3 Weeks Later

Living alone wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Sure, it had its perks—like the copious amounts of time I could walk around the condo naked as a jaybird—but my overall impression of solo living was: quiet and boring. I’d happily relocated to give Felix and Jules their own space, moving my bags and boxes a whole floor up to the condo directly above them, but I’d be lying if I said I would’ve been opposed to a whole Three’s Company situation.

I readjusted myself in the fancy, modern chair I’d dragged over to the floor to ceiling windows, the leather giving an annoyed squeak at the motion. New leather, expensive leather, was a bitch.

Rolling the blue rubber ball around my palm, I bounced it off the wood floor with a quick flick of my wrist. Meeting the glass with a satisfying thunk it arced back through the air and into my hand.

Thirty seconds later my phone buzzed and I unearthed it from my pocket. Yes, pocket. Like I said, new leather was a bitch. A sticky bitch that made pants a necessity.

Felix: Racquetball.

I snickered at my phone.

Me: You don’t get any points for repeats.

Felix: Then stop repeating.

Me: Don’t you have anything better to do than bother your neighbor? Like plan a wedding perhaps?

I knew damn well the wedding planning was still in the earliest of stages, the wedding itself likely a year and half away. Celebrity weddings, as I was told by Juliet’s new high-strung wedding planner, Annabelle, required precision, planning, and preparation. The three P’s. My suggestion of a backyard wedding was not taken well and was greeted by stifled laughter from the newly-engaged couple and all the heat of raging hellfire in Annabelle’s fiery glare.

Another message arrived with an insistent vibration.

Felix: Dude, don’t even say that word. It’s Beetlejuice. Two more times and Annabelle will appear in a cloud of smoke with tablecloth swatches or forty different types of glassware to look at.

Me: Remind me why Jules hired her?

Felix: We both agreed to hire the person with the best references. Sadly, that was her.

Me: Odds her previous employers were too scared of her to provide bad references?

Felix: High.

Felix: Four called her “fabulous.” Three went with “flawless.” Three more for “fantastic.”

Me: More appropriate F word: ferocious.

Felix: Or feral.

I burst out laughing and managed to drop my phone. It bounced a little, landing face up. Underneath it, a corner of white poked out, taunting me. Immediately my hand went to my pocket, fingering it, but like I’d expected it was empty.

I scooped up my phone first, leaving the offensive little rectangle lying on the floor, printed side up. Even without looking I knew what it said. Well I knew what it said generally. In a swooping, swirling font was the name of a catering company, below that a phone number, fax number, and email address.

A week ago I’d casually asked Juliet about the catering company she’d used for the gala. A day later she’d slipped their business card in my hand with only a sympathetic glance doused in regret. Like, without me even telling her, she’d intuited absolutely everything that lay between Dani and me. Like she knew how that stupid little cardstock rectangle was both a present and poison.

It’d been burning a hole in my pocket ever since. The possibility of it needling me, harassing me, making me wonder things I had no business wondering—like if they’d give me Dani’s number if I asked for it. Or if I even wanted it. What I’d do with it if I had it.

I gritted my teeth together, hating myself for even considering it.

I retrieved it off the floor in one smooth motion, striding over to the kitchen. My foot landed on the pedal of my garbage can, the lid dutifully opening. Everything inside me hesitated as I worried the edge of the business card with my fingernail, edging it closer to the garbage and then letting it retreat toward me.

My head hurt. My heart ached. But on top of the layer of pain was a tiny speck of hope that was trying to take root. A little seedling of maybes and what ifs that would tear me apart if I let them, let her, back in my life. I’d been down that road already and fallen off the cliff when it had mysteriously vanished from underneath me. No way. Not again.

Carefully, I folded the card in half, making sure the edges were flush. That wasn’t satisfying enough though. Unfolding it, I ripped it decidedly in half, then in half again for good measure, letting the pieces flutter out of my hand. They looked harmless sitting on top of a banana peel and next to a crumpled up to-go bag, but I knew they were anything but.

I let the lid slam shut and reached for my phone again.

Me: Meet me at the Blackbird?

I was already throwing on my jacket when the response came through.

Ben: Give me ten.