Page 48 of Saving Ian Pope

I arrived before my order was ready and sat in a chair in the corner, drinking hot tea and cracking open fortune cookies looking for hope. When Winnie, the owner of the restaurant set a plastic bag on the table in front of me, she asked, “Are you alright, Ivy? You don’t look so good.”

“Just a little sad news, Winnie. I’m okay, thanks.”

Winnie swept the discarded fortunes from the table. “I’ll throw a few more fortune cookies in the bag for you, so you have better chance of getting one you like.”

Not even a happy fortune could repair the damage I’d done today.

On the drive home, my foot alternated between heavy and light on the accelerator. I couldn’t wait to come back to Ian and make sure he was okay, but I dreaded it at the same time.

With the plastic bag of food banging against my leg and the spicy smells inside making me kind of nauseous, I tiptoed to my front door. I put my ear against the door first, and my fragmented heart rattled in my chest at the silence.

I shoved my key in the lock and bumped the door open with my hip. I almost collapsed with relief when I saw Ian on the sofa, hunching over his laptop on the coffee table, a Diet Coke next to it.

He didn’t bother to look up when I walked in. I hauled the bag of food onto the kitchen table. “I picked up some Chinese food for dinner.”

“Not hungry...but thanks.”

He didn’t ask where’d I been for over an hour. Didn’t offer up what he’d been doing in my absence. The gulf between us gave me physical pain. “Are you working on your music?”

“Uh huh.”

I’m the one who wanted him to stay here. I couldn’t complain about how he chose to handle the awkwardness. I scooped some rice onto a plate, spooned the two entrees on top. I couldn’t even remember what I’d ordered. I took out a pair of paper-wrapped chopsticks and ran them through my fingers. Maybe that squirrel had brought us bad luck when he stole my fork.

I stabbed a plastic fork into my food. I had enough bad luck to go around. If anything, I’d probably transferred my bad juju onto the squirrel. Some car had probably hit him on his way out of campus that day with my fork still gripped in his tiny, little paw.

Ian had put my glass of sparkling water on the counter, and I grabbed that on my way into my room. I called out to no one, “I’m going to eat in my room. Help yourself.”

I perched on the edge of my bed and shoved the food around my plate as I watched some show on the Investigation Discovery Channel about some poor sap who had married a woman who turned out to be a lunatic with a secret life. At least I’d saved Ian from an appearance on this show.

The food turned out to be a bad idea, and now the bedroom smelled like spicy chili and ginger. I shoved open the window and lit a lilac-scented candle and swept my hands in the air as if to usher out the bad smell and invite the good. If only I could do that with my life.

I picked up my mostly full plate of food and my glass and crept to the bedroom door. I peeked into the living room where Ian still sat, glued to his laptop. Did he really find it so fascinating, or did he just want to avoid interacting with me?

In the kitchen, I cleared my throat and dumped my uneaten food into the sink. “Do you want to eat something before I put this away.”

“No, thank you.”

The perfect English gentleman, even in the midst of this shitshow. “Do you still want to leave for the airport around noon tomorrow?”

“Don’t worry about it. You don’t need to drive me. I ordered a car already, and I’m leaving earlier. I can wait in the lounge at the airport and do some work.”

I gulped back the lump in my throat. He was making this easy on me—too easy. I almost wished he would scream and yell at me, tell me what a horrible, lying, deceitful bitch I was. Tears stung my nose again. I didn’t want to sniff, so I let the snot run down my chin. Turning my back on him, not that he was looking at me anyway, I ripped off a piece of paper towel and dabbed my nose.

When he spoke next, I jumped. “If you have an extra blanket, I’ll take it and sleep here on the settee.”

I gripped the edge of the counter until my knuckles turned white. I hadn’t even considered the sleeping arrangements. If I could’ve lied for another day, I would’ve been able to spend one more night in his arms before losing him forever.

“You don’t have to sleep on the sofa. It’s too short. You’ll be cramped and uncomfortable. The bed is big enough. I’ll take up just a tiny corner.”

He didn’t respond, so I finished putting the food away and washing the dishes. With everything in order, except my life, I decided to retreat to my bedroom again. On my way, I mumbled, “There are blankets in the hall closet.”

Closing my bedroom door behind me, my gaze swept over the room from Ian’s suitcase in the corner, mostly packed, to his shoes sitting next to his backpack to the Dodger baseball cap I’d bought him, on top of my dresser, to the bed. I lingered on the bed where we’d spent so many passionate nights, and a few days, exploring each other and being silly and falling in love. A first for me.

My eyes darted to some clothes piled next to his suitcase. He’d mentioned today that he wanted to do some laundry before he left, but with his earlier departure time, he’d probably scrapped those plans. He wanted to get out of here and away from me ASAP.

I crept toward the heap of dirty laundry and pawed through it. I snatched up a white T-shirt and held it to my face, breathing in the unique scent of Ian Pope—some sweat, some saltiness, a hint of his spicy deodorant. I could probably market this masculine smell and make a mint.

Balling it up in my hands, I tossed the shirt into my own laundry basket in the closet. He’d never miss it.

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