Thirty-Three Going On Girlfriend (The Spinster Series Book 2)

by Becky Monson

  “I wouldn’t know.” Jared heartily yawns in my ear. “I haven’t even had a chance to go anywhere near there, I’ve been so busy with work.”

  “Still liking it?” I asked him this yesterday, but I’m holding out for him to hate it and move back home.

  “So far. Since it’s only been two days, yes,” he says, sarcasm swimming through his tone.

  I hate his job, even after two days. Perhaps I can hate it enough for both of us. I thought I hated what he did for work before. Now I’d give anything for him to go back to it. Lesson learned — be careful what you complain about.

  “Well, that’s good I guess,” I say in plain, unexcited tones.

  “Jules, don’t get all down on me,” he says, fitting in a yawn after he said my name.

  “I’m not,” I blandly protest. “I just wish things were different, that’s all.”

  “So do I,” he says, and I believe him.

  We’re silent for a moment—me contemplating the meaning of life, because I’m deep like that. Really, I’m just feeling sorry for myself. I need to lighten up.

  “How are things at the bakery?” Jared asks after the bout of silence. I don’t get nervous when we are silent. It’s a comfortable silence with Jared.

  “Good. Busy.” I don’t have much to offer. Not much has happened since he left. “Oh, wait,” I say, remembering something that happened. “This morning when I went in I found a sock on the floor in the front of the bakery.”

  “A sock?” Jared says, confusion in his voice.

  “Yes, a sock. It was totally random. I saw something peeking out from under one of the tables and so I went to grab it and it was a sock. A man’s stretched-out, black sock, like my dad wears.”

  “That’s weird,” Jared says, even though I can tell he doesn’t think it’s weird at all but is just trying to appease me.

  “I know you don’t actually think it’s weird, but think about it. Who would leave one black sock in a bakery? That’s not a normal place people take their shoes off and relax.”

  “Very mysterious,” he offers flatly.

  “Could you at least try?” I ask, rolling my eyes at him even though he can’t see me.

  “Yes, yes. Black sock. Who left the black sock in the bakery? It’s all very suspicious. Maybe you could get Sherlock on the case.” He chuckles at himself.

  “Well, maybe if I could get Benedict Cumberbatch to do it, I would,” I say, in my best smarty-pants voice.

  “Hey, now,” he chides.

  “Oh, and another sort of weird thing. I brought the sock into the kitchen and showed the gals and Debbie got all crazy and red-faced over it. I guess she thought I was saying it was hers? That’s what Patti thought, at least.”

  That was very odd for Debbie. She’s been acting so weird lately. Talking to herself when she thinks we aren’t watching her, and then when we call her out on it, she turns red, mutters to herself, and walks away.

  “Please make sure you keep me updated on the case of the mysterious sock,” Jared says, unconvincingly.

  “You know what? I will. Just because you clearly don’t want to hear about it.”

  “Me?” He feigns innocence. “I was on the edge of my seat the entire time.”

  “Shut up!” I say, but I’m laughing when I say it.

  He chuckles into the phone. He thinks he’s so hilarious.

  “Hey, so remember that time at Spectraltech when you practically attacked me in the conference room?” I say, deciding to change the subject since my sock story was going nowhere, except to give Jared the opportunity to tease me. Anyway, saying it out loud made me realize that it was, in fact, a completely pointless story. But it’s still mysterious, even if pointless.

  “Yes,” he says. I can visualize him smiling. “Haven’t we gone over this before?”

  “Yes, but there is one thing I’ve never asked you that I’ve always wanted to know,” I say, and then start chewing on my bottom lip.

  “Shoot,” he says.

  “So that day, when you attacked me in the conference room—“

  “I did not attack you. Would you stop saying it like that? You make me sound like some kind of pervert.”

  “Okay, fine, that day in the conference room when you romantically grabbed me and kissed me passionately—“

  “Yes, much better,” he says.

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why did you do it?”

  He sighs. “Jules, you’ve asked me this question about a thousand times.”

  “I know. I just like the answer. Go ahead. I’m waiting.”

  “Fine. I kissed you because—even against my best judgment—I found you intriguing, irresistible, and cute.”

  “What? You said ‘adorable’ last time,” I protest.

  “Did I? Okay, fine. I found you intriguing, irresistible, and adorable. I couldn’t help myself.”

  I sigh a heavy, dramatic sigh. “I just love that story.”

  “I know you do.” He chuckles into the phone.

  “I’ve got to go to bed,” I say, sadly. I don’t want to hang up the phone. Maybe we could just keep the call going while we sleep. How romantic is that? Although over the phone and not in his arms, my snoring—and possibly other bodily noises—would probably not come across as very appealing. So that might not be in my best interest.

  “Me, too. I’m exhausted,” he says. Like I hadn’t gathered that from all the yawns.

  “Talk to you tomorrow,” I say, feeling another sad ping in my heart at the way things are now.

  “Hey, Jules?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I love you,” he says, simply.

  “Me, too,” I say, my heart warming up quickly. “I, er, mean, I love you, too.”

  I’m getting so much better at this saying I love you thing. Not really, but I’ll keep telling myself that.

  We hang up and I lay back on the couch, holding my phone against my chest. He loves me. I love him. Our love will get us through this.

  Lia’s stupid cards were so wrong. Google was wrong. We are going to be just fine.

  CHAPTER 20

  I’m just going to keep calm. Keep calm and not get annoyed that I haven’t heard from Jared in nearly thirty hours. Yes, I’ve been keeping track like a stalker. I can’t help myself.

  It’s no big deal that we haven’t talked. This is not a sign of things to come. I will not believe Lia the Witch, or Google . . . or history. In with the everything-is-fine thoughts. Out with the I-want-to-slap-my-boyfriend thoughts.

  After all, he’s only been gone for nearly two weeks now. Everything was good in the beginning, great even. Things have been slightly strained as of late, though. Texts and calls were tapering off, but I wasn’t freaking out (well, not totally) because I knew we had to find our groove, but then last weekend happened. Last weekend when I got super-duper-over-the-top mad that he was letting his ex-girlfriend, Kirsten (who happens to live in Manhattan), take him around to see the sites.

  First of all, I had no idea that Kirsten lived in Manhattan. That was never mentioned before, even though he actually knew that fact. He told me that he didn’t say anything earlier because she’s so unimportant to him that he didn’t even think to tell me about her. I’d have given him the benefit of the doubt over that had he not just had lunch with her when he mentioned her living there. One would think that if you’re having lunch with your ex-girlfriend, you should probably inform your current girlfriend prior to said lunch. But, apparently, that kind of information is not on Jared’s radar. Especially when it “meant nothing to him.”

  Well, it meant something to me. We got in a pretty big fight about it, over the phone of course, since we are a bazillion miles away from each other. It’s hard to fight over the phone—things sound harsher when facial expressions aren’t involved. Things were said that would have come across less harsh (on his part) and less paranoid (on my part) if we had been speaking face to face. It was kind of worked out, or at least we
came to an understanding of sorts, but it feels like things have been strained since. It’s probably just me, because I’m a girl and I hold on to things, but it’s strained nonetheless.

  It was, once again, a reminder of how far away we are from each other and how easily things can slip away and then off into someone else’s arms. Or something like that. It’s not that I don’t trust Jared. I do. I just don’t trust that tramp, Kirsten. I’ve never met Kirsten, so I’m only assuming she’s a tramp. But I’m probably right.

  So it’s pretty obvious why it would bother me so much that we haven’t talked in so long, because when I don’t hear from him, my horrible, girlish mind likes to punish me by envisioning him and Kirsten the Tramprunning off into the sunset together. And then that little, annoying voice in my head gets louder and louder saying, “This isn’t going to work.”

  Currently, I’m trying to stop myself from going there, because I’m stronger and better than that. Nope, I will not go there.

  “WHAT THE HELL!” I scream from my office and slam my smart phone down on my desk.

  Then I quickly pick it up to make sure I didn’t do anything to it.

  “Who peed in your Cheerios?” Patti yells from the kitchen where she’s working on cookies for the lunch rush.

  “Jared did. Jared peed in my Cheerios,” I say as I walk out of my office. I start pulling out supplies to make lemon bars, slamming each one on the counter as I grab them.

  Note to self: slamming a bag of flour down on the counter (or any surface for that matter), is a bad idea. Now I have a mess to clean up. I blame Jared for that, too.

  “What did Jared do?” Patti asks, her forehead creased with concern.

  “It’s not what he did. It’s what he didn’t do,” I say as I poorly try to sweep up the spilled flour. I abandon it quickly though, and decide to start cracking eggs for the batter. Breaking things just feels right all of a sudden.

  “Okay, so what didn’t he do?” She puts her hand on her hip. Patti does not like to beat around the bush.

  “I’ve only talked to him one time since yesterday morning. One time! How are we supposed to carry on a relationship if we are already not talking on a regular basis, not even a couple of weeks into it?” I say, yelling at Patti. Even though I don’t mean to direct my frustration at her, I can’t help myself.

  He did warn me yesterday that he had a client dinner that night and might not be able to call me, but promised to send a text at the very least. But he didn’t send the text, and here we are, late afternoon the next day, and still nothing. Not a peep.

  “I’m sure he’s just super busy—”

  “Don’t give him excuses. You know, I believed you and Debbie when you said we would be fine, that this whole long-distance thing would work out. But now I think you were just saying that.” I stare down into the mixing bowl. I’ve just cracked about a dozen eggs into it without even knowing. I only needed six. Great. Now Jared is making me waste supplies.

  I wasn’t going to say anything to Patti and Debbie just yet. But I needed to talk to somebody or I was going to explode. Their words and even their expressions didn’t give away the fact that they might have thought Jared and I were doomed when I explained what was going on. Either they have really good poker faces, or they truly do believe it. But even if they do believe it, what do they know? They are both ridiculous, hopeless romantics. I never told them about the whole Kirsten wrench—probably because it’s not actually a wrench and I most likely overreacted. I don’t want to hear them tell me that.

  “There’s gonna be some adjustment time,” Patti says, using tones that she’s obviously trying to force. Soothing and coddling do not come easy to Patti.

  “Yes, adjusting to being away from each other and getting used it, and then getting comfortable with it,” I say, tearing up. Dang you Google. If I hadn’t read those articles, the thought wouldn’t be in my head. I also blame Lia, that stupid witch. She totally hexed me. I think I’m going to have to ban her from coming into the bakery with her bad juju.

  My phone beeps to alert me that I have a text. I run to my office. It must be Jared. My heart lightens slightly. I’m not that high maintenance, I swear. I just need a little communication here. That’s all I’m asking for.

  I grab my phone, already thinking of replies. Most of them consisting of “Where the H have you been?” But when I look at the screen, it’s not a text from Jared. My heart sinks. It’s a text from Anna.

  Help! Wedding disaster! Need ur help!

  Yes, perfect. My boyfriend who’s far away is frustratingly unreachable, so to help pass the time until I reach him, karma has sent my whiny, bride-to-be sister. Well played, karma, well played.

  I start to write her a text to tell her I can’t meet up until after the bakery closes, but then I decide that getting out of here early might be just what I need. I’ll stay through the lunch rush and then ask Debbie and Patti if they mind closing up shop.

  Whatever this disaster is, I hope it’s going to help me change my focus. I’d be willing to wager money that it’s not, though.

  ~*~

  It turns out the emergency is that Anna, in her wedding planning craze, forgot to find a going away outfit for after the reception.

  So not even remotely a disaster.

  I have to say, some retail therapy has actually helped ease the fact that I still have not heard from Jared. That little annoying voice in the back of my mind is gnawing at my brain, repeating “this is not going to work” over and over again. I try to shake it off, but it’s hard.

  It’s just that, Patti and Debbie aside, it feels like the universe is trying to tell me something. I’ve never been a huge sign-seeker before . . . Oh, who am I kidding? Of course I have. I search for signs everywhere. I need to stop.

  “What do you think?” Anna says as she comes out of the dressing room, modeling probably the fiftieth dress (only a slight exaggeration).

  “Great,” I say flatly. I’ve liked pretty much all of the dresses she’s picked out. This shouldn’t be that hard.

  “What’s your deal?” she asks, giving me snooty-faced duck-lips.

  “Nothing. I just haven’t heard from Jared.” I slump back in my chair, grumpily.

  “Where is Jared these days?” she asks, surprising me that she even heard what I said.

  “He’s in New York,” I say.

  “How long will he be there?” Her eyebrows pull together and down.

  “Um, who knows?” I don’t want to talk about it right now because it needs to be a longer discussion, and Anna does not have the capacity to talk for longer than thirty seconds about anything that is non-wedding-related. Plus, she could fall asleep on me again. There’s just no point.

  I cannot wait until this wedding is over so I can have her back. Well, except that she’ll have Jonathon in tow then. But I’ll learn to deal with him. I hope.

  “Well, he better be back for my wedding. If he’s not there, then it will mess up the whole seating arrangement,” she says as she slumps down in the open chair next to me.

  “He’ll be here,” I say in monotone. I have no idea why one person would mess up her entire seating chart, but I don’t feel like asking.

  “Hey, have you worked on your toast yet? You know the maid of honor has to give a toast,” she says, a worried look on her face, probably because she thinks I’ve forgotten.

  I had forgotten, but I won’t be telling her that.

  “Of course,” I fib, trying quickly to think up something in case she asks me for a sample of what I plan to say.

  I’m totally drawing a blank at this point. Luckily, she doesn’t press further.

  Anna rests her head on the back of the seat. “I’ll be so glad when my wedding day is here.”

  You and me both, kid, you and me both.

  “It seems like so far away, and it’s next week,” she says, closing her eyes. “And there’s still so much to do.”

  Yes, like your maid of honor needs to write her toast.

>   “Can’t Jonathon help out more now that he has those two big cases behind him?” I ask, using my best I’m-not-attacking voice.

  She stares me down, annoyed. “Julia, he has other cases that he’s working on. You, of all people, should know how that works, since both our dad and our brother are lawyers.”

  “Yes, but Dad’s his boss. Can’t he cut him a little slack?” I give her an annoyed look back.

  “No way! Jonathon wouldn’t want to look like a weakness to the firm,” she says, putting her head against the backrest and closing her eyes once more. “Besides, I can handle this.”

  Of course dear, sweet, pompous little Jooonathon wouldn’t want to seem weak. Heaven forbid he act like a real human being and not just a robot lawyer.

  “I’m starving,” I say, changing the subject. “Let’s go get something to eat.” Maybe, just maybe, if I get her to go out to eat with me, Anna might have time to listen to the whole Jared moving debacle and give me some sound advice.

  “No can do,” she says, placing her hands on the tops of her knees as she goes to stand. “I’m on a juice fast until the wedding.”

  “Anna, you can’t do that. It’s still an entire week until the wedding. You need to eat,” I say, a sudden protective, big sister feeling rattles through me. Plus, I want her to go out with me.

  “Oh, Julia.” She bats a hand at me. “I’m eating one real meal a day. It’s just that I had that meal when I had lunch with Jonathon, so I have to have juice for dinner.” She rolls her eyes. “I need to make sure I fit into my wedding dress.”

  I give a non-approving “hmph.” I’m pretty sure her dress will fit just fine. I’ve been with her for nearly all of the fittings, and it fit every time. I’m also perturbed that she wasted her one meal with Jonathon. It might not have felt wasted to her, but still.

  So much for having a little time with Anna. I guess I’ll just have to keep waiting . . . impatiently, apparently. Maybe this is a sign. Maybe it’s time I stood on my own two feet and went with my own gut and didn’t rely so heavily on Anna and Brown. Honestly, I’m old enough to make my own decisions, or rather too old to let other people help me make my decisions for me.