Page 15 of Everything's Coming Up Rosie

Taylor’s already wiping tears from her cheeks, Maya’s wearing a pouty expression, and Marnie’s just staring at me.

“Promise you’re going to be better about staying in touch,” Taylor says.

“I promise,” I say, meaning it.

“Promise me you’re going to at least pay some attention to those dating app notifications,” Maya says.

I smirk. “I promise I will think about maybe trying to remember once in a while to at least pay some attention periodically.”

Marnie reaches out and hugs me. “Don’t let her make you think you need a man.”

I hug her back. “Fierce independent woman,” I say.

I move to Maya, who squeezes me hard, then makes a pouty face. “You can be independent and still be in love.”

I nod, smiling at her, and glance over at Taylor, whose face is a patchwork of emotions.

“I’ll miss you,” she says.

I pull her into a hug. “I’ll miss you too,” I say. “But I’m coming back when Baby Rosie is born.”

“Uh, her name’s Maya,” Maya says.

“Marnie is more original.” Marnie hitches her purse up on her shoulder, disinterested in having an emotional goodbye.

I smile at Taylor. And I pause. Almost long enough to define it as lingering. “I don’t want to leave you guys.”

“Good, it’s important for you to remember you’ve got people. And we love you,” Taylor says.

“I know.” I give a definitive nod, determined in this moment to be a better friend. “I’ll let you guys know when I get there.”

I pull the handle up on the suitcase and balance my bag on top. Most of what I own is in this suitcase. Most of what I had back inNew York belonged to my roommates or wasn’t worth keeping, which is why I didn’t put up a fight when Ellen packed me up and sent me on my way.

My whole life is in this bag. I look up at my three best friends.

Or maybe my whole life is in this parking lot.

Chapter 4

After hours on the road, the bus finally pulls into a station in town.

Sturgeon Bay.Huh. Sounds fishy.

I chuckle at my dad joke as I scroll to Connie’s reply to my email. She said there would be someone here to meet me and drive me to my cottage.

When I first read that, all I could think was,I have a whole cottage?

I haven’t even had my own bedroom since I left my parents’ house.

Rent is ridiculously expensive in New York. Obscenely so. A six-hundred-square-foot apartment needs at least three roommates. And a loan.

A cottage? Are you kidding? Heck, even a small one—even aroomin a small one—will feel like a palatial estate.

I get off the bus and wait for the driver to pull my suitcase from the compartment underneath, and once he does, I take it, avoiding eye contact because I’m cashless and not sure of the tip situation. I could tell him to keep company with great people, invest early in life, or get seven to eight hours of sleep at night, but I don’t think those are the kind of tips he’s looking for.

I wheel the suitcase away from the bus and see a tall man, probably a couple of years older than me, leaning against a dark blue pickup truck. He’s wearing a ball cap, a red vintage-wash T-shirt,work boots, and a pair of well-worn jeans. Handsome, but not like he’s trying to be.

He’s watching me, and because I know what I look like, I know he’s not checking me out—he’s probably my ride.

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