I leaned over and gave Owen a hug. “She adores you, Owen, and you could never let her down. Never.”
“Thanks, Chloe. I love her, too.”
“I know you do.” I kissed Owen on the cheek and stepped out of the truck. “You better get off to that job search, mister.”
“Hey,” he started, “please think about talking to Josh. I think you’re blowing things here. He is still in love with you, Chloe.”
“Tough!” I shut the door.
“And you’re in love with him!” Owen called out the window as I walked away. “You know you are!”
“Shut up, Owen!” I laughed over my shoulder. He meant well, but he wasn’t doing much to bolster the supposedly independent-woman theme I had going.
I was wiped out. When I reached my condo, I immediately yanked off my mental-health-professional clothes and pulled on cozy sweatpants and thick socks. I was going to hunker down in front of Thursday-night television and work my way through a carton of ice cream. I rooted through my dresser for a top and pulled out the first one I got my hands on, a worn red T-shirt. Seeing what I’d yanked out at random, I pressed the tattered shirt to my face as my eyes welled up. The T-shirt was Josh’s. I’d forgotten that I still had it. I inhaled deeply, hoping that a trace of him still lingered on the shirt, but it just smelled like laundry detergent. I knew I should have shoved it back into the dresser or, better yet, thrown it in the trash, but I pulled it over my head, wrapped my arms around my chest, and hugged the fabric against me.
I flipped on the computer, sat on the bed, and checked Facebook. I’d been out of the Facebook loop for a long time; I’d barely checked in since Josh had left. Despite having blocked all of his attempts to contact me, I hadn’t had the heart to remove him from my list of friends. I clicked on his name and saw my chef’s profile picture, a gorgeous shot of him with a ridiculously perfect ocean behind him, a photo obviously taken in Hawaii. His tanned face smiled at me, and I stuck my tongue out at him. When I browsed through a bunch of photos from Hawaii, it seemed to me that he had been having a jolly good time there frolicking on the beach with new friends, slinging back drinks on a lanai, and snorkeling off a boat in stupendous waters. Ugh, and there were lots of stupid, bikini-clad bronze goddesses in the pictures. I scoffed at the photos but felt pasty and bloated at the sight of those girls.
When my cell rang, I haphazardly picked it up. “Hello?” I said, still staring at a glistening Josh emerging from the water after his first attempt at surfing.
“Chloe, it’s Kyle.”
I decided right away that I’d make no mention of the nastiness with his father. If Kyle wanted to bring it up, I’d certainly be there for him, but I was in no mood to exercise my social-work skills. “Hey, Kyle.”
“Hey yourself. Do you want to try another restaurant tonight? I found this great- looking Cajun place tucked between an all-night laundromat and a goth bar.”
“That sounds great,” I lied, “but could we do it another night? I’ve got so much schoolwork to catch up on.” Truthfully, I didn’t feel like spending another night out at a bad restaurant. Kyle just didn’t seem to know how to pick good ones. But our project was evidently still on.
“Of course. I know I’ve been asking for a lot of your time lately. Maybe Adrianna is free? And Owen, of course? They might like to have dinner out.”
“That’s a great idea,” I murmured as I glared at a photo of Josh in between two brunettes. “It’s really generous. But I just talked to Owen, and Ade is taking Patrick to some moms’ group tonight, and Owen is chained to the computer to look for a new job.”
“He’s giving up on the seafood business?” Kyle asked.
“Apparently. If he can find something better, which at this point could be almost anything.” I paused. “Your father can’t go with you?” I suggested tentatively.
“My father is having dinner with someone else tonight.” He dropped the name of a very famous Food Network chef. I was duly impressed.
“You weren’t invited?”
“No, I wasn’t.” Kyle couldn’t hide his bitterness. “Anyway, I think I’ll go out and try this place by myself. If it’s worth it, then maybe you’ll come back with me another night?”
“Definitely.”
“Now, you sure I can’t lure you away from work? A little gumbo? Creole? Etouffée?”
I had no appetite for anything but soothing ice cream right now. “Sorry. But another night, I promise. I’ll talk to you soon.”
I hung up and clicked back to Josh’s profile page. One of my favorite things about Facebook is being able to see what friends are doing. When Facebook offers me the fill- in-the-blank opportunity to tell people what I’m up to myself-Chloe followed by a space to enter whatever I like-I usually update my status by supplying silly things like “Chloe is considering buying a BeDazzler so she can stud all her clothes with rhinestones” or “Chloe is wondering why she has the theme from Superman running through her head.”
Josh’s status had been updated twenty minutes earlier: “Josh is still missing her.”
My cell rang again. I figured that Kyle was calling back to reel off more Cajun cooking terms and repeat his invitation to go out. I was wrong.
“You picked up this time,” Josh said.
“It was an accident.” I clicked off his profile and hit the Status Updates button, the one that let me know what all of my online friends were doing at that Facebook moment.
“What are you doing right now?” he asked.
“Looking through Facebook. Isn’t that exciting? My life is terribly scintillating. No wonder you moved to Hawaii.”
“Don’t say that.”
Both of us were silent, but I stared at the computer screen as Josh’s status update changed:
Josh is on the phone with the most beautiful girl in the world.
Josh is sorry. He made a huge mistake.
Josh is outside a brown house in Brighton.
Josh is walking up her back stairs.
Josh is hoping against hope that she’ll let him inside.
Josh is totally and completely in love.
My hands started to shake. I walked slowly from the bedroom into the living room and looked down at the floor for a moment before lifting my head to the window on the back door. Josh waved his BlackBerry at me. I dropped my phone.
Josh and I locked eyes, and I rushed forward and opened the door. It didn’t matter to me at all that I had on crummy clothes or that my hair was in a ratty ponytail or that I was wearing his old shirt-in a desperate attempt to feel close to him. He stepped inside, putting his body inches from mine, and shut the door behind him.
Josh slid an arm around my waist and pulled me against him. “I love you,” he breathed. Everything became blurry as he slowly kissed me.
I pulled back slightly. “I don’t love you,” I said, and then took his face in my hands and kissed him hard.
“But I still love you,” he whispered, walking me backward toward the bedroom.
“But I still don’t love you,” I whispered back, smiling and fumbling to pull off his shirt. “I don’t love you at all.”
NINETEEN
A good hour later, I rolled onto my side while Josh held me in his arms and kissed my shoulder. It felt as if no time had passed since the last time we’d made love, but I was keenly aware that everything was different now.