“I’ll still see you tomorrow, right? For the wedding?”
“Yeah,” he says, the word gruff. “Of course.”
And then the door opens, and shuts, and he’s gone.
I sink into the couch, stunned, my vision growing blurry.
I knew it would hurt. The loss feels massive and all-encompassing right now, but a clean break is supposed to heal faster. It’s supposed to feel better when I’m the one who walks away, when I’m the one who leaves first.
So why does it feel likethis?
A sob climbs up my throat, and the pain in my chest grows.
I curl in on myself, tucking my face into my hands, regret bitter in my mouth as I allow myself to cry.
30
My father started a group chat with the four of us after the dinner at his house, and there’s a new message in there. From Jacob.
I scramble, sitting up in bed, but it’s nothing exciting. Just a pin on Google Maps.Sometimes the location of the park doesn’t show up correctly,he says.Looking forward to tomorrow.
Maggie responds with an emoji of a bride and groom, and my father chimes in with a thumbs-up.
I hesitate for a second, tap out aSee you there,then toss the phone onto the covers.
I haven’t moved from this spot for the last six hours. I cried on Jacob’s couch, gathered my things, checked back in to my old hotel, and crawled into this bed, where I cried some more. After the tears dried up and I had nothing left, I pulled out my computer and lost myself in work. Some prep for the new season, but mostly finishing up the pitch and sending it to Natalie.
But now that that’s done, I have nothing left to distract me, nothing to take my mind off this…emptiness I feel.
My stomach growls, and I reach for the room service menu.
Caesar salad.
Cranachan.
I groan, putting the menu down, but it doesn’t help. I can picture Jacob sitting beside me, shirtless, a parfait glass in his hand, his mouth closing around the spoon.
I miss him.It’s only been hours, but I miss him. And if that’s how I feel now, I can’t imagine how horrible I’ll feel when I go back.
A ringing sound fills the air, and I reach for my phone, but quickly realize it’s the landline on the nightstand that has an incoming call.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Pillai? This is the front desk. We’re calling to inform you that there’s been a delivery.”
My brows draw together. “I didn’t order anything.”
“There’s an envelope here with your name. Would you like us to send it up?”
“Uhh—no. That’s okay. I’ll come down and get it.” I could use some time outside this room. “I’ll be there in a couple minutes.”
I fix my hair and change into a clean shirt, then head downstairs. When I give my name to the man working the front desk, he hands me a thick brown envelope. The kind one might serve legal papersin.
It’s bigger than I expected. I thought it’d be one of those small white ones with a letter inside.
My curiosity builds and I start opening it in the elevator, pulling out some pages held together by a paper clip.
The first one has a single word at the top:Heather. And then some lines below it. I read through it quickly and realize they’re verses. A poem.
