Page 117 of The Jerk in Apartment 1B

“Asher, we should go,” I say, pulling on his arm.

Scott’s looking at me like he wants to know what’s going on, but he doesn’t need to know. We’re not friends anymore. He doesn’t tell me what’s going on with him, so I don’t have to tell him what’s going on with me.

“That was your neighbor?” Asher asks as we go down the street.

“And my landlord. He owns the building.”

“Are you serious? That had to have cost millions. How old is he? He can’t be more than 30.”

“He’s 29. He sold his company and made a lot of money.”

“What’s the company?”

“Can we talk about something else?” I glance at Asher. “I don’t want to talk about my neighbor.”

“Sure. So how’s the job search going?”

“I haven’t applied for anything yet. I’m still deciding what I want to do.”

“Well, not to pressure you or anything, but my mom knows this woman in Connecticut who designs kids’ clothes and she’s looking for an assistant.”

“I don’t want to do the assistant thing anymore. I didn’t go to school to get someone’s coffee.”

“No, this is an actual design job. I talked to her to make sure.”

I stop and turn to Asher. “You talked to her about giving me a job?”

“I told her about you. I didn’t tell her you’d take the job. But she really wants to meet you. Maybe you could just schedule a lunch with her.”

“In Connecticut? Asher, I live here.”

“Now, but if we get back together, we’ll be moving to Connecticut. Last time I was there, I drove around and looked at some houses. I saw some you’d really like.”

He looked at houses? And wants me to take a job in Connecticut? I’m starting to panic, my heart going way too fast and my stomach knotting up.

“I can’t do this,” I say, walking away from him.

“Do what?” He catches up to me.

“I can’t talk about all these plans you have for our future. It’s too much. And too soon. I told you I needed time to think.”

“I get that. I’m just excited. That’s all.”

“But I’m not excited. I’m panicking. You have all these plans for us and I don’t even know if we’ll get back together.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He takes my hand. “Can we forget I said anything and talk about something else?”

“Yeah, okay.”

But I can’t forget it. I’m thinking about it as we walk to the restaurant, then all through dinner, and on the way home.

“Thanks for going to dinner,” Asher says, walking me to my door. “I had a really great time.”

“Yeah, it was good.” I glance back at my apartment. “I should get to bed. I have to work tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday.”

“I work weekends.”

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