Page 4 of She Was Made for Me

But he surprises me when he breaks the silence. “Why don’t you come stay with us for a while?”

“Stay with you?”

“Sure,” Dad says easily. “You can keep up the job search from New York. Who knows, you might even find something closer to home.”

Home.

I sigh, thinking about New York. The truth is, I’ve missed it ever since I left. The bustle of the city streets, the convenience of having everything on your doorstep, and the beautiful row houses that remind you of the city’s history. There’s nothing like that here.

The problem is, most of the good project management jobs in tech are on the West Coast.

“Maybe,” I murmur.

“I might have something to keep you busy in the meantime,” Dad adds.

This piques my interest. I hadn’t thought past my plan of sending out resumes all day, but who knows how I’ll fill my time after that. I need something to do. I need a plan.

“What is it?”

“Ah.” He chuckles. “Wouldn’t you rather it was a surprise?”

I twist my lips to the side, frowning. As someone who likes to stay on top of every aspect of my life, surprises are not something I enjoy.

Take this morning, for example.

“Come on, Sweetpea.” Dad’s voice softens. “Your mom and I miss you. This is a great opportunity for you to come home for a few months.”

I lean back on the sofa, turning the idea over. It wouldn’t hurt to get a change of scenery, and besides, I’ll have a little money from my severance to live off for a while.

One look around my stale shell of an apartment confirms it. The thought of spinning my wheels here indefinitely while I wait for something to happen on the job front makes me positively nauseated.

“Okay,” I agree, but there’s no way I’m moving back in with my folks. That definitelywouldbe hitting rock bottom. “I’ll stay at Sadie’s, though. I haven’t seen her in ages.”

Sadie, my best friend from high school, has always been okay in the past with me crashing on her sofa. Usually we spend the time painting our nails and binge-watching reruns ofThe Officewhile talking about guys.

Okay, we did that once, six years ago, but I’m sure it will be fine.

“Great!” Dad says. I hear him tapping at his keyboard in the background. “I’ll book your flight now.”

In spite of everything that’s happened this morning, I find myself smiling. Maybe going back to the city is just what I need.

2

Kyle

“Idon’t want to go back to the city.” I answer the phone without a greeting, because when I see Richard’s name on my screen, I know exactly what he’s calling to ask. It’s always the same thing.

“Well, hello to you too,” Rich says wryly.

I chuckle in response as I step from my truck, tucking my notebook under my arm and turning to survey the dilapidated cabin in front of me. I grimace at the state of the deteriorated cedar shakes and the way the entire place looks as if it’s leaning slightly to the right. It needs a lot more work than I realized. That’s what happens when a cabin is in the family for generations—over time it falls into total disrepair, often past the point of being reasonably salvaged. This evening I’m meeting the owner to discuss the work that needs to be done, before deciding whether to take on this project. I glance at my watch, noticing I’m a little early, and figure I’ll get a head start on checking out the exterior.

“You don’t know what I’m calling to ask.” Rich’s protest brings my attention back to my phone.

“So it’s not to come back to New York, then?” I begin down the muddy path toward the cabin, careful not to lose a work boot in the mush. Mud season in Maine is no joke.

“Well, yes,” Rich admits, “but it’s not to come back to the firm. It’s—” he cuts himself off mid-sentence, and I hear him cover the phone to talk to someone in the background. Shelley, no doubt, his assistant of twenty years. I know Rich is at the office, because he’s always at the office. He spends more time there than in his own home.

Just like I did, once.

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