“Jupiter’s whole persona is tattoos, being moody and unapproachable, you know… doesn’t give a shit about anything but the game.”
I don’t know why I was surprised. People change. He had – I had, too. But while the Jupiter I remembered was all about the game, he was also funny and sweet.
Popular.
He was not the guy I’d seen on the poster who looked like he could snap a bat with one hand.
I tugged at my top lip slightly in disbelief. “Really?”
The pair of them nodded in sync from across the table.
“And he’s a pretty big deal.”
It wasn’t a question. Something about the arrogant stare down the camera lens for that picture plastered over the billboard… not to mention those girls. And I tried to forget the way he’d marched into Penn’s office like he owned it.
That visual would be burned on my brain for an eternity.
He was a big deal, and he knew it.
Lowe leaned slightly forward across the table, her hands clasped in front of her. “Marnie, when was the last time you saw him? Did you really not know anything about him?”
I shook my head. “The last time I saw Jupiter was fourteen years ago – well, thirteen years, nine months, sixteen days.”
Now it was Lowe’s turn for her jaw to drop. Beulah also stayed silent, but I knew they wanted more. I could almost see the questions forming a line in their brains.
This wasn’t how I envisaged my very first day of work going, but you had to rip the Band-Aid off sometime. But first…
“What do you know?”
“Not much, just that you guys dated when you were younger.”
My huff was dark and low. “Jupiter was drafted to The Dodgers the day we broke up. After that, I did everything I could to avoid him. Avoid sports. At the end of the semester, I went to study in Boston for seven years, then I moved to Houston.” I smiled weakly. “It wasn’t that hard really. My old work colleagues weren’t that interested in sports.”
That was an understatement. In fact, if you ever want to avoid something, go work at N.A.S.A.
“Hi, ladies, what can I get you?”
Lowe and Beulah turned with obvious annoyance to the barista who’d interrupted us. He placed three glasses of water on the table, and stood back waiting for an answer.
“Drip coffee?” I glanced from Lowe to Beulah, my brows raised.
“Great,” Lowe replied while Beulah nodded, more interested in my story than their coffee.
I turned back to the barista. “Make it three, please.”
Besides my therapists, I’d never opened up to anyone about Jupiter. Never confided. Never talked about him. Never Googled him, even in my darkest, loneliest moments. Because if I couldpretend he didn’t exist on the outside, then maybe my heart and brain would get the message on the inside.
But they hadn’t; they’d merely been put into a coma. And the signed divorce papers burning a hole in my purse was proof of that.
“Marnie, why did you come to New York? To this job?”
I chewed on my cheek while I figured out the answer, or the beginnings of the answer.
“I got divorced today.”
Beulah choked on the water she’d taken a sip of. I grinned, passing her a napkin to wipe the dribble off her chin.
“Well, technically it was finalized last week, but I only got the signed papers back from my lawyer when I arrived here. They’re in my bag. They were waiting for me when I got to New York.”
