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Twenty-Six
I LEFT THATnight, but I didn’t go home.
Home was my old apartment, a sweet little old-timey pad in a 1920’s fourplex in the funky part of town. Home had an archway into the living room and a little built-in telephone shelf in the hall. Home was where I’d lived for three years before fleeing in a desperate attempt to never have to see Taylor next door again.
The apartment I went back to now was one I’d rented sight unseen on the eighth floor of a brand-new, ultramodern, totally generic complex—also in the funky part of town.
And can I just note the irony of this? When I found my way to the front door for the first time, who was standing guard at it?
Taylor.
Because of course she was.
“It had to be you, huh?” I said, as I worked the keypad. Then I said, “Glenn must be an actual sadist.”
She didn’t turn her head. “I asked for this duty.”
Was I supposed to respond to that? Was I supposed to thank her or something? No. No way. She could do a lot of things to me, but she couldn’t force me to make chitchat. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me, and that was the only response she got: a loud, hollow clonk.
And then I was alone.
Really alone. For the first time in weeks.
The place was stacked high with boxes, and the movers had taken a just-drop-it-anywhere approach to the furniture. The bed, for example, was in the middle of the bedroom, like an island.
But it was fine.
I walked over to the balcony and stepped out to take in the view.
This was good, I told myself. This was personal time. Time to recharge and reflect. Maybe I’d start a gratitude journal. Maybe I’d take up calligraphy. I had some time before I left for Korea. There had to be a way to make the most of it. Maybe it’s not a punishment. Maybe it’s a chance.
But a chance for what?
I ordered Korean takeout for dinner, and when the delivery guy showed up, I said, “Kamsahamnida” to him with a little nod in my warmest possible voice—to make utterly clear to Taylor, standing right next to us, that he was someone I warmly respected… and she was most definitely not.
Then I went inside and sat on some boxes with disposable chopsticks and ate by myself.
By the time I was done, I had eaten too much, dripped on the box, and had so much leftover bulgogi and bibimbap that I couldn’t stop the thought from entering my mind that I should take some out to Taylor.
But then that felt like letting her win.
Instead, I put the leftovers in the fridge for breakfast, sat cross-legged on the floor, and stared out my curtainless windows.
My mind was a blank. This apartment was a blank. My life was a blank.
I should have felt happy. I should have felt relieved. If I hadn’t wanted to go to the ranch in the first place, and if escape was my favorite thing, then I should have driven back to the city in triumph.
But it felt like the opposite of triumph.
I’d gotten what I wanted—it just wasn’t what I wanted anymore.
I’d fallen for our fake relationship, like the dumbest of dumb dummies, and I’d done a complete one-eighty. Now all I wanted to do was stay.
But of course, I couldn’t stay.
I had played my role and done my job. I’d done what Glenn wanted. I’d kept myself in the running for London.
It was time to get back to my real life. And my real life—the way I’d set it up, the way I’d always preferred it—was always about going, not staying. I was good at it. I reveled in it. In less than two weeks, I’d leave for Korea and start fresh in Seoul—a new job, new clients, and nothing at all to remind me of Jack Stapleton.
