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I mull over my situation as I pass through the silent, long, white hallway that leads back to the ER, my half-full coffee cup in hand.
Inside, my coworkers give me side-eyes. “Good visit?” Candice asks, when I lower back into my seat.
“Let’s put it this way. Women are confusing.”
“So are men,” she says, with a laugh.
Chapter 19
Maddison
A car full of teenagers zips past me. They’re riding in a cute, new, cherry-red Jetta, and I feel envy wash over me like an ocean wave.
I’m on foot, with a sparkling clean, spiffy-looking Outlaw on the leash ahead of me.
It’s only been an hour since I signed over the title to my precious car.
I miss her sorely already.
I’ve been eyeing every vehicle that passes me, feeling spikes of jealousy as I note the make and model.
It doesn’t help my mood that I keep replaying my conversation with Nick, over and over and over again.
It didn’t go well.
I mean, what did I expect?
I went there with the intention of setting boundaries for us again.
I want him to know that our friendship isn’t worth throwing away for some stupid fling while I’m here in town. Talking toSylvester reminded me just how big what I’m going through, out in California, really is. I almost got married. I shouldnotbe running around my hometown, on the rebound, hooking up with Nick because it feels fun. That’s actually the dumbest thing I could do, and I pride myself on being smart.
I meant what I said, about wanting to show him around LA. Maybe if we get through this weird phase of our relationship, we can be the type of friends that talk on the phone daily, send encouraging texts, save up for vacations together.
That’s possible, right?
My phone rings.
I don’t have to pull it out of my purse to know that it’s Sylvester again. I changed his ringtone so that it sounds like the theme song from the movieHalloween. It’s super creepy, and I thought it might at least bring some humor to these many missed calls I’m getting from him.
Instead, the sound makes a shiver skitter down my spine.
I’m so distracted by the eerie sound coming from the purse that as I note the black BMW coupe gliding by me, at first I don’t see that it’s Hana Chen behind the wheel.
By the time she waves at me and slows down, it’s too late to duck into a nearby store and evade the questions I’m sure she’s going to ask.
Questions like: “Where’s your car?”
Eek.
She rolls her window down. “Hey, Maddison. What are you doing on this side of town?”
“I—er—had to visit that thrift store and animal shelter, down at the end of the loop.”
“Oh. And you walked?”
“It’s a nice day… and Outlaw needed the exercise, and—” I gulp. I can’t put this off forever. “And I donated my car.”
Her expression turns sour. She jerks the steering wheel to the right and noses her BMW into a parking spot. When she gets out and slams the car door closed behind her, it’s with way more force than necessary.
