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I don’t want to make judgements about Parker’s life unfairly, like Carly seems to do. I’d rather collect more facts.
By the time I reach Main Street, my legs are burning and my throat is parched. I unzip the hip pocket on my leggings, pull out my key, and unlock my Prius. After tucking myself into my car, I reach for the water bottle I left on the front seat.
I sip down cool water as I drive slowly through town.
Near the library, I pull over to punch the address Mitch gave me into my phone while I still have Wifi. I have a feeling that by the time I reach Parker’s trailer I won’t be able to get online, so I take a screenshot of the map and save it. Then—because the icon is right there, so easy to tap—I pull up my work email.
There are a few messages I feel totally fine about ignoring until tomorrow. But one demands a swift response. It’s from Mark. I dial his number.
“How’s the skiing?” he asks.
“It’s too early for that. No snow.”
“Oh. In my head, it’s always snowing in Vermont.”
“Yeah, well, it’s still leaf peeping season.” I peer up at the treetops across the road, which are ablaze with color. The pavement is sprinkled with golden leaves, and there are piles on the lawns of the houses that line the streets. On this quiet, narrow, leaf-strewn road, the hubbub of Cambridge feels very far away.
“What’s up?” I ask. “I saw your message that said urgent.”
“Yeah, so, I had a strange call. Figured I should run it by you, sooner rather than later. Remember Jocelyn?”
“Of course.” Jocelyn Radner was an employee of mine for a couple years. She used the Right Match process to find her own Mr. Right. These days, as far as I know, they’re happily married, living on the South Shore and expecting baby number one.
Besides Carly, Jocelyn’s the only one of my acquaintances who knows that me and Mortimer are on a break. The day he broke up with me over croissant sandwiches at Au Bon Pain, I returned to the office and holed up in the restroom and cried. Only for ten minutes. Enough time for Jocelyn to come in, use the loo, and then ask me if I was okay.
And I was just upset enough to come clean about what had occurred. I asked her to keep it under wraps, of course. Even at that early point I knew I didn’t want the public to know that me and Mortimer were on the fritz.
As far as the public’s concerned, my romance with Mortimer is proof that my Right Match system works.
I feel my palms start to sweat. “She’s expecting that baby of hers any day now, I think,” I say, before sipping down water to cool my tight throat.
His unexpected mention of Jocelyn makes me nervous. I suppose I always wondered if she might come out of the woodworks and blab to the press about how me and Mortimer split.
“She’s called a couple times yesterday,” Mark says. “She says she has something important to talk to you about. Teagan told her you were out of town for the week, and I said the same. But she insists she needs a word with you. She asked for your private cell number. What do you think—want us to give it to her?”
“I appreciate you checking with me, first.” I watch a car pass by my window without really seeing it.What does Jocelyn want?“Um…yeah, I guess you can give her my cell number. I better see what this is about. She didn’t tell you?”
“Not a word. Said she wanted to talk to you directly.”
“Okay… thanks, Mark.”
“You betcha. Enjoy those leaves.”
One swirls down and lands on the windshield. I lick my lips. “Yeah… I will. Thanks again.”
It’s weird, being a public figure.
I run a company that’s gaining in popularity. I have social media accounts, followers, and email subscribers. I get interviewed in print and on video. I have to keep up a certain act. And that act—for me, at this point in my life—includes being totally tightlipped about my split with Mortimer.
As far as all those people know, we’re in happy-couple la-la land, me reading over his manuscript to give him pointers, him cooking me Sunday Brunch.
I shouldn’t have been so loud about how I used the Right Match process in my own life. I should’ve kept my private life private.
It’s a little late for that,I think, as I cruise down a narrow paved road. When it turns to dirt, a little cloud of dust kicks out behind the car.
How did my love life get so confusing?
The thing that makes me feel like an idiot is that I basically studied love in graduate school. I completed a master’s thesis titled ‘Emotional Attachment, Romantic Love, and Marital Longevity.’ I felt so special when the Graduate Council applauded my opinions. They even encouraged me to publish the paper.
