Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
“Mom.” I laugh, holding my forehead.
“If I’m honest, you could do better.”
“Thank you.” My eyebrows pinch together. “I guess.”
I kiss them both and watch them get into the SUV while sirens blare from a couple of streets over. I look up at the sky, seeing it’s clouded over without one star in sight. I take a deep breath in before closing the door.
I think about ordering some food, but instead, I just head upstairs to the bedroom. The thought of eating is not appealing at all. It’s only when I slide into bed that I wonder what he’s doing. My hand itches to grab my phone and text him, but I think it would be a bad idea. We didn’t speak about what would happen when I left. I was a coward. Even though I knew I should, I didn’t bring it up. Instead, we both danced around it for three days. I just wanted to soak in every minute I had with him. Leaving him was hands down the hardest thing I think I’ve ever had to do, which makes no sense to me. “No one falls in love with someone in two weeks,” I tell myself, turning to the side, listening to the noise coming from outside. “You like him and the sex he gave you.” The conversation I’m having with my head is one-sided. “It’s because you miss him,” I huff, turning to the other side, “and now you are alone.” I curl my knees into my chest. “In a week, you won’t even remember him.” That’s the last thing I say because I can literally hear myself laughing at me.
Sleep doesn’t come easy for me that night, and when I finally give up and look at the clock, it’s after six in the morning. I blame the noise from the outside instead of the fact I’m miserable being here. I’m making myself coffee when my phone beeps with a text message, and I rush to it, thinking it will be him. I'm hoping he’s just as miserable without me as I am without him. Instead, I see it’s from Sofia, so my heart that was soaring is now sinking again.
Sofia: Care to explain why I got a scathing call from your mother about not sharing certain information with her?
I look up at the ceiling, and instead of texting her, I call her, and she answers after one ring. “I’m not talking to you,” she answers, and I can hear cooing in the background. “Yeah, my precious, I’m not talking to your auntie because she threw me under the bus to your gigi.” She mentions the name my mother decided to use when Sofia gave birth.
“I’m sorry,” I say, making my coffee. “It literally just slipped out.”
“And you couldn’t, I don’t know, warn me that she knew?” she hisses.
“I know, but after they left, I went upstairs to unpack and forgot.”
“You forgot? You forgot.”
“I just got home,” I remind her. “I had other things on my mind.”
“What other things?” The burning starts in my eyes this time and moves to my nose.
“I was just—” My voice comes out shaky. “It was a lot.”
“Oh my God!” she shrieks. “Do I want to know?”
“There is nothing to know.” I clear my throat, swallowing down the lump. “I’m here; he’s there. I live here; he lives there.”
“Zara,” she whispers.
“It’s fine.” I shake it away. “It’ll be fine.”
“Zara,” she whispers again, and I can hear the pity in her voice.
“I said it’s fine,” I snap, the lone tear escaping. “It’s all good. It was a vacation fling, and hopefully, if we ever see each other again, it won’t be awkward.”
“I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
“No, I have to go and get ready to do a walk-through at my old place.”
“It’s five o’clock in the morning,” she reminds me.
“I know. I’m going to go and mentally prepare for it,” I hiss. “Now give my nephew a kiss from me and tell him I’m his favorite aunt.”
“Obviously,” she says, making me laugh. “Call me if you want to talk.”
“Will do,” I reply, knowing full well I will never call her to talk about this. There is no one on this earth I want to talk to about this, except well, obviously, the man I want.
I have my coffee in the living room, opening up the drapes, but instead of seeing the forest I’ve grown to love, I see a brownstone that looks like mine but only a different color. All the lights are off in most of the houses up and down the street. The streetlights look like they are still on but on dim. In the matter of seconds it takes me to look up and down the street, five cars have zoomed by the front of my house.
I shake my head, closing the drapes, and instead go up the stairs to have coffee in my bed and not think about the quiet little house I left behind or the man who somehow took a hold of my heart without me even knowing.