Page 13 of No Place Like You

“I lost count after your guys’ fourth round.”

“I think I counted six and a half before the rest of the night became a blur.” I slouch forward, burying my face into my hands. “Did I compare an orgasm to a sneeze?”

She laughs, taking a quick sip of her coffee. “I have no recollection of that.”

A loud, grumbly groan sounds through my lips.

“I ordered something from the twenty-four-hour diner on seventeenth. I just got you an omelet.”

“Oh, that sounds amazing.” I lift my head up and smile at Annabelle. “What would I do without you?”

“Well, you’re going to find out.”

A deep frown tugs the corners of my lips downward. I’m going to miss Annabelle. I’m going to miss my girls. Our weekend brunches, late-night charcuterie parties complete with a chocolate fountain and pent-up gossip, and even the occasional mishap. Like when Jeremy got out through the balcony and the four of us spent the entire night practically scaling the building looking for him.

Who am I going to spend my weekends with for three months?

I certainly can’t call up my sisters for a girls’ night. Not when all I can see is Nat’s face, looking at me like she pitied me while I lied to her, telling her this internship wasn’t a big deal when it absolutely was. I downplayed the importance of it because she wouldn’t understand. Because I didn’t know how to tell her I’m willing to take the risks of leaving my secure job at Mr. Bean’s for something that has a high probability of ending withnothing but three months of experience and still no job prospects. Or even worse, everyone there would tell me I didn’t belong, and I should go back to taking heavily filtered images of aesthetically pleasing backdrops and Jeremy sleeping.

“You okay?” Annabelle asks when I’ve been staring into my coffee mug for a long stretch of silence.

“Yeah,” I say with a sad face. “I guess I’m really nervous. This is so far beyond my comfort zone, and I’m worried I’ll be in over my head. Plus, I’m going to really miss you guys.” Jeremy chooses that moment to hop onto the kitchen counter, a place he is definitely not allowed. Neither Annabelle nor I shoo him off. Instead, I run a hand over this back as he arches into my touch. “And this little guy. I’m going miss him the most.”

“Hey.” Annabelle looks at me with kind, sympathetic eyes. “We’ve been over this. You got selected over hundreds of applicants. They didn’t choose you with some random eeny, meeny, miny, moe name draw. There was a reason you got in.” She pauses to firmly grip my hand. “Three months is going to fly by, and you’re going to come back and become the next Annie Leibovitz.”

I laugh and cast a grateful smile in her direction. “Seriously, what am I going to do without you?”

Annabelle is zipping through I-5 on the wet concrete of the highway with the bright early morning sun peeking through the clouds and hitting the streets like hundreds of beaming spotlights.

“You have everything?” Annabelle asks, switching lanes to bypass a slow-moving Jetta.

I nod, gnawing at the skin lining my thumb and peering down at my phone. “I just transferred you the money for rent,” I explain, pressing the final transfer button on my banking app after confirming the balance on my account. “I’ll transfer the rest when I get paid next month.”

“It’s such a godsend this internship is paid,” she says, facing the windshield.

“Tell me about it,” I answer, taking a quick peek inside my tote to make sure the plane ticket I’d printed out hadn’t mysteriously disappeared since I tucked it in there two days ago. “And that Elevate helped me find a place with a steal of a rental agreement.”

“It’s another reason you were meant to do this.”

“Yeah,” I huff in agreement.

I want to tell her that all of that’s bullshit. Fate or whatever the hell destiny or kismet is supposed to mean. Because none of that crap has ever worked in my favor. Or maybe it has but not in the way it’s supposed to. Like getting fired from my fancy corporate job was a sign that I should be slinging espressos and baked goods for the rest of my life. Or that this internship was just an opportunity for failure to remind me of what my true fate is: behind the register at Mr. Bean’s.

She pulls up to the curb to the terminal entrance to gate number four. We silently exit, and I grab a luggage cart before Annabelle helps me load it.

With my hand gripped on the metal handle, I turn to Annabelle. “Send me lots of pictures of Jeremy.”

“I will,” she says, pulling me into a big hug. “Have a safe flight. And maybe splurge on a vodka mix. A little hair of the dog might help.”

I scrunch my face. “I’ll stick with water,” I answer, pulling away. “And maybe a bag of pretzels.”

We both turn to face the entrance at the same time the glass doors slide open. “I’m really doing this, aren’t I?”

“You sure are.”

I face her one last time.

“You got this.”

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