That’s what I call progress.
Sam has yet to visit, but he and Derek are trying to plan something for a long weekend in the summer. Sam is under the impression he’s going to learn to surf, and Derek has stated that he’s just coming along because he doesn’t believe I’ve actually learned to bake.
I miss them. We have the occasional Zoom and wine night when we’re all free, but it’s hard to match up our schedules since Sam has started his practicum at a pediatric counseling center. I try not to be jealous of that fact. I could have stayed, but I made my choice, and it’s something I have to live with. So what if it takes me a little longer than expected to complete the program? I’ll still finish, and I’ll still get to be a children’s therapist.
Plus, now I’ll do all of that with a tan.
I’m enjoying California more than I expected. It’s warm, and the sun is almost always shining—very different from Seattle. And I’m still not used to being able to sit on the beach whenever I want.
Well, when I’m not working at the bakery, that is.
Working with Juliet has been more fun than I anticipated. I’ve gotten pretty good at baking thanks to her patient teaching—completely different from her brother’s style. Sometimes when we get a large order, she’ll have me come over to her little cottage-style house. We eat dinner with her daughter before sheputs her to bed, and then we bake late into the night. Juliet keeps trying to insist on paying me overtime for those nights, but I always refuse and tell her that if I see it on my paycheck, I simply won’t cash it.
Juliet has become an unexpected friend. So much so that I’m glad I found a program near her and decided to reach out. I would’ve been lost without her companionship.
Though she refuses to keep me updated on Asher’s life, she’ll tell me he’s fine, but that if I want to know anything else, I can reach out to him myself.
Fair enough.
I’m still a coward and haven’t tried contacting him. And he’s stopped calling and texting. He’s finally given up. I thought I would feel happier about that fact, that maybe he’s healing and moving on… but I don’t feel like I’ve healed at all. And I’m certainly nowhere close to moving on. It’s been months, and if you had asked me before meeting Asher if Iever thought I’d be crying over a guy three months after the breakup,I would’ve laughed in your face. But here I am. Sobbing in my car, like a love-sick teenager.
Asher called the bakery today. I was manning the shop alone because Terra is sick, and Juliet didn’t want the elderly woman she rents her house from, who usually watches Terra, to catch the cold. Juliet has acute pastel-blue landline mounted on the wall near the register. It hasa comically long cord so Juliet can take calls while comfortably walking around behind the counter. But the one thing it lacks is caller ID.
So imagine my surprise when I heard Asher’s voice on the other end of the line.
I’d said hello, but as soon as I heard him speak, I panicked and hung up. I’ve finished up my shift for the day—thank you, Juliet, for letting me close early.
I wipe the tears off my face and sniff before starting my car. Since Terra is sick and there are no pre-orders to complete tonight, I’ll just head home. I flick my blinker on and turn onto the street.
I’d gone months without seeing or hearing Asher. At this point… I really didn’t think I’d encounter him any time soon. Sure, maybe sometime down the road if he came to visit Juliet and Terra again, but I figured that’d be Thanksgiving break at the earliest, and I was planning to visit my mother then.
I just… I thought when I did run into him someday, it wouldn’t still hurt this bad.
36
ASHER
I practically crumpleinto my office chair. My head hits my desk with a dull thunk, and I groan. This spring semester has been absolutely brutal.
Due to my ‘indiscretions’ last semester, I have to prove myself to the board and the dean. I’d tacked on more office hours this semester to help students who were struggling with the class material. And though it pains me to think of anything to do with her, Summer’s suggestion about study guides has led to major improvements in my classes’ overall test scores.
I’d tried to call Juliet earlier today in between classes, and when she didn’t answer her cell, I tried the bakery, but someone had answered and promptly hung up on me. When I called for a second time, it went to voicemail. I decided to try again later; something was clearly up.
Elijah texts our group chat to ask if Jared and I want to come over for dinner. I reply with a thumbs-up emoji before putting my phone face down on my desk with a sigh.
Jared and Elijah had made these past few months bearable. Jared’s still trying to finalize his divorce—his ex-wife had insisted on the divorce but was now dragging her feet over signing the papers—but he’s let me go on and on about how miserable I am, and he never gets pissed about it. And Elijah… well, he’s still chaotic as ever, but when he can tell I don’t want to socialize, he’ll bring some takeout over and watch whatever sports game is on.
I hope that wherever Summer is, she has a support system that’s just as good as mine, if not better.
I force myself out of my chair and slowly start packing up my things, not wanting to be late to Elijah’s, but at the same time, I feel exhausted. I’ve felt so tired ever since Summer disappeared. I can go, eat some food, and then head out without being rude.
It takes me about half an hour to really get going and drag myself out of my office. It’s well past the time Elijah told us to come over, and predictably, I’m the last one to arrive.
I walk into Elijah’s apartment without knocking; both of my friends are sitting around the huge mahogany dining table. Neither of them has served themselves food—they’ve waited for me. The smallest trickle of guilt zips through my chest.
“Long day?” Jared asks gently, and I hate that they feel like they have to walk on eggshells around me. Though I don’t blame them, I’ve had quite a few outbursts since Summer’s departure.
“I just wanted to get some prep-work in,” I say with a noncommittal shrug before plopping down in the open seat.
