Page 119 of The Friend Situation

You’ve been on my mind all morning.

I swallow hard as butterflies swarm through me.

Carlee

Are you purposely trying to make me fall in love with you?

Weston

We both know that’s not possible.

Carlee

And if it were?

Weston

Enjoy the fall.

My breath catches. He knows what he’s doing, and I’m so easy that I fall for it.

As I glance at the time, I grow anxious, realizing the train is late. Other people on the platform shuffle restlessly, and their impatience echoes my own. Knowing I can’t afford to wait any longer, I trek up the stairs, and the cold air hits me like a slap. I rush the two blocks away and wait at the bus stop. Before I’m actually late, I call the W and attempt to speak to Mr. Martin to give a notice, but I’m met with voice mail. I call back and ask for the shift supervisor, and I’m put on hold.

I overslept and spent too long chatting with Lexi this morning. I’ve been too distracted. That can only mean one thing.

My heart palpitates.I can’t fall in love …

Another few minutes pass, and frustration bubbles beneath the surface. The bus remains a phantom, and time slips through my fingers like sand. Biting back my irritation, I power-walk a few more blocks to the next stop. Just as I arrive, a bus pulls up, and it’s not the right route.

Desperate for a guaranteed solution, I open a rideshare app, and schedule it for three blocks up and jog toward the corner of 6th and 51st.

As soon as I spot Radio City Music Hall, my lungs feel like they’re about to burst. Every deep breath is a painful reminder of how I need to start doing yoga again. I’m relieved when the car finally arrives, but my joy ends too soon.

We make it a few blocks before we’re met with traffic. Walking might’ve been faster at this rate. Not to mention, every trafficlight seems to be against me, shifting to red at exactly the wrong time.

“Do you think you can run a few of these?” I ask with a laugh, but the urgency in my voice betrays the humor.

I have less than ten minutes until my shift starts, and at this rate, it doesn’t seem humanly possible to arrive on time. Maybe Mr. Martin will have mercy on me, but I prepare myself for the worst.

I told Weston I didn’t want to quit my job, but getting fired wasn’t on my bingo card.

I bite my lip, anxiety swelling within me.

Taking the train close to Weston’s isn’t something I usually do. I should’ve logged in to the Metro home page and searched for information about the routes. I do it right then. Immediately, I see there was scheduled track maintenance today, causing a fifteen-minute delay.

Someone finally picks up the line. “This is the W. How may I direct your call?”

I answer, “Hotel management, please.”

“Please hold.”

I’m rerouted. After waiting for over ten minutes, I groan and hang up, shaking my head with frustration.

By the time the car stops in front of the W, with its gleaming windows reflecting the early morning sun, I know this is it. As I walk through the grand entrance, with its polished marble floor and elegantly designed lobby, I suddenly feel like this chapter of my life is closing.

Once I’m at the housekeeper headquarters located in the basement, I clock in and move to my locker, shrugging off my damp coat. The faint scent of laundry detergent mingles with the cool air.

A few minutes later, Mr. Martin approaches me. His serious demeanor casts a shadow over me.

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