Page 28 of The One You Chose

Taking a large gulp of the tea, I felt the scalding liquid burn my tongue. Great, now I’d have a sore tongue, a hangover and a broken heart in the morning. Nothing but great decisions tonight.

My mother said nothing, leaving me in my self-pity.

I moved to my childhood bedroom. My parents hadn’t changed it much. They switched out the bedding for less flashy stuff; I was going through a neon color phase the last time I lived here. My yellowing old Babysitters Club and Fear Street paperbacks lined up on the high bookshelf. My mother took down the collage I made of male celebrities and put up a landscape of Oia.

I changed into a pair of silk pajamas my mother gave me, an ornate set that I would never buy for myself. My pajamas were old school tee shirts and ratty athletic shorts. Downstairs I could hear my parents and brother watching It’s a Wonderful Life. We watched the holiday movie together every Christmas. All day long the next day, my mother would chide my father with the line “George, why must you torture the children” to all of our raucous laughter. I knew they’d be wondering where I was but I couldn’t bring myself to join them. Out the window, I watched as Aunt Cathy shooed her kids to the car, yelling that if they don’t get in St. Basil wasn’t going to bring them any presents. They listened to that.

Sliding between the high thread count sheets I closed my eyes. Christmas would come and then New Years after that. Turning to my side, I allowed myself to wonder what it would feel like to have Fitz by my side.

Viscount Rodolphe had stolen a phaeton from another man and was currently racing across Mayfair to tell Lady Beatrice how he felt. He knew how to woo a woman. I pictured Fitz in a cravat, the two-wheeled vehicle careening as he raced to my side. Me in a low-cut dress, my fichu barely covering me as I waited for my lover.

“You sure you don’t want to come with us?” Zoya fixed a pin in her dark intricate updo that likely took her hours.

I set down my book to study Zoya. When I told her I wasn’t going out for New Year she invited me out to the masquerade party in Manzanita. While it was a kind offer, I knew Milo had gotten the tickets for it weeks before and even if I wanted to come, there was no chance I could get in.

Since the email, Zoya was careful not to ask too often about what I was going to do. Careful for her at least, which meant she only asked me once a day. True restraint, that woman.

“No, I’ll drink a bottle of cheap champagne and watch the countdown at the Space Needle on TV like all the other losers out there.

“Don’t drink alone. At least go to the Skol House if you’re going to be pathetic.”

“Love you too, Zo.” I stuck my tongue out.

Zoya pinched my cheek playfully. “And you’re not going to see him?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

Milo knocked before opening up the front door. He had a key to our place and was always careful not to walk in without knocking, likely a holdover from having a stepsister his age.

“You ready?” he asked Zoya before looking at me. I could see the surprise in his eyes as he took in my Stained Ridgewood Baseball tee shirt I stole years before from my brother and the oversized sweatpants that my ex-boyfriend left behind a year before.

“Oh, hey, Lina. You good?” his question falling off at the end. As he fumbled for words, Zoya raced around the room looking for her lost wallet.

“Peachy, Milo. So peachy.” Standing, I picked up a pile of magazines that were hiding her wallet. I handed it to her. “You two better get going, you don’t want to be late.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Zoya asked one more time and I could see Milo raise a brow in fear. Quickly I let him out of his misery.

“Absolutely not. You two go, have fun. I bet your car is waiting on you.” I pushed her towards the door.

Once they had left, I walked to the fridge, pulling out the bottle of champagne I took from my parent’s house a few days prior. Popping the cork, I took a swallow straight from the bottle. The cold sweet liquid went down easily.

Too easily. Pulling the bottle away I checked the label. Sparkling Apple Cider. Non-Alcoholic. Dammit. That would not do. If I was going to be a wallowing idiot alone on New Year, I was going to do it drunk.

Grumbling, I changed out of my old sweatpants and shirt and into slightly more presentable clothes, which I then covered with my rain jacket and boots. Getting into my cold car, I turned on the heat, letting the musty warm air flow over my face for a minute before I made the five minute drive to Ridgewood Market. The radio was playing some old holiday standard. Outside my window the lights of Front Street reflected off the dark wet pavement. I could still meet Fitz. It was only seven and he said he’d wait all night. I wanted so badly to believe in what I felt with him, but what if I was wrong? If it hurt this bad after two nights together how hard would it be if it didn’t work out later. How did I know he really wanted to be with me?

In the store, I double-checked that the bottle I grabbed did indeed contain enough alcohol to last me through the night.

I made my way to the sandwich counter to order my favorite, a jambon and brie baguette. Despite the twelve-dollar price tag price I bought it for myself without a second thought. Was it bland? Yes. But after the week I had, I didn’t want spice.

I couldn’t even bring myself to put hot sauce on my mac and cheese the day before. Bland food and my books, my solace. The buzz of the grocery store around me was a low roar as I made my way to the check-out stand.

Pausing in the sweets aisle, I picked up a bag of my favorite dark chocolate dipped cookies. This trip was proving to be an expensive pity party, but I was past caring. Black boots stopped in front of me and I looked up to see Sandy from the hotel. Her arms crossed over her chest and glared at me.

“Sandy,” I glanced around to ensure she was stopping to talk to me and not trying to get the same overpriced cookies as me. “Hi, how are you? What are you doing here?”

Sandy frowned at me, a line forming between her brows. She wore a thick black coat over a green polo I recognized as the same one she wore that day in the hotel. White fluff was sticking out of a small hole at the bottom of her coat. “Look, I saw you up here and while I know we’ve had our differences, or whatever, I thought you should have this.”

Reaching in her quilted purse she pulled out a square of paper with the nameLinaon it in neat block letters. She tossed the paper on the display of sugar cookies between us.

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