Page 6 of Running Into You
Rilla:Send me your new mailing address?
Me:Are you going to start sending me religious propaganda?
Rilla:No. Good old fashion chain letters. You know, forward this letter to twenty people or someone you love will die in a freak scuba diving accident.
Me:Well, we can’t have that. 2A- 206 Inkerman Ave
Rilla:Are you screwing with me?
Me:…no?
Rilla:Large red brick building off Suttan?
Me:Stop stalking me on Google Maps
Rilla:I’ve been there. You live in the same building as Betty. She’s 2C.
I did not see that coming. I mean, yes, I knew that Betty lived in the city. I was even planning to ask Rilla for her contact information once I got settled. It’s been years since I’ve seen her.
I catch myself smiling just thinking about Betty. She’d been a great kid. Funny, smart, and cute as hell. Rilla tended to get herself into trouble without really trying, and Betty always acted as her sober second thought. She fit in well with my entire family, even coming with us on a few family vacations.
Then again, so had Eleanor. My smile disappears, thinking about our last conversation. Hadn’t I told her that I was looking at job postings out of state? She shouldn’t have been surprised when I decided to apply for one. But surprised she was. And hurt. She, like all our friends, thought this breakup was a phase that I needed to get out of my system.
It’s not.
I remember hearing one of those “Organize your house, organize your life!” Instagram influencers talking about decluttering a closet. She said everyone should go through their wardrobe at the start of a season and put everything they don’t reach for often in a box and pack it away. At the end of the season, anything in the box that they didn’t miss gets thrown out or donated. In the months since I ended things with her, I haven’t missed Eleanor. Not once. It makes me feel like an asshole. I’d been with her since high school. I should miss her.
Running my fingers through my hair again reminds me that I need a haircut. I add it to the mental list of things I need to get done this week. Aside from boring stuff like work contracts to finalize and payroll forms to submit, I want to finish setting up my place and familiarize myself with the neighborhood. And find a decent gym. My gym back in Portland had been my temple these past few months and I’m happy with the extra muscle I’ve put on. Every time I found myself second-guessing the choices I’d made; I’d go to the weight room and lift heavy shit until I was too tired to care anymore. I don’t start work until next week, so I’ve got plenty of time to get everything done.
Time. I check my watch and see that it’s after five. Betty should be home now. Rilla told me she would call her and give her a heads up so my showing up unannounced doesn’t scare the shit out of her. I have to admit, I’m excited to see her. I’ve got a few pals from college that live in the city, but having an old friend right down the hall is going to be nice. It’s been a long couple of days, and I want to see a friendly face. After giving myself a once over in the bathroom mirror, I decide to change into something that doesn’t have bits of packing peanuts stuck to it. I do my best to flatten down my unruly hair, but ultimately give up. Grabbing the cookies mom sent over with me, I leave my apartment and head next door.
Chapter 3
Betty
Josh is moving into my building. Josh. My childhood friend and the leading man in all my adolescent fantasies. The boy I pictured the very first time I touched myself. That Josh. My head swims and my heart hammers in my ears.
What are the odds? Seriously, what are the odds? Is there a formula I could use to do the math? The call with Rilla ended ten minutes ago, but I’m still on the couch, clutching a pillow to my chest. The pillow seems to be all that is keeping me grounded and I wonder if I were to put it down if I’d float away. I feel a sudden swell of affection for this pillow. It is my emotional-support pillow. I decide to call it Carol.
Just keep breathing, Betty. Everything will be fine if you just keep breathing. I haven’t had a panic attack in nearly two years and today is not the day that streak will be broken.
Scenarios start to crowd my mind. Seeing Josh in the halls. Running into him at the market. We were friends once before I purposefully started to avoid him. Would we be friends again? I’d be lying if I said I didn’t still think of him. I’ve never met anyone who made my heart ache and soar the way Josh did. I’ve dated guys, of course, but after what I went through with my last boyfriend, I swore off relationships all together. I shudder at the mere thought of my ex.
Relax, Betty. It’s not like Josh is going to want to date you. You’re getting worked up over nothing.
A knock at the door brings me back into the present. I’m not ready for what’s about to happen, but I’m not sure I’ll ever be. I stand up, inhale deeply, and walk over the gray-patterned tiles. I am on autopilot. Just put on a smile and pretend to be normal. I release the deadbolt and open the door. Josh stands there with what appears to be a tin filled with homemade cookies.
Be cool. Be cool. Be cool.
“Girl Scouts must really be hard up if you’ve been recruited,” I say, feigning surprise.
“Every sale helps support programs for girls like me.” He grins, holding out the cookies to me. I ignore them and launch myself in his arms for one of the best hugs of my life. Every one of my senses is elevated. Is it possible he’s gotten even taller since the last time I saw him? I’m on my highest tippy toes, and he still has to lean down to hug me. Feeling his toned muscles pressed against me is a whole other kind of drug. It’s as if I didn’t know I’d been homesick until now. I am hugging him too tightly, but he’s clinging to me just as hard. Eventually, I pull away, even though I don’t want to.
“Come on in, neighbor,” I say, a bit breathlessly. Extending my arm, I welcome him into the apartment. I watch him as he takes in his surroundings, running his eyes around what he can see of my place. I take full advantage of this and give him a thorough once-over. He looks great. Tall, dark, and broad. I’m still ogling how much he’s filled out when his gaze turns back to me. He takes his time looking me over and I feel his eyes on me like a physical touch. We stare at each other for a beat too long.
“Wine?” I suggest nervously.
“God, yes,” he says with a nod. I disappear into the kitchen.
