Page 102 of Merritt and Her Childhood Crush
While my brain slowly processed the horror and humiliation and disappointment, there was hand-clapping and back-slapping from the execs (which also served as a reminder of how completely male and white our office is) and even a photo taken for the corporate newsletter. Not once did Simon glance my way.
It was then I remembered with painful clarity the way he would ask for one more set of eyes on his proposals. How I usually pointed out some significant changes he needed to make or gaps he’d overlooked. Sometimes—and even now I feel nauseated remembering—I’d even rewrite things for him.
So, no—I’m not at all shocked he can’t handle the new position without me offering up my help for free behind the scenes. Getting sent to Philly though … Simon is more incompetent than I thought.
“Your name came up,” Jana says casually, her smugness dialing it up a notch.
“Seriously?”
“If it wasn’t clear they made a mistake before, it’s painfully obvious now. Expect a generous offer in the next few days.”
In this precise moment, I’m more aware of how much has changed in the last month. Part of me is preening over the idea of being chosen. Getting my due. Seeing all my hard work pay off.
While this new, improved, finger-licking version of myself is not even a little tempted by the offer. I feel a distant sort of pride about finally being recognized for my work, the way I might about a friend’s nephew graduating college with honors. I have zero desire to think about putting on a dark suit and being brilliant in a board room where it’s obvious most men appreciate the eye candy more than the ideas.
“I hope they can find a good replacement,” I say.
An expression crosses Jana’s face I’ve never seen before. It’s more than a little murderous. I’m honestly grateful for the arrival of extra naan because the server’s well-timed distraction might have just saved me from being stabbed in the eye with a fork.
“Could I get the check, please?” I ask.
“I can’t believe this,” Jana says. “Did you get brainwashed down there? Fall in with a cult?” Her perceptive eyes narrow, and she gasps. “Oh my gosh. You met a man.”
“I didn't meet a man, and that’s not really what—”
“You’re really letting a man change your career goals? All because of Simon and a stupid promotion?” Jana shakes her head. Disapproval. Disappointment. And … is that disgust?
“My decision isn’t because of a man. It’s me.” I pull out my wallet while I talk, leaving enough cash on the table to cover us both. No way am I sticking around to wait on them to run my credit card. “For the first time in years, I’m actually taking a hard look at my life. Who I am. What I want. Who I want to become.”
“How very woo-woo of you.”
I shrug, then stand. “Jana, I wish you the best. I enjoyed working with you.”
I stop short of saying I enjoyed dinner because the only part I enjoyed was the food.
Back on the sidewalk, after stilted goodbyes and no hug or kiss on the cheek, I shiver. It’s legitimately becoming fall here, whereas Oakley still feels like a slowly fading summer. I sense the pulse of the city beating around me, but it’s separate from me now. I’m on the outside, an observer.
But inside, my heart’s rhythm is thudding out a name.Hunter. Hunter. Hunter.
I’m still nervous about how we left things. I haven’t spoken to Hunter since that last text I sent after leaving his house. He never responded, not then, or the next day, not even to acknowledge the gift I left on his front porch before flying out. He hasn’t even given me an update on the whole Cassidy-baby situation.
I don’t fault him. He’s probably busy. Consumed with Isabelle as she transitions into big sisterhood. And my text to him was short—intentionally so—because I was feeling a little testy when our plans were ruined by his ex-wife.Again.
I worried I’d wake him up when I drove out to his place right before my flight. Or at least the dogs. I parked down the drive and walked the last fifty yards or so for that reason. Luckily, the predawn hours worked to my advantage and I managed to prop the canvas against the rocking chair to the left of Hunter’s front door without anyone inside the house making a peep.
I can’t think too hard about how Hunter responded when he saw it. Aboutwhyhe hasn’t mentioned it to me. Or texted at all. But I do know with absolute certainty that I won’t find the answers in New York. The only thing the city has assured me of is that my chapter here is done.
No matter what tomorrow brings—whether my future is with or without Hunter—it’s time to go home.
TWENTY-THREE
Hunter
For three days,I stared at the painting Merritt left on my porch. Stared and stewed, which sounds like the kind of word my mom would use. But I can’t find a better one.
When I finally got home from the hospital, after Adam arrived and Isabelle calmed down and Cassidy had her new baby, Evelyn, the painting wasn’t here. But the next morning, there it was, leaning against the chair. A surprise. A gift.
Hopefully, not a parting one, but I’ll be honest—I’m freaking out.
