Page 90 of Someone Just Like You

She answered on the first ring. “Molly! Nice to hear from you.”

I spun my chair. “About that job offer…”

Chapter Forty-Three

Later that night, my smile couldn’t be contained as I descended the elevator from the Ceiling Crashers headquarters to the lobby. I’d begun the day as an unfulfilled and sometimes secretly insubordinate legal recruiter with a dream and was ending it with an accepted offer as CC’s newest career counselor and director of member relations—a title Rosaria and I had brainstormed together during our two-hour meeting in her office, soon to be down the hall from mine.

Bad things came in threes, they said, but theyalsosaid the third time is the charm. The first time, I was a lawyer. The second time I was a recruiter. Recruiting, while temporary, had been a necessary pitstop on the way to my third (and hopefully final) destination: career counseling. And if it wasn’t? That was okay too. Even more satisfying than creating the perfect plan was changing it to create the perfect life. (But who was I kidding? Rome wasn’t built in a day, and Molly Blum loved, and would always love, a good plan.)

For the love of fresh sushi, crisp wine, and deep, hot kisses, please let this one stick!

Without warning, a lump settled in my throat, and my nose tickled as I walked through the revolving doors of the office building. I froze in my individual partition. What happened today—the huge change I made—was too momentous to keep to myself, but the person I most wanted to tell was Jude. The surprise on his face at my unexpected 180 would be even more priceless than his “I can’t believe I fell for one of Mole’s pranks” expressions. But more than the surprise, I yearned to see the genuine joy I knew he’d feel reflected in his beautiful hazel eyes.

Another person pushed the door behind me with force, and I jerked forward and stepped out into the cold air. I wrapped my ombre coral oblong scarf tighter around my neck and wiped my damp eyes.No. Just No.I might be in some weird relationship purgatory, but this was a good day—agreatday. I wished I could share it with Jude, but I wasn’t alone. I had a best friend. Esther would be so happy for me and insist on immediate and excessive celebrations involving a lot of alcohol. I smiled, weeping fest successfully averted, and retrieved my phone to call her. But she’d beaten me to it with a text:

Esther:Call me ASAP. 911.

The following day, I loosened my seat belt and glanced over my shoulder at the empty seat behind me in Esther’s car. “Who’s feeding Poppy while we’re in Connecticut?” Her uncle had suffered a breakdown of sorts—a burst of renewed grief about his wife and panic over raising the girls by himself. Esther had offered to babysit so he could get away and regroup for a few days. But then she’d freaked out too. Caring for the twins alongside him was one thing, even being alone with one girl at a time was doable, but was she capable of taking care of both toddlers by herself for a long weekend? What if she killed one of them? I told her she was being ridiculous, but agreed to join her. Then we had a proper squealing session when I told her I had (very) belatedly accepted Rosaria’s job offer.

“Jerry’s taking care of it.”

I smirked. “I’m surprised you didn’t invite him to help you out instead of me. You could pretend the girls were yours. It would be like playing house.” I giggled at the look of pure terror on her face. “Seriously, though, minus the kids, it has the potential for a romantic getaway for two. Unlike me, you have that option.” I felt her piteous stare on me and gazed into the side-view mirror.

She patted my hand in silent understanding without commenting on Jerry. Either she didn’t want to rub it in or wasn’t comfortable admitting they were a real thing yet.

It was time for a subject change. “We can celebrate my new job when the girls are asleep.” I’d taken a few vacation days and would give my two weeks’ notice to Gotham City Recruiters when I got back. I didn’t want to abandon Romero and would continue to scope out in-house positions in my free time. Cindy could take over negotiations from there, and we’d split the commission.

“I’ve no doubt there will be celebrations,” Esther said.

I stared out the window, watching the cars pass by on I-84, and contemplated my bittersweet accomplishment. The sky was an ugly winter gray, but the snowcapped mountains in the distance were beautiful. “What’s it going to be like the next time the Blums and Starks get together and every time from now on? We should have given more thought to how a breakup would affect the general dual-family dynamic.”

I tried unsuccessfully to find humor in the fact that my parents were in a somewhat similar situation, navigating how to move forward in their friendship with the Starks in their new normal. “The stakes are way higher than when a typical couple splits. But,no, we were too starry-eyed to imagine anything beyond exploring every inch of each other’s body and having make-up sex for days to correct twenty years of fighting.”

I pictured Jude naked, simultaneously wanting to permanently ingrain the image to memory and banish it from my brain forever. I turned to Esther, my mouth dry. “What happens now? Will we act like strangers or revert to our old tricks? I’d rather be his rival than have him look right through me with no emotion whatsoever.” My voice cracked. “I don’t think I can bear it.”

“Why are you assuming it’s over? Have you officially broken up?” She glanced at me for a beat before quickly facing the road.

I frowned. “No, but we might as well have. It’s been almost a week. At this point I can’t think of anything he could say to justify needing so much time tothink. The damage has been done.”

Esther turned away from the wheel, her brown eyes wide. “You mean you don’t even want to get back together anymore?”

“I don’t know what I want,” I whined. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw traffic slow down ahead of us. “Watch the road!”

Esther whipped her head forward and slammed on the brakes.

I stopped talking. I might be heartsick, but I didn’t want to cause an accident and kill us both.

Eventually, she pulled off at an exit. “What does Mrs. Hughes want me to do next?” she asked, referring to her British GPS woman.

“Make a right on Trout Brook Drive.” I laughed. “You’d think you’d know how to get there by now.”

“I’m bloody awful with directions.”

I pursed my lips. “Since when?” We’d taken countless drives to the Jersey Shore and the Hamptons as well as day trips to various amusement parks and wineries over the years, and she’d never gotten lost. Pointing at a sign on the road, I said, “Talcott Mountain! Nicole and Dean hike here every year. I had no idea this is where your uncle lived.”

Esther peered carefully out the windshield without commenting.

I zipped my lips so she could focus on the road. Assuming her uncle lived in a residential neighborhood not unlike where I was raised, I was surprised when, following several right and left turns up country roads, she drove up a gravel path and pulled up to a log cabin. I inched forward in my seat. “Is this where your uncle lives? Why did I picture a ranch or colonial like my parents’ house?”

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