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There was a long silence on the other end. “Figuratively, Jake. We just meant life is your oyster and all that.”
Jake closed his eyes, feeling unbearably tired. “But you were always going on and on about all the places I used to go.”
“Sure, it was exciting! But don’t think for one second I wouldn’t have selfishly preferred to have my baby boy living down the street from me.”
Christ. He couldn’t even begin to process all of that right now. She’d waited until he was at the airport to tell him she liked it better when he was local?
He just wanted to sit with a beer and think about nothing.
Particularly if he was going to have to listen to his mother start talking about Grace. Again. As if he needed a reminder. He’d done everything possible to avoid thinking about her since walking out of her office on Monday. He hadn’t thought about her when he’d packed up his office. Not when he’d been packing for his trip.
He hadn’t thought about her when he’d researched his must-see list for Costa Rica and Argentina. And not when he’d gotten a lead on a Beijing tour next month.
He had thought of Grace when he’d invited her to his going-away party last night.
But he hadn’t thought about her when she didn’t show.
Nope.
Hadn’t watched the door the entire time, waiting for that familiar ponytail, wide hazel eyes, and calm smile that always convinced him everything was right in the world.
He hadn’t—
Hell. He was a fucking liar. He hadn’t been able to think of anything but Grace ever since she’d all but kicked him out of her office with a don’t-get-malaria pat on the ass.
It wasn’t that he’d expected tears and theatrics. Not from Grace.
But he’d thought she’d at least feel a modicum of the regret he did that whatever they had was ending so abruptly. At the very least he’d expected her to give him grief about walking out on the story before it was officially done, but she hadn’t even blinked.
It was time to accept that he’d been her playboy rebound, and she’d been his …
Shit. He didn’t know.
He only knew that the itch between his shoulder blades was getting worse. Why? He was getting the change he so desperately wanted. He should be feeling that familiar euphoria he got when he was headed in the right direction. Instead he felt … heavy.
“Jake, are you listening to me?”
No. “Sorry, Mom. What was that?”
“I was asking what Grace said when you told her.”
He gestured to the bartender for a beer—any beer—as he set his carry-on on the bar stool next to him and took a seat.
“I’ve already told you about a million times, Mom. She didn’t say much. Told me to have fun. Said that Costa Rica sounds great.”
“What else?”
Jake closed his eyes. How many times did he have to relive this? “I don’t know. There was the usual amicable breakup stuff. That I should give her a call when I get back to the city, and let’s be friends. Stuff like that.”
“Did she touch you?”
“Mom!”
“I mean, did she hug you goodbye? Squeeze your hand, anything like that?”
He thought back. “No. No, actually it sort of seemed like she was going out of her way not to touch me, come to think of it.”
“Oh, Jakey,” his mom said in her disappointed voice.
