Me: So, I’m here at the park. Obviously, you’re not. It’s 2:00 p.m. on Sunday, so I’m banking on the fact that you’re a creature of habit. Don’t let me down.
4:00 p.m.
Me: Two hours. Wow. You sure like to make a grand entrance, huh?
6:00 p.m.
Me: Okay, if you insist. I forgive you.
Yeah, that one’s a stretch, I admit it.
Waiting for him is hopeless. I knew that the minute I sat down. But four hours later, here I am, watching every person who walks by, praying by some twist of fate that he decides to forgive me and shows up for our normal standing Sunday date at Central Park. It’s not like he’s given me anything but radio silence since last night.
I don’t know what I’d hoped for. Maybe a Hail Mary? An olive branch? A miracle? I feel like screaming while pulling my hair out and crying until I give up at the same time. A stabbing pain radiates from my chest as I glance down at my phone again, my hope fading as I send one last text.
Me: I still have your ring. If you won’t talk to me, at least give Vince my number so I can arrange to give it to him so he can return it safely to you.
7:30 p.m.
Me: For what it’s worth, despite everything, I fell in love with chocolate ice cream. More than you’ll ever know.
One of my favorite movies isNever Been Kissed. It’s one of those “come from behind” flicks where the heroine has a secret hidden agenda the whole movie. The heroine goes undercover and pretends to be a high school student to get the digs on a teacher, Mr. Coulson who has the hots for her. Gross, right? Only she ends up falling for him and fucks it all up.
Kind of like I did. Except after the heroine’s disastrous reveal, the hero realizes he’s in love with her andblah, blah, blah, her heart was truly in the right place. He shows up at the very last minute, right as all seems lost, and sweeps her into a passionate kiss while someone starts a slow clap in the background and everything ends with some uplifting music and shit.
Well, reality check. Real life is no rom com, and there’s no happily ever after for me.
Packing up, I lift my hand and let the sun sparkle through the brilliant stone on my hand one more time before I slip it off. Life doesn’t end up like it does in the movies.
No matter how hard you try to do the right thing.
***
We are pleased to offer you an internship with Tate & Cane Enterprises. We’re impressed with your skills, and are positive your qualifications are well-suited to our immediate needs. Enclosed you will find a Tate & Cane welcome packet as well as information pertaining to your start date and division assignment. Welcome aboard.
I could say that two weeks later, I held the fourth letter from Tate & Cane in my hands—the golden ticket, theone—and it’s as sweet as I imagined it’d be.
I could say that. But I’d be a fucking liar.
It’s bittersweet. I don’t feel the euphoria of finally landing the job of my dreams. Maybe because it cost me everything. Yes, I managed to secure the internship on my own, and I guess that’s something to be proud of, but the pain I caused? The look of disappointment in Niall’s eyes when Gloria and Preston outed me? That, I’ll never be proud of. I’ll never recover from that for as long as I live.
Getting dressed for my first day on the job should be monumental, right? It should be like the first day of high school, where you can hardly sleep. Where you get up way before time for the alarm clock to go off, just so you can pick out the perfect outfit and make sure you look like a million bucks to start the final leg of your adolescence. Instead, I slept through my alarm, barely made it in the shower, and pulled out the least wrinkled business suit I could find from my closet.
Grabbing a disposable coffee cup, I fill it to the rim and make my way toward my first day of work when my phone rings. My heart skips a beat, and for a moment I pretend it’s Niall calling to forgive me for everything. But the minute I glance at the caller ID, my stomach falls to my feet and that one spark of hope returns to a black void.
Keeping my head down, I make my way toward Madison Avenue as I answer the phone and force a cheerfulness I don’t feel. “Are you ready to jump ship and come be my assistant?”
“Funny girl! Youarean assistant.”
“Just goes to show how much you know. Assistants can have assistants these days. Welcome to the new corporate America.”
Lollie laughs as I weave my way through the throngs of pedestrians on their way to work in midtown Manhattan. “I just called to wish you luck. How does it feel to finally get everything you’ve ever wanted in life?”
“Not at all like I expected.”
“I know,” she says quietly. After spilling my guts to her about the disaster which shall not be named, Lollie and I have an understanding. I don’t speak of it and neither does she. It’s better that way. I need to move on with my life and stay focused. Living in the past and wallowing in a river of what-ifs will only drown me.
“How’s my little dude?” I ask, desperate to change the subject.
