Page 86 of Nerdelicious
How did she...I remember her other instructions. “Uh, Sophia sent me.”
“Oh. Right. Did you want to take a look today?”
“Yes. Please.”
Miraculously, the apartment is perfect and because I have my paperwork and down payment ready—because that’s how you do it in New York if you want to get it done—I can move in within the next two weeks.
Later that afternoon, while I’m presenting a well-thought-out argument to my parents on the benefits of eating takeout as opposed to my mother’s cooking, I get a text from Beast.
Did you get the apartment?
A heat wave rolls through my body and I race upstairs to get away from my parents’ prying gazes.
I got it! Did Grace tell you?
A few long seconds pass before he replies.She did. She told me about emailing you the details, but I convinced her to call.
I lie down on my bed, clutching my phone like a lifeline.You can be very convincing. Thank you. The place is perfect. How are things in BF?
It’s good. Picking up extra shifts at Bodean’s to help in the kitchen.
There’s another long pause with the text bubble dotting my screen.
I miss you.
I miss you, too.And then before I can chicken out, I tug down my tank top, take a probably not that sexy but topless duck-face selfie, and send the picture.
His response is immediate.Damn. I think you’re trying to kill me.
I laugh and wish I could see his face, his dark gaze capturing me like a fist.
He’s still typing.You’re too gorgeous. Now I want to get on the next flight to New York.
I wouldn’t stop you.
I’m coming to visit as soon as I can.
It’s not soon enough.
The very next day, the whirlwind begins. Shopping, working, moving into my new place. Staying busy and occupied is literally the only reason I haven’t totally lost my shit.
I’ve exchanged some texts with the others, not just Beast. It’s not the same and my heart aches with the loss, the yearning unbearable if I dwell on it for too long. So I don’t. Instead, I keep going.
The job is brilliant. Everyone is awesome and into geeky pop culture. I have to work with a marketing team, which is scary at first, but they actually listen to me like I’m a human being with value and insight.
To celebrate, my parents take me with them to Blossom on Ninth for Thursday night dinner.
It’s not Sunday supper at Granny’s. There are no “Dearly beloveds,” and it’s just me and the parents, but I make an attempt to enjoy myself nonetheless.
I text Beast on my way home in the cab but don’t get a response. A glance at the clock tells me why. He’s working. An ache builds in my chest. I wish I could see his face. I miss him so much.
Tears threaten and I force myself to take a deep breath and avert my attention to unpacking my apartment.
It’s almost finished. I didn’t have much to begin with. My parents gave me an old hand-me-down sofa and TV set. I brought my old bed from home. I have a small kitchen and dining nook, which opens into the living room, and then there’s a small bedroom and connecting bathroom with a claw-foot tub and standing shower. It’s practically a mansion by New York standards.
Once I’ve finished hanging a picture on the wall, my only picture, I step back to admire it. Beast mailed it to me last week to celebrate my new pad. It’s a framed quote from Stan Lee. “If you have an idea that you genuinely think is good, don’t let some idiot talk you out of it,” I read out loud.
I’ve been avoiding hanging it up, because while I love it, seeing it there every day reminds me of what I’m missing.
