“Mia?”
I plugged my left ear to hear her better. “Yeah.”
“Oh my God, where the hell are you?”
“I’m in a bar near Lucas’s apartment.”
“Fuck.”
“Exactly. What did he say when he called?”
“He said you guys argued and you took off. He’s trying to find you.”
“Ha. How does he have your number anyway?”
“I think I called his phone when he was in Detroit once. What the f**k happened? Did he say no to moving in together?”
“No. We didn’t even get to that conversation. I was too distracted by the fact that his ex was there, in a robe, fresh from a f**king shower.”
Coco gasped. “Shut up! Jessica?”
“Uh huh. Apparently her tour ended—she’s some kind of performer—and she’s staying there for a few days until she finds an apartment.” Just the thought of it had me riled up all over again. This was not OK.
“And he didn’t tell you that?”
“Nope. And he didn’t tell her about me, either.”
“Oh my God, what an ass**le. I don’t believe it!”
“Me either. My nostrils are flaring.”
“That I believe. How long has she been there?”
“A couple days.”
“Oh.” Some of the shock and anger left Coco’s voice. “Well, maybe he was going to tell you.”
“Nice try, but no.” I quickly explained to Coco Lucas’s “reasoning” for all the secrecy. “Then he said some bullshit about not wanting total transparency in a relationship. Like I’m asking to know every thought in his head. I’m not!”
“God. What are you going to do?”
“No clue. I feel like getting on a plane for home, but—“
“I don’t think you can. Lucas said they’re canceling flights right and left out of New York because of the snowstorm.”
“Shit. I guess I’ll stay the night somewhere in Manhattan then. I’ll have to get a hotel.” More f**king money down the drain.
“OK. Call me or text me when you’re settled. I don’t like to think of you wandering the streets of New York alone.”
“You sound like my mother.”
Coco laughed a little. “Sorry, can’t help it. Are you going to talk to him?”
“No! He was a total jerk about this.” I said it and I wanted to mean it, but then I exhaled, my shoulders sagging. “You think I should?”
“Well…what he did was shitty but I know he loves you, and you flew all the way there to talk to him. Maybe you should, you know? Maybe this is the catalyst you needed to get him to say where this is going.”
“Yeah. You could be right. He just made me so mad. And disappointed.” I closed my eyes, took a deep breath. “I better go.”
“Love you. And you’re gonna be OK no matter what.”
“Love you too.”
We hung up, and I dropped the phone back into my purse. Now what should I do?
Possible Ways to Handle
Spontaneous Shitstorm
1) I could be a f**king Sad Lobster all night, sitting here in this bar drinking wine, staring out the window and pining for Lucas and my lost dreams.
2) I could be a Badass, throw back a few shots and make out with a hot random guy.
3) I could be a Self-Righteous Girlfriend, show up at his apartment and demand he kick Jessica to the curb if he ever wanted to taste my sweet pu**y again.
But none of those sounded like me.
I supposed I could just call him, tell him where I was and let him meet me here—but then that put us in the middle of a crowded bar, which wasn’t exactly the place for us to have the discussion we needed to have.
I wasn’t even sure what that was anymore.
A few hours ago, I’d gotten on a plane thinking that maybe this would be the last time one of us had to travel hundreds of miles to see each other. Now I had no idea if we were even still together. The tears that had been threatening for the last hour finally spilled over, and I kept my head down as I made my way to the bathroom, where I had a complete meltdown.
The place only had one bathroom, so it wasn’t long before someone knocked on the door. “Just a minute,” I called. After cleaning up my face the best I could, I took a few deep breaths and made my way back to my seat. Outside, the snow blew in furious gusts, and I dreaded going out there to look for a cab. And where was I going to tell the driver to take me once I found one?
God, it was just like Paris again, only with shittier weather.
Cursing my decision to come here, I ordered a second glass of wine and pulled out my phone to search for the closest hotel.
I had another text from Lucas.
I talked to Coco. Gramercy Park Hotel. Room 842. If you still want me.
Of course I want you! I want you forever, but I want YOU to want that too.
I felt like texting that back to him, but in the end I didn’t reply. I sat and drank another glass of wine while our romance in Paris replayed in my head, grainy and faded, like an old filmstrip. And our two days in Provence…I thought about those too. When I closed my eyes and inhaled, I could smell the lavender, feel the sun on my shoulders, taste the olives that grew in the orchard where we’d lain on a picnic blanket and read to each other on a lazy afternoon.
That was the day I’d admitted to myself that I was in love with Lucas.
I still loved him. And I still wanted him.