felt like she needed to interview for the job so that she didn’t resent him for the lost opportunity. But now she had the opportunity and it didn’t feel as good as she had expected it to.
She flipped back a few chapters in the book and found a checklist designed to distill the truth out of any situation. For her, she’d apply the listed questions to her work.
Is it satisfying? Yes.
Do you enjoy it? Yes.
Does it fill you up and make you feel like you matter? Yes and yes.
So far, so good.
The next question read, Does it bring you joy?
Zoey dropped the book outside the tub and sank into the water. She was happy when she was at work. But she wasn’t sure if, overall, she would say her life had any true joy in it. There was a difference between happiness and joy. Happiness was a tall vanilla cream at Starbucks. But that hardly compared to the feel of Harry’s lips on hers, or the sound of Oliver’s laughter when she’d tickle him behind his knees.
Was the satisfaction of achieving something wonderful worth leaving behind a continual source of joy in her life? Particularly when, with just a little bit of effort, she could have both?
Because she could have both. She’d been so fixated on the possibility of getting the anchor job at Channel 4, she’d dismissed the possibility of working in L.A.
Much of what she’d told Harry about the L.A. industry was true. It would be more competitive. But that didn’t mean it would be impossible.
She could try.
But it was almost November.
It had been months since she’d last talked to Harry. Would he even still want her to try? Nothing sounded more terrible than upending her life and moving to California permanently only to have him reject her because he’d fallen in love with someone else. She’d spent weeks agonizing over why he hadn’t wanted to actually see her when he came to Chicago. All signs pointed to the possibility that he’d changed his mind about her.
Nervous energy coursed through her as she thought about the possibilities. She could text him. Call him. Get on a plane and go and see him.
No. She couldn’t go see him. That felt too risky. Nothing said drama like showing up at your old boyfriend’s house and having the new girlfriend open the door. It’s possible Zoey had watched too many romantic comedies, but that felt like too real of a possibility for her to take that risk.
Calling felt risky as well. What if she said something stupid?
Even though she’d built her career around her ability to speak and communicate clearly, she had zero confidence that in this situation she’d be able to keep it together. And again. Too many movies had awkward phone call scenes.
That left texting. Was it too high school? Maybe. But it also felt . . . safe.
Zoey stood up and reached for a towel, wrapping it around herself as she stepped out of the tub. She grabbed another for her hair, then quickly went through the motions of getting ready for bed, all the while thinking about what she might say if she sent a text.
She thought while she brushed her teeth.
While she flossed and exfoliated and applied lotion to her arms.
She thought while she picked out her pajamas and double checked that her front door was locked and checked again that her balcony door was locked, even though she’d checked it that morning and she was positive she hadn’t gone out on the balcony all day.
Finally, when she climbed into bed, she allowed herself to pick up her phone. Chasing a sudden impulse, she texted her mom instead of Harry.
Honest question, she texted. Do you ever wish you had a different life?
I need context, her mom immediately responded. What do you mean?
Zoey tapped her phone against her lip. Were me and Nathan enough? Raising us. Was it enough?
It took her mom a few minutes to respond. Finally a long message came through.
You were more than enough. In hindsight I wish I’d done more to figure out what I liked to do as a person. I was great at being a mom, but I was afraid to be more than that. I got started a little late figuring out who I am as a person, and not just as a mom. I’ve floundered a little bit the past few years, though the grandkids have helped with that. But I still don’t have any regrets, Zoey. You and your brother made me so happy. You’re the greatest thing I ever did.
Zoey read the text over and over. It was maybe the most transparent her mother had ever been. Thanks, Mom, she replied.
Then she started a new text thread and sent Harry a single word before she could chicken out.
Hi.
Chapter 18
Hi.
Harry stared at his phone.
One word.
She’d texted one single word.
For three days he carried that word around in his mind.
What did it mean? How should he respond?
Finally, after three days of agonizing over how—and if—to respond, he texted back.
Hi.
Her response was almost immediate.
That three days of waiting nearly killed me.
He smiled. Another message popped up before he could respond. I’m nervous, she had typed.
Well. He could relate to that. Me too, he responded.
How are you?
How was he? Could he even answer honestly? He was managing well enough. He had a new nanny who was great, and his sister had gotten far enough along in her pregnancy that she wasn’t quite so sick.
He’d wrapped up his seventh season of Right-On Renovations, which allowed him more time to work on his product line. The kids were happy enough, though Hannah had a taken a little longer than he’d hoped to get used to kindergarten. Still, she was fine now, so could he even complain? The truth was, whether or not everything else in his life was running smoothly or not hardly mattered at the end of the day. He was off kilter without Zoey. Once he’d gotten used to her daily presence, he couldn’t shake how wrong it felt without her around.
He’d thought he was falling in love with her before she left. But her leaving had only confirmed the fact times ten. He loved her. Now more than ever.
It likely didn’t help that he ended everyday with her news broadcast. Seeing her face, and hearing her talk kept the memories he had of her real and vivid.
But he couldn’t exactly say all that in a text.
I’m surviving, he finally said. It felt true enough.
Just surviving?
Harry dropped onto the couch, pushing aside the blanket and picture books Oliver had left there that morning. I got a new nanny, he texted back. She cooks.
He leaned back onto the cushions, his heart racing and waited for her to reply.
Chapter 19
She cooks?
How was Zoey supposed to respond to that? Congrats on the upgrade? All sorts of uncharitable thoughts pushed through Zoey’s mind. She hoped the nanny was ugly. And old. And already married. Oddly, nearly as potent as the sting of Harry potentially caring about someone else—not to imply that Harry had a habit of dating his nannies, but her mind wasn’t exactly thinking rationally at the moment—was the sting of the kids caring about someone else. She missed them. Really missed them.
Before Zoey could respond, Harry sent another message. I’ve been watching your broadcasts.
Zoey couldn’t stop herself from smiling. That was a subject change she could appreciate.
You’re really good, Zoe, his next message read.
Always You: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (ABCs of Love Collection Books 5-8) Page 65