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“Oh. Um.” I rub my eyes and glance out the window. It’s dusk. Nearly dark. When did that happen? When I crawled into bed it was just past noon. “Yeah, uh, the bike is mine. It was a gift.”
Dad’s eyebrows shoot up—a sure sign he knows that bike wasn’t cheap.
“It’s from my boss,” I add quickly. “CeeCee Rafael gives every new intern a stationary bike. She says it helps with productivity.” I hate lying to my father, but I don’t have a choice. There’s no way I’m going to tell him the bike was a gift from the CEO of River Records.
Dad turns on the lamp beside my bed. “That’s quite an employment perk, especially for a summer intern.”
“CeeCee is generous.”
Dad looks at me for a long beat, his eyes letting me know he thinks I’m full of crap. But, whatever he’s thinking, he doesn’t say it. Instead, he stands and says, “I’ll accept the delivery, then. I thought for sure there had to be some sort of a mix-up.”
“Nope. It’s mine.”
When Dad leaves the room, I grab my phone to check the time. But my phone is still turned off. I turned it off two days ago while sitting in the back of that Uber—right after I’d started receiving frantic voicemails and texts from Reed—and I haven’t turned it on since.
When my phone springs to life, a backlog of text- and voicemail-notifications comes up—a bunch of them, not surprisingly, from Reed. My stomach churning, I slide into my texts, and, consciously ignoring Reed’s messages, head to one from Alessandra.
Landed safely in Boston. I hope you’re feeling better. I love you.
I tap out a reply.
I just woke up. I got back into bed after driving you to the airport this morning. Don’t worry. I’ve decided to stop wallowing now. I love you, too. I’ll call you tomorrow.
Next up, I’ve got a text from Zasu, my co-writer on the special issue.
I’ve secured a 2:00 meeting with CeeCee on Wednesday, so we can go over all the interviews we’ve got lined up. It was hard to get onto CeeCee’s calendar that day, since it’ll be her first day back from vacay, so the meeting will be short. Make sure you’re super prepared with your pitches!
I write back to Zasu to say I’ll see her on Wednesday, and I’ll be ready to slay.
Next up? A text from CeeCee’s assistant, Margot.
There are three boxes here for you from the courthouse. I put them into Conference Room D.
I reply to Margot, thanking her for the information and telling her I’ll come to the office tomorrow, Tuesday, to go through the boxes.
Next up, there’s a text from Kat Faraday, giving me some options on dates for my trip to Seattle. One, as early as the end of this week. I reply to Kat, telling her I adored meeting her on Saturday and can’t wait to see her again. I write:
Let’s tentatively plan on Friday for my interview in Seattle. I’ll confirm after I meet with my boss on Wednesday.
And that’s everything in my inbox... except for that slew of texts and voicemails from Reed. With a heavy sigh, I steel myself for whatever bullshit I’m about to read and then swipe into his first text. It’s time-stamped mere minutes after I’d hopped into that Uber with Alessandra.
But before I’ve read more than two words, Dad pokes his head into my bedroom. “I had the guy leave the bike in the living room. I was thinking I might want to try it out, if that’s okay with you.”
“Of course. Enjoy it.”
Dad enters the room and stands over me, his bullshit detector visibly flashing “RED ALERT.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “That’s a really nice bike, Georgina Marie.”
Uh oh. It’s never a good sign when Dad uses my middle name. “Mmm hmm. My boss is really generous.”
Dad sits on the edge of my bed. “Are you sure that’s not an apology of some sort, maybe from whoever made you crawl into bed and cry for the past two days?”
Oh, jeez. Each and every time I cried these past two days, I put a pillow over my face. Damn the paper-thin walls of this condo.
Dad strokes my hair. “I could tell you were trying to muffle your crying, but I couldn’t help hearing. You want to talk about it?”
I exhale. “I’m sorry, Dad. I lied to you about the bike. It was actually from a guy I really liked.” No, a guy I loved, I think. But, of course, I’d never say that out loud. I continue, “I thought this boy liked me the same way I liked him. But it turned out, he didn’t. He rejected me at a party on Saturday night. That’s why I came home and cried my eyes out.”
“Aw, honey.” Dad grabs my hand. “You can’t let a boy rejecting you send you to bed crying for two days. It’s the same thing you did when that stupid basketball player broke your heart. You came home for a weekend and cried your eyes out the whole time. And before that, the same thing happened during your senior year of high school, only worse. You crawled into bed for a week that time, after whatever stupid boy broke your heart.”
