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I said that?“We have forty-eight hours to come up with a plan, Kelly. If I call Jonathan, that means I’m giving up on Seattle completely. You didn’t call your older brother yet, did you?”
Silence.
“Thanks for the warning,” I said. “You know, a real friend would’ve given me a heads-up.”
“That’s why we call each other non-friends.” She laughed. “I’ll be home in an hour or two, and we’ll pack up everything together. Then we’ll come up with a plan for the rest of our twenties. We’re still young, Hales. Life isn’t over because of one failure.”
“I hate that you’re so optimistic sometimes.” I couldn’t help but smile. “Would it kill you to let me have a pity party for like five minutes?”
“It really would.” She laughed again. “Be home soon.”
I ended the call and scrolled to my brother’s current name: Mr. Overprotective. My finger hovered over the call button, but I couldn’t bring myself to come clean with him right now. If I told him where I really was and what I’d been doing over the past two years, he would fly his private plane here in hours just to grill the shit out of me.
And that’s before he gets angry and starts talking in staccato sentences...
To everyone else, my brother was the Jonathan Statham, self-made billionaire and CEO of Statham Industries and one of America’s favorite rags to riches stories. His face often graced top-tier technology and entrepreneurial magazines, and his backstory (the version he’d concocted anyway) served as inspirational fodder for dreamers everywhere. The public clung to the idea of a young boy growing up poor in Ohio, working his way through Harvard, and of course, eventually dropping out to found what became the country’s top tech company. They especially loved the part about him being generous regarding local charities, funding global initiatives for great causes, and taking care of a younger sister who “wished to live her life in private under a different last name at this time.”
Despite his overwhelming popularity, he was just a brother to me. An overbearing, over-protective, yet loving older brother. Then again, even though our age gap was only five years, it often felt like twenty, since he acted more like my guardian.
Tomorrow. I’ll call him tomorrow.
I set my phone down and opened the envelope my boyfriend gave to Mr. Everett. I was surprised he hadn’t met me at the shop this morning like he promised, that he hadn’t joined Kelly and me for the farewell coffee sipping session last night.
Inside of the envelope was a letter and five condoms. Confused, I unfolded the sheet and read.
––––––––
Dear Hayley,
We’re OVER.
Feel free to use the condoms with whoever you’ve been fucking instead of me over the past few months. I used the rest of the package on Raya last week. (Yes, Raya. The first “amazing” barista you hired.)
I’m done with one-handed nights, one-sided conversations about your shop, and your LIES.
FYI—Your coffee shop was doomed from day one. (We’re in SEATTLE where there’s literally a Starbucks on every. single. corner. What the hell were you thinking?)
Jacob
PS—Since you’re always so “broke,” why not just call your brother who is **supposedly** THE Jonathan Statham, right? I honestly can’t believe I ever fell for that bullshit. #donewithyou
––––––––
I READ THE LAST LINEof the letter and finally let out a pent-up scream. Then I crumpled his harsh words and tossed them into the trashcan. This was my third loss in an hour, and it hurt even worse than the others.
Jacob had followed me from my short-lived business-school days in Memphis to Seattle, to pursue his dreams of working in the cruise ship industry. Even though the past months had flown by in a busy blur of us settling into a new city and struggling to see each other regularly, I thought he believed in my shop, and I thought he understood why I wanted to wait a little longer to be intimate.
I wiped away a stream of tears, shook my head at his cruel confession, and decided Kelly was more than right.
It’s definitely time to start over.
