Page 100 of Roommating

“Don’t be.” I click the app store on my phone and download Amtrak.

“What are you doing?” Lane asks.

I look up from my phone. “Going to Philadelphia.”

Chapter Forty-Two

Ican’t believe I’m doing this.

I tuck my purse closer to my side to leave room in case someone sits next to me, and I look out the train window as the world zips by. I close my eyes and try to relax, but my body and mind are not having it. I brought a paperback and my Kindle to keep me occupied for the eighty-nine-minute train ride, but I can’t stop thinking about the purpose of my trip long enough to surrender my mind to a fictional world.

The universe, who I think might actually be my nana, was loud and clear with her signs—four of them, according to my count. She wants me to fight for Adam. And so, taking my cues from romantic comedies, I’m on my way to deliver a grand gesture.

I sit up straight as the conductor announces the next stop is the William H. Gray III Thirtieth Street station in Philadelphia—my stop.

Fear wraps its cold, tight grip around me. Unless I use my return trip ticket immediately to turn around and go home, this is really happening. Adam doesn’t know I’m coming. I didn’t call or text him because I can’t think of a single romance where the grand gesture was delivered over the phone. Adam mentioned going to all the author events at the bookstore across the street from his new place. According to the store’s website, there’s one tonight for the launch of a YA fantasy novel, and I’m going to surprise him there. Given ourhistory, a library might have been more fitting (and romantic), but we’d have to keep our voices down, which is hard to do when declaring your love for someone. Because I love Adam. I’ve loved him for a while now.

When we first hooked up, we didn’t have to think about what itmeantbecause we had the luxury of seeing each other every day at home and at work. But now that we’re separated by approximately one hundred miles, we no longer have the convenience of just seeing where things go naturally. We have todecide. Well, I’ve decided that I want to be with him for real and give what we have a chance to bloom into something even more. Long distance isn’t the best-case scenario, but I just want to be with him. Period. I don’t know if Adam feels the same way, and I can either wonder forever or until I stop caring—whichever comes first—or I can listen to the universe/Nana and ask him. Forever is a very long time, and I don’t want to wait another day.

The train comes to a stop and people immediately crowd the aisle to get to the exit. In no rush to take the biggest risk of my life so far, I stand and gather my things while manifesting the events of the next hour. Adam will see me and break into a surprised but enormous smile that grows even bigger when I tell him I love him. He’ll say he loves me too. We’ll skip the author talk and race across the street hand in hand back to his apartment and frantically kick over his coffee table and smash right there on the rug like David and Maddie onMoonlighting. (I watched the scene on YouTube. )

My hot feelings turn cold as I’m suddenly flooded with doubts. What if these events have lost their novelty by now and he doesn’t show up? What if he has to work late tonight or is traveling out of state? I’m positive this is the most poorly planned grand gesture in the history of grand gestures. And then my heart leaps into mythroat. What if he skips this one because he has a date? Or worse, what if he shows upwitha date? My stomach dips and swirls like the ocean at high tide.

A space opens up in the aisle, and I join the queue on autopilot. Once off the train, I follow signs to the Twenty-Ninth Street exit, where Google said I’d find a taxi line. When I reach the front, I get inside the cab and give the driver the address for A Novel Idea bookstore, which, also according to Google, is an approximately twenty-minute drive. The event starts at six and it’s 5:42 p.m. I had to leave work early, but Jenny was totally okay with it when I told her I was meeting Adam. (I didn’t mention Adam has no idea he’s meetingme.)

The driver says the best route is via I-76. This means nothing to me so I agree. I’d like to see the sights as I pass them by to get a vibe for Philadelphia—architecture, bars and restaurants, shopping—but I-76 is a highway not unlike New York City’s FDR Drive, and also not unlike the FDR, congested with traffic. It’s rush hour after all. What did I expect?

The cab finally drops me off at 6:15 p.m. Before entering the store, I check out my surroundings. It’s a cute neighborhood with narrow streets lined with brownstones and trinity houses in assorted colors, many with stores or restaurants on the ground floor. Adam might live in one of the apartments above these businesses. Does he like the pizza at Marra’s or has Una Pizza Napoletana ruined him for pizza from anywhere else?

I walk across the bluish-gray carpet set outside the entrance and through the periwinkle-blue door into the bookstore. It’s a small space but cozy, with charming exposed-brick walls. The area behind the checkout counter is painted in a greener shade of blue with “ANovel Idea” written in white script and adorned with little pink star designs. It’s perfect and I can see why Adam comes here often.

A woman behind the counter around my age with long red hair in a side ponytail and short, straight bangs greets me, and when I tell her I’m here for the event, she points to the back, past a set of comfy-looking blue chairs. I ignore the temptation to stop at the “popular reading” and “new release” tables as a further delay tactic.

I step quietly into the back room, a narrow space with large brown wood bookshelves set against both side walls. It’s a full house, with guests on about ten rows of black folding chairs and two people, the author and the person she’s in conversation with, at the front.

It’s standing room only. From behind the back row of chairs, I half listen to the author talk about what inspired her world building while skimming the crowd for a familiar head of short multi-shade brown hair. But no one here looks like Adam. I repeat the process, going slower this time, until I’m convinced he’s not here.

My shoulders slump with the weight of disappointment, but it’s no one’s fault but my own. What was I thinking coming all this way on a whim?

The audience laughs at something the author said and I wish I were one of them—a reader merely excited to meet a favorite author in person and get a book signed.

I could go home… get back on the train and pretend this never happened. Only I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t try at least a tiny bit harder to connect with him tonight.

I contemplate returning to the main room but don’t want the author to see me leave and take it personally. Instead, I casually slide my phone out of my purse to text Adam I’m in Philly. The element of surprise seemed like the most swoony way to go, but maybe Nana wants me to take the direct route.

Only there’s a new text waiting for me. Fromhim.

Adam:Your doppelganger?

Attached is a photo of the back of a blond-haired girl wearing jeans, a cropped white short-sleeve sweater, and sneakers. My pulse races. It’s me.

I snap my head and look behind me, sucking in a breath when I see him—Adam—leaning against a bookshelf and staring right at me. He must have slipped in after I did. He gives me a slow wave like a beauty contestant in the Miss Universe pageant.

My face breaks into a smile.

He returns the expression and we remain eyes locked until he eventually points his thumb behind him toward the main room.

Though I’m desperate to get closer to him, I chew my lip and send a text first.

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