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“Coming,” I call as I swat away a hot-pink pillow in the shape of kissy lips and get out of bed.
I stand in the center of the room, clad in a Green Day t-shirt I acquired during my ill-advised and short-lived emo phase (which amounted to little more than a few safety pins on my bag, a pink clip-in hair streak, and a whole lot of badly-applied eyeliner). I take in the collage of “hot guy” posters—mostly Chad Michael Murray and Robert Pattinson—taped to the pink walls; the outsized minion stuffy I won at the fair; the shelves ofPretty Little Liarsnovels. The corner vanity still holds a collection of striped knee socks and every flavor of Victoria’s Secret lipgloss.
The entire room is a relic. Frozen in time.
I almost wish that I could hide here, in the past. But living at my parents' place doesn't change everything that went wrong since I last called this house my home.
But today is the first step to putting my new life in gear. So, I’m going to forget about Justin, forget about Veronica and my old job at Financify. Forget that I kicked off this weekend by waking up pretzeled around a strange man, cuddling him for dear life…
“Annie?”
Mom pops her head in without waiting for my reply. By the look on her face, she’s unsurprised to see me dithering in a band t-shirt instead of being dressed and ready. “You’re—”
“Yeah, yeah. Working on it.”
“Some things never change.” Mom smiles, her eyes crinkling at the sides. Though she’s being sweet and reflective, her words fill me with unease. “Now, do you have something smart to wear today?”
“It’s a tech company,” I reply as I make my way to the mirror. “I could probably just wear this.”
I do this when I’m nervous—act avoidant, like I don’t care. It’s a horrible habit, and one I could do without right now. Because I do care. I really, really do.
This job opportunity isexactlywhat I wished for through multiple months of unemployment and Kraft mac n’ cheese packets. I’ll be working closely with the owners of the company, AKA my new bosses—so far only known to me as “The Brothers,” thanks to the HR lady’s practical swooning over Zoom.
“That’s one way to make a first impression.” Mom makes a face at me. More specifically, she makes a face at my white cotton boyshorts, which feature an adorable print of ice cream cones. “You should invest in some nice undergarments, dear. Every woman needs something to make her feel sensual. Feminine. Sexy.”
Oh no. It’s too early for this.
“You know, men appreciate a nice pair of—”
“MOM! Now issonot the time.” My face is burning because, somehow, somewhy, my mind is once again back in the memory of Grumpypants Liam and his big arms, all wrapped around me like he was my nocturnal bodyguard.
Why must my brain go there? It was humiliating enough to wake up and realize that I was drooling all over his chest. Moreso when I noticed that the t-shirt I borrowed was adorned with a streak of my lipstick.
And then, the grand finale of humiliation—after having a minor panic freakout in the bathroom, followed by a quick session of pulling-myself-together and reapplying my favorite lipstick, I was ready to face him. Talk to him. Smooth over this entirely awkward situation.
But when I came out of the bathroom, all traces of him were gone.
Yup. He wasthathorrified by my apparent sleep advances that he took off before I could even apologize for invading his personal space for the second time in twenty-four hours.
I left the hotel room feeling like I was doing the colloquial walk of shame—complete with no goodbyes and yesterday’s clothes.
So, basically, I don’t need my brain reminding me of him every chance it gets.
Put the past in the past, Annie.
I can do that. And, on the plus side, I guess I scored a new t-shirt.
I squint at my Edward Cullen poster on the wall, trying to imagine cuddling him instead. But honestly, teenage vampires don’t seem to do it for me anymore. I mean, have you ever rewatchedTwilightas a grown adult? Forget bloodsuckers, and hellooooo Charlie Swan eye-candy, I say.
“And whenwouldbe the time?” Mom tuts away, snapping me out of my Forks policeman mental swoon. “I’m just saying. I bet Justin would’ve liked—”
I hold up a hand. “Please. No. Justin is married to someone else. We are nada. Finito.”
“Well, honey,” she says, all too reasonably. “If you refuse to talk about what happened between you two, we can only assume.”
“Okay, let me clear it up. Justin and I didnotbreak up over my underwear choices.”
Mom shakes her head, still tutting. “Anyway, you shouldn’t wear nice underwear only for men, you know. It’s a good way to boost your own confidence! Want me to pop by Kohl’s today and pick you up some of those lovely, lacy briefs with the tummy support and the—”
