Page 31 of The Boss and the Wedding Mess
I scroll further down and see she texted that she’s in a taxi. But that was an hour ago!
Dear God, why? Why me?
I call her again and type at the same time:Please don’t go, I’ll handle this!
Looks like my streak of bad luck isn’t over yet. I let it ring and rinse my mouth again. Mope. Still not answering.
“Oh, come on, Nessa! Pick up! Please!”
In a panic, I text Alexander: “My best friend might show up at the office today. Please just ignore her!
Alex: Too late.
Me: What’s that supposed to mean?
Alex: She already found me. She took a taxi here, and I drove her home.
Me: Please, PLEASE tell me this is a joke!
Alex: She was a bit tipsy and fell asleep in my car. But I got Vanessa to her apartment and now I’m on my way home. Your friend is really funny.
Me: I’m so sorry!
Alex: No need. She really stood up for you.
Me: She’s going through a rough patch right now.
Alex: Yeah, I know the story. I think you told me about five times today.
Me: She gets a little melancholic when she drinks. Please don’t hold it against her.
Alex: She talks a lot if you let her :)
Me: What did she tell you?
Alex: Not much.
Me: Come on, tell me!
Alex: Your shift is over. See you tomorrow.
Me: Alex! Answer me!
No reply. Of course.
I sit on the edge of the bathtub, face burning, staring up at the ceiling.
God, are you punishing me? What on earth did I do to deserve this torture?
I sigh, lower my gaze, and try to pull myself together. I call Vanessa a few more times while changing into something comfortable and packing my gym bag. She’s probably sleeping the alcohol off. So, I text her: “What did you tell Alex?”
Maybe instead of going to the gym, I should hit the boxing ring instead? I haven’t been there in weeks.
I check the hours online—still the same. Perfect. I really feel like punching a sandbag. This anger has to go somewhere, and fast.
It takes me only about twenty minutes, even with stop-and-go traffic, to get to the sports hall on the edge of downtown. The building sits off to the side in a quiet area—you wouldn’t expect a boxing club here. Mostly young men come here to prove themselves. Women are rare. But I kinda like that.
After parking, I head for the entrance with my bag. The heavy steel door is propped open, letting a little fresh air into the heated interior. I can already smell the sweat even from here.
