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“And you still could have told me.”
“What difference would it make?”
Nibbling my lower lip, I deliberate whether to tell them I’ve met Jake before.
“Claire?” Mandy echoes, waiting for my reply.
“Hold on a sec.”
My eyes wander to a neon light.
A bar.
I halt, glancing up, deciding if there’s ever a day I need a drink, it’s today.
It’s cozy inside, and the heat stings my cold cheeks. I sit at the bar while a game plays on the screen.
The bartender swings a towel over his shoulder. “What can I get you?”
Holding my hand over the phone, I order a glass of wine.
“Are you in a bar?” Mandy wonders.
I fiddle with a beer mat between my fingers.
“Yep. Single woman, sitting at the bar, drinking on my own. I’ve hit rock bottom.” I laugh, but something tightens in my chest. “Stressful couple of days.”
As much as I want to believe it’s the new job or how a man I hardly know makes my skin tingle—it’s not.
Since visiting my mother, I’ve had a painful knot in my chest because a part of me knows that for her to get better, I need to stay away.
And it sucks.
I knew coming home would be hard, but there’s no painkiller for the sting of rejection.
There’s silence for a moment before she sighs. “I’m sorry.” She doesn’t scold me for being in a bar on my own because she knows. Probably better than most.
“Can we get back to why I’m in trouble?” Alex interrupts as I take a long drink of the chilled wine, grateful that I was too scared of city traffic to drive to the meeting.
“I’ve met him before,” I finally say.
“Jake?”
“Satan, yes.”
“Satan?” Alex barks a laugh. “I didn’t know you knew each other.”
“Okay, Satan might be a little dramatic. I let him get under my skin. We met in Penrith. It was months ago, but it was enough for me to remember him. He can’t say the same for me. He didn’t have a clue who I was.”
“Liar. You can’t forget a face like yours,” Mandy bellows, offended on my behalf. She’s a good friend. “I’d never forget your face.”
Not the same, but I love her for it. “We’ve been best friends since we were four. I’m pretty sure if you got amnesia, you’d still remember me.”
“True,” she agrees.
“Sorry, Claire,” Alex continues, interrupting our little love fest. “Jake didn’t want to be known as a donor. It was confidential. I couldn’t tell you, even if I wanted to.”
“It’s me, Alex,” I remind him, gritting my teeth.
