“He didn’t. He did tell me to drive by the Junk Yard, though.”
“Ahh. Sneaky.”
I don’t know whether to text Nicholas with HOW COULD YOU KEEP THIS A SECRET or BLESS YOUR GORGEOUS SOUL. “A mastermind,” I agree. “Actually, I wore this outfit today because I thought it might suit the job interview I was on my way to. Which I need to call up and cancel …” I reach into my purse and pull out a completed application. “When did you say the job starts, again?”
“No later than April. Maybe March, if I can swing it. You still going to be unemployed by then?”
“I’m all in,” Brandy says automatically.
That’s a few months away. Well past January twenty-sixth, which in my head has signaled the time of death on my relationship with Nicholas. I don’t think that’s the case anymore. I think that come April, I’ll still be living in that house in the woods.
“Yes, I’m going to wait for this job.”
He shakes Brandy’s hand, then mine. “Welcome aboard.”
Brandy glances at the application in my other hand, then frowns and does a double take. “I wouldn’t be using Melissa as a reference if I were you.”
“I’m not.”
She points at the number I have listed as my reference. “That’s Melissa’s number.”
“No, it’ s—” I scroll through my contacts and stop dead. She’s right. I’d meant to supply Melvin Howard’s information and gotten Melvin mixed up with Melissa. “Oh, shit. This is the number I’ve been giving out everywhere I apply.”
Her jaw drops. “No.”
“Yes.”
“Oh no, Naomi.” She puts her hands over her mouth and snort-laughs. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh. It’s terrible. I’m so sorry, I really am.”
The only reason I’m able to laugh along with her is that I’ve got a job now. “Laughing through my tears,” I pretend-sob. “I don’t want to assume that Melissa sabotaged me, but I also really want to think that now, because it’d be so nice to blame her for all those jobs turning me down.”
“Melissa’s the worst. Just for you, I’m gonna go to Let’s Get Crafty after this and mess up all the shelves. It’ll take her ages to put everything back where it goes.”
I give her a hug. “My sweet little protégé has come so far.” After I call my interviewer at the campground to cancel, we play Would You Rather and What’s That Stain—the answer to which is almost always Zach, since he liked to secretly shake our sodas before we opened them. Brandy tells me he’s busy forming a new religion in Florida. That absolutely sounds like something Zach would say, but whether he’s telling the truth is anybody’s guess. The man is an enigma.
Brandy and I head out to grab lunch for the three of us, and then it’s just like old times again, minus Melissa and Zach. We’re surrounded by sketches of what the Junk Yard is going to look like this spring, mocking up logos and a big road sign. Brandy uses a pencil to turn a hamburger grease stain on one of the papers into a lumpy rectangle. “And that’ll be the karaoke machine.”
“The what now?” says Leon.
“Oooh!” I squeal. “Karaoke! Brandy, that’s a great idea. Five stars.”
He stares at the grease stain with a look of revulsion. “Karaoke in a restaurant called Backwoods Buffet?”
“Yeah, and we’ll do luaus! We’ll put leis and grass skirts on your grizzly bears.” I beam at him. “Don’t lie. You love it. This is my decoration genius at work, remember.”
He groans.
“All right, I’ve gotta go.” Brandy wipes her salty fingers on my knee and I wipe mine on her back. Leon shakes his head at us. “Have to sit in a hot warehouse for the next eight hours while Bob, my boss, follows me around complaining about his ex-wife because he thinks women exist to listen to his problems. I can’t wait to be out of there.” She points sternly at Leon. “Don’t you dare back out of this.”
“I can’t even tell you how much money I would lose if I backed out of this,” Leon replies. “If I go down, you’re all going down with me.”
“Good. Because I’m going to spend the rest of the day dreaming about how I’m going to quit. I’m thinking it will be very dramatic. I’ll throw a drink in Bob’s face and say ‘Go to hell!’ and it will be amazing.”
“Everyone will applaud,” I say.
When she reaches the door, I call, “Text me info about those painting parties! Nicholas and I are going to drunk-paint with you and Vance the optometrist. Also, you guys are coming over to play Dungeons and Dragons sometime. I’ve never played before, but I feel like it will be an out-of-body experience for that nerd I live with, which I would like to witness.”
Leon looks excited. “I like Dungeons and Dragons.”
“You would, weirdo,” Brandy says, just before the door shuts behind her. Through the glass, she yells, “Just kidding! Love you! Please don’t fire me.” Then she blows us a kiss.
I leave, too, still smiling from ear to ear long after I’ve climbed into my car. Who knows, the restaurant might only last a year. But I can guarantee it’ll be a fun year. I couldn’t ask for anything better than that. For the first time in a long time, my future unfolds before me bright with promise. I have dreams and goals and I will make them all come true. I can do anything, even learn how to change a tire.
I should probably learn how to do that, actually. Tomorrow I’m going to fire up the old YouTube and figure out how to do some of the stuff I’ve supposedly known how to do for ages. I’m going to symbolically adopt an endangered tiger and recycle my aluminum cans. I’m going to pay the library a sixty-five-cent fine I’ve owed for two years. I’m going to do three push-ups.
I come home to a purple front door and no fiancé. Or boyfriend, depending on whether he still wants to marry me. I’m not sure what to call him now. He’s my friend. My partner. A selfless but complicated man who would drive seven hours because his parents asked him to, and he’s a better son than they are parents.
He texts at six thirty. Finally done. Going to go grab dinner and find my hotel. How’s your day been, Miss Backwoods Buffet?
That devious man. I’m going to kiss him so hard when he comes home.
I construct four casual, everything’s-peachy replies but delete them. They’re not the truth. The truth is this: I miss you so much. I wish you were here.
So that’s what I send him.
I’ve been awake since before three a.m. and it’s catching up. Upstairs, I pause at Nicholas’s door. He could have locked it but he didn’t. He could have shut it but he left it wide open, and I can’t help the heartache that overtakes me when I see the palm leaves on his blanket. I miss that blanket terribly. I miss our headboard, and the glow of his digital clock. I miss our bed. The piece of furniture I’ve been sleeping on has never felt like my bed. How can it? There’s no Nicholas there.
I snoop through his nightstand drawer to check if the straw wrapper bracelet is still there. It is. He’s also got the notes I’ve packed in his lunch and the popcorn necklace I made him, stashed away like a teenage boy with a crush. He’s pressed a stem of vitality-boosting myrtle between the pages of a book to preserve it forever. The tight, hibernating bud of a flower inside my chest yawns its petals wide open, taking up all the room until the pressure in my expanded rib cage leaves me airless.