Page 129 of Things I Overshared
I nod. “Resigning, I heard.”
“Leaving New York.”
“What!” My mouth responds before my mind can catch up. An odd sensation. “And going where?!” Panic settles deep in my empty stomach. It cuts deeper and faster than anything I’ve felt in weeks, and it takes my breath away. I close my eyes and, like thousands of times before, I see yellow.
I exhale the memory away.
“Dallas. And since you’re suddenly as white as a ghost, I think it’s time you tell me what is really going on, with her, but really with you, man. Your hands are even shaking. What the hell is it?”
My hands go to pinch my forehead. That’s the shit thing about actually having good friends. You let down your guard, and then eventually, even the things you want to keep hidden, they can see. There’s no point denying that I’m dying a slow and painful death inside, because now, here in front of me, looking at the evidence, my best friend, he already knows. I finally look at him. I don’t know what my face says, but he reacts with his whole body.
“Damn. Let’s go find some drinks.” I barely nod and start to follow him out my office door. He continues: “And you’re gonna start from the beginning. And you’re gonna use all your big-boy words and you’re not going to leave any shit out, either.”
Bloody hell.
_________
“Wow.” Adam sits, staring at his beer.
I’m unaware of the time or what round we’re on, but we arrived in late morning when the bar was dead, and it’s starting to fill up with early happy hour goers now. I’ve talked more than I can remember talking maybe ever, at Adam’s prompting and prodding. I am also more exhausted than I can remember being, which is saying something since I haven’t slept well in thirty-one nights. Actually thirty-two.
“So, just to clarify, you chose to tell her basicallynoneof that?” he asks me. I nod. “For an actual genius, you are a raging moron. Like, damn, dude.”
I sigh.
“You think I should just tell her?”
“Absolutely! Idiot!” He yells so loudly, and slams the table, causing the entire bar to turn and look at us.
I clench my jaw. We should’ve gone to my apartment.
“But she deserves—”
“She deserves to make up her own mind, and I think you both deserve a real shot with each other. That is, if you get your ass on a plane in the next few hours.”
I consider what he’s said, trying to think through the haze of exhaustion and the looming headache. Underneath it all, the confusion, regret, anger, dread, there’s . . . hope. At the acknowledgment of it, it grows. My breath quickens, and my eyes sting. I think of her, of the part of my very person that’s missing. As if I walked away from a vital organ when I left that hotel room. I close my eyes. Yellow. Samantha. Brightening possibilities.
The pressure in my chest lessens by a fraction.
“Let’s go. I’ve got to pack.”
Chapter 41
SAMANTHA
“Sa-aaam! You need to come look at this!” I hear Sadie call from down the hall.
I sigh and roll my eyes.
“No! Just like yesterday, I’m still not ready to review rom-com scenes with you!”
“No, really, come here.”
“I’m almost done memorizing this one section, then I’ll be in there.”
“Samantha Jane, get out here right now!”
Jeez. It’s not like Sadie to get so worked up. I pad out into the living room and see her staring at her Texas-size TV. I’m annoyed, wondering how any show or movie could warrant this kind of urgency. Then I see the screen.
