Page 81 of The Book Club Boyfriend
At its core, I know this isn’t about Graham.
It’s aboutme.
Something is happening in my life. Maybe it’s finally time to deal with my parents’ divorce in ways I’ve avoided all these years. To confront how scary it feels when everything you thought you knew is yanked away, or how to accept that other people can let us down and hurt us when we get too close.
But that worry is for future Scarlett, in a future therapy session.
This Scarlett just wants to complain about her ex and drink wine with her bestie—which is its own kind of therapy.
“Next time,” she says, standing up, “you need to give me more warning when we’re going to day-drink. I hardly have any snacks.”
I let out a weak laugh. “Deal.”
Later that evening, I’ve sobered up and am back home—sitting on my couch, wrapped in a blanket like a sad little burrito—when my phone buzzes.
I let out a sigh and ignore it. I’m mid-meltdown, which is not exactly the vibe I want to share with the world right now.
Something shifted in me today. Between the cabernet and the girl talk, the Chinese takeout and the dinnertime nap… I’m a bit of a mess. I’m dehydrated, for one.
But the screen lights up again, and this time, I see the name.
Chase Remington.
Igroan.
The last thing I need is Mr. Sunshine checking in to see how I’m doing when I’m seconds away from drowning in self-pity and the leftover Chinese food I brought home from Harper’s.
But my traitorous thumb opens the message anyway.
Chase:Hey. Just checking in. You good?
I stare at it for a second.
He doesn’t know. He can’t know.
Right?
Still, I type back before I can overthink it.
Me:All good. Just catching up on work stuff.
Lie. Total lie. The only thing I’ve accomplished today is discovering that the man who once told me I was his entire future is now marrying someone who probably owns matching kitchen towels and says things like “we’re just so aligned spiritually.”
His response comes a beat later.
Chase:Cool. Just felt like you might need someone to remind you you’re a badass.
My chest tightens unexpectedly.
Then another message pops up.
Chase:And also—I have ice cream. If that helps.
I stare at the screen, torn between smiling and crying.
Me:What kind?
Chase:Chocolate peanut butter cup. I don’t play around.
