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Poppy: Have you heard when you start work?
Charlize: Next week, which is good. It’ll give me time to find a place to move into this week.
Poppy: Just a heads up. Aunt Joan is in a flap. She’s talking about flying out to see you.
Charlize: OMG really? I know she doesn’t think I should have taken the job but flying out to see me is a little much.
Poppy: Well, not really. You moving across the country with a day’s notice is a little much. Us worrying about you isn’t. I’m surprised Dylan isn’t also on his way to you.
Charlize: I’m fine, Pop. This is what I wanted.
Poppy: This is NOT what you wanted, but we can pretend for a few more days. I might even give you a week before I start calling your bullshit, so make the most of it, ‘k?
Charlize: I love you, but I have to go.
Poppy: You have to wash your hair? Cut your toenails? I mean, you’re all alone, Charles. What could you possibly have to go and do so urgently?
Charlize: Don’t be mean to me, Pop. I’m already sad enough.
Poppy: Well, COME HOME. I’ll hug you instead of being mean.
Charlize: I think Seth’s giving you the eye. Bye xx
My first tear for this afternoon falls as soon as I type that lastx. The only reason it’s my first tear for the afternoon is because I’ve just spent hours on a plane, and I was determined not to cry on that flight. But now, I can’t stop the tears.
I allow myself to wallow in my heartbreak for an hour. Then, I go in search of food.
I find some greasy pizza to wallow in.
Yes, I’m all about the wallowing.
I even started a new playlist on Spotify.
So far, I’ve added fifty-three sad songs to it.
See: Queen Wallower
I eat far too much pizza before heading back to the hotel just after seven p.m.
The hotel is busy tonight with a large group of people checking in as well as many groups of people chatting on the couches in the retro-inspired lobby. The hotel bar is full. Noisy too. I weave my way through the group checking in, past the couches, and am almost past the bar on my way to the elevators when I spot him.
Owen.
He’s sitting in an armchair in an alcove near the bar and he’s got his eyes firmly on me.
My feet slow as my heart speeds.
What is he doing here?
My brain begins trying to work so fast it feels like it’s pedaling in there.
Pedaling backward, forward, sideways, every which way.
He can’t be here.
I frown.
It’s the only thing my face can think to do.
