by JB Salsbury
“Everything okay?” Jack asks, his fingers thumbing through records even though his eyes are on me.
“Yeah, great.” I pretend to search for a specific album.
“Surfing, huh?”
The back of my neck prickles with unease, but I’m used to faking like I’m okay, so I nod. “Impossible to live in San Diego and not give it a try.”
I sound casual enough. I feel his eyes on me, and I dip my chin and hope it hides my face.
“That’s cool.” Finally he goes back to looking at records. “Maybe you could show me. We could head down to the beach—”
I slam back the stack of records. “Don’t you have a meeting to get to?”
His eyebrows squish together and he fidgets with the albums. “I do. Not until this afternoon though.”
I check the Pink Floyd wall clock. “It’s almost eleven. I should probably get back. I have a… thing.”
His eyebrows drop low in suspicion. “Actually, I wanted to ask if I could take you out to dinner tonight.”
“I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“Tomorrow?”
“No, busy.”
“Sadie, I’m trying to be patient here. You’re blowing me off left and right and I have no idea why.”
A slow fire stirs in my gut. He seems genuinely unaware. How could he not know? “I haven’t heard from you in almost two years.”
“So that’s it? We grow apart and now we’re broken forever?”
We aren’t broken. I am. My bottom lip quakes, but I refuse to let him see me cry. “Goodbye, Jackson.”
I run out of the record store, cursing myself for not being stronger. Frustration fuels my steps as I consider the unfairness of life. Things could’ve been different if only I’d made better choices. If only I hadn’t been so desperate to feel loved again.
I am pathetic.
Any more time spent with Jack, he’d eventually see it too.
It’s best he can still see me as the girl I used to be.
Jack
Watching Mission Impossible in a five-star hotel room on Saturday night was not how I saw this whole spontaneous trip to San Diego thing playing out. I thought for sure that after spending some time together, Sadie would feel all the things I felt when I saw her at Tanner’s wedding—the rush of memories, the resurgence of feelings, the regret of too much lost time.
I assumed once we were face to face, I could get her to open up to me. I suppose I should be happy her closed-off, flippant attempts to redirect conversation aren’t reserved for only Dawn but me as well.
I may not be able to read her like I used to, but I have killer intuition, and something about Sadie seems wrong. Telling myself it’s because we lost touch isn’t working anymore. Something is going on with her and I won’t give up until I know what it is.
I look at the last myBubble message I sent her.
* * *
I had the worst day. My dishwasher broke, I got a flat tire, and I spilled wine on my new couch. Tell me yours was better.
* * *
The clock says it’s nearly seven o’clock, so whatever her event was tonight must have started already. I grind my teeth, thinking about where she might be in one of those sexy dresses—or who she could be with.
Mister I-swing-both-ways-gigantor-dick Rick didn’t exactly leave me with the warm fuzzies after our interaction earlier today. If only she’d talk to Dawn more, really open up and spill her guts.
I get an idea and punch out a new text.
* * *
Do you ever feel like no one understands you?
* * *
When there isn’t an immediate response, I set my phone down and drown my discouragement in a mini bag of pretzels. Tom Cruise is on his seventh escape from near death when the myBubble app pings.
* * *
My day was weird. And yes, I constantly feel like an outsider. I’m sorry about your crappy day.
* * *
I toss aside the pretzels and stare at her message as if it’s a door and my response could be the key that’ll open her up. Or my response could add another lock. So I type carefully.
* * *
Weird sounds interesting.
* * *
I hover over the send button for at least a minute before finally hitting it.
* * *
I ran into my ex-boyfriend. Jack. Do you remember him?
* * *
I never met Dawn—at least, not that I can remember. Did she ever make a trip to Vegas with Sadie? I know they talked about me. The twenty-first birthday thing is one example of how my name would’ve come up. I’m struggling over how to respond when her next message comes in.
* * *
He just so happened to be in San Diego this weekend.
* * *
She goes on to recap our day together but doesn’t add anything about how spending the day with me made her feel. I consider Tanner’s advice on female communication and type my response.
* * *
Are you going to see him tonight? If so, I vote the white dress.
* * *
No, I have no plans to see him again. Thank God.
* * *
Ouch.
* * *
No more feelings for him, good for you. Moving on to bigger and better.
* * *
I gag a little while typing those words, but I press on and ask the question that’s been burning a hole in my chest.
* * *
What are your plans for the dresses you tried on?
* * *
They were for an art gallery opening my art professor suggested. He said the artist’s work is similar to mine.
* * *
Is it a new studio or one I would know?
* * *
New. It’s on 4th and Grand. Not sure if I’ll make it.
* * *
Why not? More important things to do?
* * *
It takes longer than usual for her write back.
* * *
No, actually. Maybe I will go.
* * *
And that’s how I find myself in downtown San Diego, lurking in the shadows across the street from a new art gallery. She wore the red dress, and she uses it to wipe her palms on throughout the night. Still socially awkward, I see. Her body language is stiff and uncomfortable when people brush by her or speak to her, but it does nothing to diminish her loveliness.
If I were there with her I’d keep my hand on her lower back so she could feel my support. I’d start conversations for her and drop back once she found her groove. Like I used to when we were young.
“Why won’t you let me in again, Sadie?” My words die in the shadows.
Hidden in the dark, I make myself comfortable and don’t go back to my hotel until I see her safely home.
Chapter Nine
Jack
“Is it no-shave November?”
I lean back against the wall of the elevator as Tanner hits the button for the forty-eighth floor, where we’ll be meeting with the myBubble execs this morning.
“Not that I’m against the whole I-don’t-give-a-fuck look you’ve got going on.” He pushes his sunglasses up onto his head. “You look like a coffee shop hipster.”
After a weekend of creeping around Sadie, I’ve managed to learn nothing new about her. Her conversations with Dawn are as surface as her conversations with me, and I’m losing hope that I’ll ever find out what’s going on in her head. I stayed up all night, staring at photos and racking my brain for ideas on how to approach my next conversation between her and Dawn while mapping out my next move as Jackson. The entire situation is giving me a multiple personality headache.
The elevator doors open, and we head toward the myBubble offices.
“No luck with Sadie in San Diego I’m guessing?” Tanner says from behind his to-go coffee mug.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I blew off two networking opportunities this weekend to chase after Sadie, only to fail epically. I do
n’t need Tanner giving me shit about it.
We let the receptionist know we’re here for our appointment, and she leads us back to a conference room, explaining that the execs will be with us shortly. I drop into a chair, bend over my knees, and rub my eyes.
“If you need help tracking her down, I’ve got a great PI on retainer.”
I peer up at my friend, convinced I heard wrong. “What do you need a PI on retainer for?”
He shrugs. “He checks in on Maribeth for me from time to time.”
“Why?”
“Make sure she’s not fucking around on me.”
“If you thought she’d fuck around on you, why’d you marry her?” Shit, I need a coffee.
“Welcome to marriage in the twenty-first century, my friend.”
“That’s just sad.”
“Sadder than you going all the way across the country to stalk your high school ex-girlfriend?”
He’s got a point. “Thanks, but I don’t need help finding her. I found her this weekend.”
“And?”
Will he ever let up? I side-eye him and shake my head. “She still wants nothing to do with me.”
“That’s good, right? You got your answer. Now you can move on.” He lowers his voice. “Anaya’s been asking about you.”
“Hard pass, bro.”
Just because I’m not interested in moving on with Anaya doesn’t mean Tanner’s not right. I do want to move on. Cut the last emotional tie that’s tethering me to Sadie so I no longer have to think about her, wonder about her life, dig for answers she refuses to expose. A twinge of irritation builds in my gut when I consider my life up until Tanner’s wedding. Free of Sadie Slade. This renewed fascination I have is her fucking fault.
My obsession with Sadie is like a cancer.
I was in remission for a couple years, but she’s back and I’m afraid there’s no cure.
The myBubble executives file into the room, greeting us with handshakes before taking their seats around the table. Tanner hands them each a copy of the advertising strategy we came up with.
“Before we get started, I have a question about your app,” I say, earning a wide-eyed what the fuck look from Tanner. “What is the purpose of the screenshot notification?”
The three of them share a confused look before one of them speaks up. “I’m happy to see you’re using the app.”
I grunt in response and wait for his explanation.
“All of our app’s features are for the purpose of transparency between users. The idea is that you only let those you trust into your myBubble. You’d want to be notified if they kept a personal copy of an image or conversation. It’s the same with the location feature.”
Oh God… “Location?”
“That’s right.”
“Can you turn it off?” I blurt.
“Yes, but users will be informed it was turned off.”
My pulse pounds in my neck, and I feel Tanner tense beside me as I say, “That’s fucked up.”
“Excuse me?” The only exec who looks older than us glares at me.
“I agree with Jackson,” Tanner says, his voice light as he slaps me on the shoulder and squeezes. “Fuckin’ genius. Great way to promote this new social media service that, with our help, will make all other socials irrelevant. If I could direct you gentlemen to the media packets in front of you, I’ll explain exactly how we plan to make that happen.”
I hold up my hand. “Hang on…”
The myBubble guys share a look.
“What if a woman friends a man and doesn’t want him to know where she is at any given time. Ya know—” I cough and clear my throat. “For safety reasons or…” I drink water, my throat suddenly dry.
The younger of the executives’ eyes tighten, and I wonder if he sees through me when he answers, “The feature doesn’t give an exact location. But I wouldn’t think this is important for our purposes today.”
With my forearms on the table, I lean in. “What if—”
“All right,” Tanner interrupts with a brutal squeeze on my shoulder. “Moving on.”
I subtly free myself from his hold and fall back into my seat.
Location. If Sadie wanted to find out where Dawn is, she would see New York and San Diego this weekend and she’d know for sure it was me. If I turned the feature off, she’d see that too and get suspicious.
My plan to get closer to Sadie could go to shit, and rather than getting her to open up, I may end up pushing her further away.
Sadie
“It’s been over a year. You sure you don’t want to try?”
I usually find it impossible to ignore Ricky’s pleading, puppy dog eyes. Not to mention him standing in our kitchen offering me a cup of coffee and wearing nothing but board shorts is a pretty view. But even the suggestion of going back to the beach makes my pulse race, and I break out in a sweat. “I’m not ready.”
“How will you know if you don’t try?” He offers the mug again for me to take.
I hold my hand up to his eye level and watch his eyes register the quaking of my fingers.
“Shit. I’m sorry.” He sets the coffee on the counter next to me. “You sure you don’t want to go talk to someone, a therapist or something?”
“I tried that, remember?” With shaky hands, I grab the coffee and take a sip. “I’m better in a lot of ways, but I still can’t go to the beach.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
I shrug. Those feel like the same thing to me. “Both, I guess. Besides, my art is the best therapy.”
Ricky runs a hand through his bedhead hair. “You know I love you.”
“But…?”
“No buts.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” I say to his back as he disappears out the door to meet everyone at the beach to surf, something I used to love.
Now I can’t feel sand against my skin or hear the rhythmic sound of crashing waves without losing my breath and feeling pain all over. A warm rush of saliva floods my mouth and I make it to the sink in time to spit and breathe deep to fight off the nausea.
“It’s over,” I whisper. “That happened a long time ago.”
My hands are still shaking as I set up my paints for the day. With a fresh canvas in front of me, I lift the mental barrier that blocks the memories.
The fear floods my mind, and I make the first angry slash of color on the canvas. Adrenaline spikes through my system as my lungs seem to compress on their own. I dip into reds, blacks, and blues, dark colors that symbolize pain and panic as my brush paints the picture of humiliation. I don’t cry, but I imagine that I am and add them to the image in streaks of shame-soaked color. My arms fight against the feeling of being held down as I make bold strokes from one end to the next, and I feel the cold sand between my toes.
My phone rings, startling me out of my daze. Aftershocks of where I allowed my mind to go give me a sense of urgency to grab for the lifeline. Without looking, I answer it.
“Hello?”
Silence from the other line until finally… “Sadie?”
I blow out a breath to calm my racing heart and sniff back the lingering emotion. “Jack?”
“Yeah, I uh… I didn’t think you’d answer. Are you okay? You sound winded.”
“Fine. I just um… ran up the stairs to grab my phone.” I roll my eyes but pray he buys it.
I’m met with silence then a stuttered, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to answer and now I don’t know what to say.”
Feeling my pulse calm a little, I blow out a breath and drop to the floor, feeling as though I went three rounds with Mike Tyson. “I wouldn’t have answered if I knew it was you calling.”
He chuckles, and the sound sends a soothing warmth all through my revved up central nervous system. “Thanks for your honesty. I’m glad you were blinded by cardio and picked up. What are you doing on this fine Thursday afternoon?”
“It’s morning here.” I stare at the canva
s on the easel and cringe at the image it bears. “Painting mostly.”
“For your exhibition?”
I blink and stare at my paint-splattered feet. How did he know about that? Did I tell him when I ran into him this weekend? His presence made me scatter-brained. I must’ve mentioned it without thinking. “Yes.”
“How’s it coming along—shit. Sadie, can you hold on for a minute? Don’t hang up. Okay? Promise me you won’t hang up.”
There’s a woman’s voice in the background, but she doesn’t sound intimate or flirtatious. Her tone is all business. His assistant maybe?
“I’ll think about it.” I’m smiling because it’s been a long time since I heard Jack so frantic and I have to admit, I miss having that effect on him.
He groans. “Always keeping me on my toes. Hold on.”
He pulls the phone from his mouth, but I hear him running down a list of demands that include words like creative, art department, signing off on proofs, and pushing them through to production and media. She comes back with a series of appropriate follow-ups that Jack answers with a confident yes or no. I’m surprised to feel a swell of pride at how far he has come. He accomplished exactly what he set out to. I still hate that he had to leave me behind to do it.
There’s a muffled sound like he’s covering the phone with his hand, and he’s back. “Sorry about that.”
I don’t respond.
“Shit. Sadie? Are you there? Goddammit—”
“I’m here.” I cover my mouth when a spontaneous wave of laughter claws its way from my chest.