Page 42 of The Rebound
I roll my eyes, lying back against my pillow. Another week has passed, another week when I haven’t booked a ticket home, when I’ve avoided Louise’s questions when I haven’t managed to avoid her entirely. Dad keeps sending me companies he thinks I should work for (“Why don’t you just knock on the door and start a conversation,” he said, like I was applying to work in a grocery store in 1956) whereas Mam is texting me daily stories about her friends’ children and their various difficulties, convinced all I needed to do was to compare myself to people she thought had it worse than me. (Shauna’s daughter is divorced.Twice. And her not even thirty-two.)
“Did you hear a Reuters reporter was parked outside Emma Wallace’s house last week?” Jess continues. “Some ‘where are they now’ article.”
“Are you serious? It’s been two months.”
“They’re desperate for it. You’d think by now some B-lister would have tweeted something questionable but there’s been nothing. It’s never a slow news day when you need it.” Her eyes flick to the phone. “Any luck yet?”
“Tons. Why else do you think I look so happy?”
“Sarcasm will get you nowhere, Reynolds.”
“What about the others?” I ask. Even though Jess left the company years ago, I’ve never known anyone with such a gift for keeping in touch with people. “Did you hear from Kenny?”
“Private equity. And Arnold’s already got a book deal about his experience, so he’s a douche. Chrissy’s gone to work for her father.”
“Didn’t you guys have a thing once?”
“Are you saying because she has a crush on me I can get you a foot in the door?”
“Kind of.”
“I already tried.” Jess sighs. “You need to be here, Abby.”
“I’ve only been gone a few weeks.”
“And you’re already going out of your mind. I can see it in your eyes.”
“If I’m going nuts here, I’ll be even more nuts over there. At least I’m not maxing out credit cards trying to pretend everything’s fine.”
She doesn’t answer, her gaze somewhere to the left as she stares straight ahead of her. It’s seven a.m. in New York and, though I can only see the upper half of her torso from where she’s positioned me on the treadmill, I can picture the sleek lines of the gym in her office skyscraper, the sun rising over Manhattan as she looks out. I feel a pang of longing just thinking about it. But I know I’m right.MyNew York was only mine on my terms. Homeless, jobless, and skiving off my friends is not how I want to live.
“Then how about a change?” she asks. “Something different. Communications.”
“Communications?”
“Joey moved into communications and she gets to travel all the time.”
“I don’t want to travel. And I don’t want to go into communications. I don’t want to do anything else.”
“That’s because you don’t know anything else,” she insists. “I mean look at me. I got out. I’m still alive.”
“What an endorsement.”
“I’m just saying.”
I know she is. And it’s not like I haven’t considered it these last few weeks. But I meant what I said. I don’t want to do anything else. I don’t know how to do anything else. I could go back to college and retrain, sure, but as what? And where would I get the money? Or would I put myself in even more debt to do it?
“Okay,” Jess says as her smartwatch flashes. “I’ve got to go do some deadlifts next to a bunch of men with bad form and veiny foreheads.”
“Thanks for squeezing me in.”
She comes to a stop as the treadmill stills beneath her. “It’s not just for you, you know. You should come back for me as well.”
“Is that your way of saying you miss me?”
“I miss stress-smoking outside a bar while you stress-watched me. Just don’t disappear. I’ve decided I’m too old to meet new people.”
“I’ll do my best.”
