Page 19 of The Rebound
She sounds genuinely hurt.
“Because I was embarrassed,” I say. “I was upset and I was embarrassed and I panicked. That’s why. I needed to get out of the city.”
She silent for a moment. Then she sighs. “A few weeks?”
“That’s the plan.”
“I’ll come visit.”
“No.” I can’t think of anything worse. “You don’t need to.”
“I do need to,” she says flatly. “And I want to. I want to see you and I need a vacation anyway.”
“You vacation in Bora Bora.”
“But unfortunately for me, that’s not where you fled to. I spoke with your sister, by the way. I looked up that dolphin website you mentioned and called her. She did not sound happy to speak to me.”
“That’s just her general tone.” I smooth back my hair as a cool breeze whips a few curls from their hairpins. “You talked to her?”
“Is that not allowed?”
Not if Jess let slip about Tyler. I stare down at my left hand, where my ring glints tauntingly. I’d put it on the other night when Louise kept asking questions and it freaks me out every time I look at it.
“I needed to get her address because I knew you wouldn’t give it to me,” Jess continues. “I’m looking at it on Google Maps right now. Tell her she needs to retile her roof.”
I put the Irish phone into my bag and sit on my free hand, trying to keep warm. “I have to go,” I say. “I have no idea how much this call is costing me.”
“Are you serious?”
“I was on MacFarlane’s cell plan. I had to buy a separate one to keep the phone working.”
“The year 2002 called. It wants your—”
“Goodbye, Jess,” I interrupt. “And… thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Ireland. Believe me when I say it was a last-minute decision.”
“I forgive you,” she grumbles. “I guess it’s like that time I didn’t tell you about my rhinoplasty.”
“Yes, you’re right. It’s exactly like that.”
“Just come back, okay? Come back and we’ll fix it like we always do.”
“That’s my plan.” I gaze at an empty restaurant space across the street. “Bye, babe.”
“Bye, idiot.”
I hang up with an ache in my chest that wasn’t there before.
Jessica Darcy. Deceptively smart and not afraid to work hard, my best friend was punctual, wild, and wealthy. We started as analysts together at MacFarlane and she took a liking to me. I’m still not sure why. Maybe she saw me as a bit of a side project. Help the intensely serious girl with the cheap shoes and the odd accent. Whatever it was, I’m grateful for it. I don’t think I would have survived the first few months without her. At least not socially. She’d grown up in the world I was trying to break into and, as they say, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. I copied her confidence and her poise. I ate where she ate and shopped where she shopped until I knew enough and earned enough to find my own way. She ended up dropping out after the first year, unable to balance the sixteen-hour days with her penchant for nightclubs, but even after she left we remained close.
And now she wants to come here.
She wants to rock up in her designer jeans and her four-inch heels to see what? This? Me? I barely recognize who I am anymore. And what if she—
“Are those Red Dots?”
I turn at the shriek by my ear to see a woman in a long padded coat standing beside me. She’s tiny, her face round and pale, her nose tinged pink from the wind. Her jet-black hair hangs in a blunt bob around her chin as she stares at me, or the bottom half of me, with something akin to awe.
“Um…” I glance down at my clothes. “Yes.”
