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And disappointment, that we didn’t connect the way we’d planned.
“Good morning,” he says.
I wonder how many women get to hear the deep, rocky sound of his first words of the day. Probably a lot.
But only once.
“Good morning,” I say, sounding more chipper than I normally do. I don’t think it’s the positivity mantras. It’s Drew.
He smiles, an honest-to-God smile. “You wake up like sunshine.”
“You’re not so gloomy yourself.” It’s hard to imagine him yelling at a receptionist to the point that she quit. I mean, I can see him getting that way. I remember how he was the night of the wedding, and even that day I brought doughnuts.
But he’s not that way right now.
I glance down at my crinkled gold dress. “This is going to be an epic walk of shame with no actual shame.”
He grunts. “Sasha got all the attention.”
I think I’ll roll over, see if this morning will pay the dividends I was cheated last night.
But then my phone chimes again. “Highway to Hell.”
“That’s you,” he says. “Who gets that ringtone?”
“My sister. She’s headed back to Alabama today.”
“And she wants you.”
“I’m supposed to take her to the bus station.” I stop there. I might incriminate myself about the job that still exists, the apartment I have to vacate, and the life I have back in Alabama.
“She doesn’t have a car here?” Drew pets Sasha, who has settled on the top cushion of the sofa.
“We share one.”
“Do you have time for an omelet before you go?”
Good God, a man who makes omelets after a night of not-sex. How do I say no to that?
But I have to check on Tillie. I can’t make her miss her bus, and calling for a ride is expensive.
“Let me see what time she needs me.”
I shove the blanket aside, grimacing at the vision of my own commando girl parts visible in the tangle of strips of my dress. I pull it down and don’t look back at Drew to see if he’s noticed. In the light of day, the dress seems tawdry and cheap. That’s not what I was going for.
The phone sits on the kitchen counter, the very one where Drew had his fingers all up in my business. I have two missed calls from Tillie, plus a handful of messages.
Tillie:Still at lover boy’s?
Tillie:Are you okay?
Tillie:I’m assuming you aren’t dead in a ditch.
Tillie:Hey, call me. I have to leave at ten and Lila is puking.
The last message was an hour ago.
I punch through a call. Tillie picks up on one ring.
