“Same,” Regan said. “I can’t wait to get home,” she said quietly, more to herself than the others, but Paige responded.
“You’re so lucky to not have far to go. Just a train ride, right?” At Regan’s nod, she said, “I’m headed across the country. Probably won’t get home until late, barring any flight delays.”
“I don’t have to go as far,” Madison said. “But I still have a flight.”
The small talk was grinding on Regan. These were people who’d assumed she’d stolen somebody else’s idea. Hadn’t even asked her about it. When she’d reached the end of her patience—which didn’t take longer than a few minutes, she spoke very calmly. “Listen, you don’t have to talk to me and pretend like the last two weeks of being pretty much ostracized never happened. It’s fine. I’m a big girl. I can take it. But I do need you both to know that I did not steal Ava’s design. I have no idea how we ended up with the same one, but I did not steal hers. That’s not who I am.” The front door opened and Charles entered, then stopped in his tracks, clearly sensing he was interrupting something. Regan shrugged and added, “But thanks for giving me the benefit of the doubt.” She turned her attention to their driver. “Hey, Charles.”
“Ms. Callahan. I trust you’re ready to go?” He grasped the handle of her suitcase.
“Absolutely. Get me the hell out of here.” She followed him out,leaving Madison and Paige standing there, tandem expressions of sheepishness on their faces. Good. It was the least they owed her.
She climbed into the van, took a seat in the back, and kept her eyes on the passing landscape as they drove. She could feel the tension in the van, could sense that one or both of the other women wanted to say something, but neither of them did. Their trains were leaving from two different spots, and Regan hurried away from the van before anybody could say anything. It was rude, she knew, not to even offer up a goodbye, but she was so fucking over this entire experience. All she wanted was to get home as quickly as possible and let her brain—and her heart—decompress and recover from eight weeks that were supposed to have been fun and educational but had ended up being confusing and stressful.
“Fuck that shit,” she whispered quietly, once she was settled on the train. All of it. The retreat, the mean-girl politics, Liza Bennett-Schmidt, who couldn’t even be bothered to see her guests out, and Ava. All of it. All of them. “Fuck that shit,” she said again.
The girl sitting next to her was probably eighteen, black hair with a bright blue streak, and a septum pierced by a thick silver ring. “Damn right,” she said, nodding but never looking up from her phone.
Regan smiled.Gotta love New York.
* * *
Much to her surprise, Avadidstill have a job when she got home. But her first week back at Pomp was rough, mostly because of the hours. At the retreat, her body had gotten used to waking up early, going for a run regularly. Now she was back to beginning her workday midafternoon and working until after midnight at times. It took a toll.
One bright spot: She did find that several of the practices and hacks she’d learned from Liza Bennett-Schmidt had actually come in handy, and she used them often. “At least I gotsomethingout of the damn thing,” she muttered at her workstation one night while making crème brûlée.
“Only back for a week and already talking to yourself,” Courtney said as she came into the kitchen. “It’s so sad, really.”
Ava grinned as she used the handheld blowtorch to caramelize the tops of the desserts. “That’s me. Sad and pathetic. Hashtag My Life.”
Courtney went into the walk-in fridge and came out with a bag of lemons. “Have you texted her yet?”
Ava didn’t look up, just kept torching. “No.” That one word was all she said, and she continued to work until she felt Courtney’s eyes on her. She sighed and straightened. Courtney was still standing there, bag of lemons in hand.
“Why not?” her friend asked. There was no accusation in her tone, only curiosity mixed with a hint of sympathy that made Ava want to grind her teeth. Courtney cocked her head to the side, clearly wondering.
Ava shrugged and shook her head. “I just…I tried. I keep typing things up and deleting them before I can send them.” Suddenly, her shoes were very interesting. “I don’t know what to say.”
Courtney stepped closer and looked around, then lowered her voice. “You still miss her?” she asked softly.
Ava nodded and, to her horror, felt her eyes well up. “I thought it would ease up once I got home and back into my routine, but…” She swallowed hard. “It’s only made me realize how lonely my life is.”
Courtney leaned in even closer, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “Then fucking text her.” Then she kissed Ava’s cheek sweetly and bopped out of the kitchen, headed back to her bar.
Ava laughed through her nose and shook her head once more.
Fucking text her.
She snorted again and set the crème brûlées on a tray, making the presentation as perfect as possible. The waiter smiled at her with a soft “Nice” as he took them, and she stood there with a hand on her hip, watching him go, Courtney’s words echoing through her head.
Fucking text her.
If only it was that simple.
Could it be? Maybe she was overthinking. God knew, she was fantastic atthat.
Of course, in true Ava Prescott fashion, she spent the rest of her shift overthinking. To text or not to text, that was the question, and the answer was nowhere to be found. Her brain went around and around with pros and cons, and what she would say should she text, and what she absolutely should not say should she text, and by the time she punched out, she had a massive headache and couldn’t wait to go home.
Jiminy was happy to see her, so that was a bright spot in her day. He’d been very cuddly since her return, and she still felt some residualguilt for having left him for that long. To make up for it, she put him first every time she got home. She opened the door, set all her stuff down immediately, and swooped him up into her arms. “This is my cat,” she’d say to him, showering him with kisses. “This is my cat. Isn’t he handsome? Look how handsome he is.” She wasn’t 100 percent sure, but he seemed to like it, and he kind of glowed proudly when she called him her cat, so she continued to do it.
