Missed chapter 4? And 3, 2, and 1? Catch up here!
“Fake
it till you make it” has become my current motto. If I surround myself with
bigger priorities, like seeking a job or possibly an internship, the less
likely I’ll be to commiserate my lonely single life further. It seems an
unlikely possibility at the moment, but reality will hit me at the end of these
remaining weeks of my final semester of college if I don’t start looking for
opportunities now.
Unfortunately, there’s not much out there
for an English Literature major with no desire to teach, but I apply for everything
I can find. The hardest part is waiting.
It’s a pleasant surprise when, only a few
days after submitting an application, I receive a phone call from a woman named
Julia who wants to interview me for a staff position at Book Nook. At present,
there is no way I can refuse.
Julia, my potential new boss, appears to
be in her early thirties. In typical bookkeeping fashion, she is wearing a grey
pencil skirt and black cardigan that somehow doesn’t make her curvy frame look
too dowdy. Her thick blonde hair is knotted behind her head and held together
with a pencil.
She’d be completely out of place if this
were a trendy Barnes & Noble, but Book Nook is a historic building
converted into a shop with floors that creak and shelves that bear the markings
of all the business owners who used them since the late eighteen-hundreds. Being
the literary nerd that I am, I can see myself here easily.
“Your application is impressive,” Julia
tells me. “You are graduating in May?”
“Correct.”
“With a degree in English Literature and a
minor in Creative Writing?”
“Yes.”
“Well that’s it, then. I’d love for you to
start as soon as possible. This store desperately needs employees who believe
in what they’re selling. It’s hard, you know, trying to interest people in
print media when everything is electronic now…” she shakes her head
distastefully.
We shake hands, and I walk out completely
bewildered by what just happened, and so quickly. This is the first glimmer of
hope I’ve had since Jared left. It’s small, but it’s something. Now all that’s
left to do is graduate. The sooner I do that, the sooner I can formulate a plan
to get the hell out of here.
No sooner than I found myself employed did
Tess discover news of her own. “I’m volunteering with my church at an orphanage
in India!” she glowed when we met for coffee later this afternoon.
For Tess, whose faith has always seemed
superior to my own, this is a perfect opportunity for her. “That’s great,” I
tell her, sipping my latte. “For how long?”
That’s when her face starts to lose its
gleeful shine. “It’s all summer,” she says, staring into her cup. “I feel bad,
after what you’ve been through. I should stay –”
“Don’t you dare.” I feel bad too,
realizing I don’t whole-heartedly mean what I just said. Tess should go to India, but deep down I know
I’m selfish enough to want her to stay and help me move on from Jared. These
situations are what best friends are for; but what kind of friend would I be if
I kept her from pursuing her dream? “Those orphans need you way more than I do.
Seriously, I’ll be fine. Now that I have a job, I’ll be too busy to think about
my broken heart.”
Her smile is definitely full of relief.
“Thanks, AK. I’ll send you letters, I promise. And I know you’ll be okay.”
I
know you’ll be okay. I repeat those words over and over, hoping the
repetition will stick and become true. I’m sure it will as more time passes.
Until then, ordinary tasks like making my bed and washing my hair feel mundane
and purpose-less when I remember that Jared doesn’t love me anymore. It’s a
defeatist way of thinking, but it permeates my every thought and move.
Collin is standing outside my door when I
return from coffee with Tess. I want to believe he was just about to knock when I showed up, and hadn’t parked himself
there, after not receiving an answer, deciding to wait for me to come back. No,
he’s not creepy like that. I hope.
Whatever the circumstance, seeing him
nearly scared the crap out of me. “Don’t freak out now, AK-47,” he chirps. “I
just wanted to stop by and say hello.”
“Stop by and say hello”? For some reason I
have a hard time believing this, but decide to play along anyway. “It’s not
fair,” I say, attempting to sound coy. “You have such a convenient nickname for
me, but I don’t have one for you.”
This isn’t doing much to stop our apparent
flirting game, but I’ve wanted to mention it for a long time. He’s nicknamed me
so I can never live down the way we met. If nothing else, I need a clever name
for him just to put him in his place.
“Oh, something might come to you
eventually.” It’s ludicrous, and extremely frustrating, how tingly that cocky
smile of his makes me feel. Even if it’s probably used to flatter countless
girls everywhere he goes.
Part of me wants to stick around and
continue this banter further, but he has an annoying habit of finding me when
it’s getting late, my defenses are down, and I need to get some sleep. I have
to say “Goodnight” about five times before he gets the message and leaves –
though I almost didn’t want him to, for no other reason except that he’s an
attractive guy who has taken notice of me. Pathetic.
If he keeps this up long enough, who
knows: my defenses might end up collapsing completely. If I were smarter and
bolder, I’d tell him upfront that I’m in the agonizing process of recovering
from a broken heart, and these impromptu flirting sessions are nothing but a
distraction (I know I’d be lying if I said unwanted
distraction). But doing so feels risky, because it will make me look weak and
vulnerable: a perfect target for a rebound fling.
As
it is, Collin’s parting hugs are torturous and might be the death of me one
day. He always initiates them, and I don’t immediately pull away – ugh, how
long has it been since I’ve been held like this? Then his hand starts rubbing
my back, slowly and gently, and his other hand is on my neck, so lightly it
sends a shiver down my spine. He seems to sense that, and only draws me closer,
tighter, and starts to trace my jawline before tucking a stray curl behind my
ear…all the while, in the silent oblivion of my troubled mind, I scream do NOT
look up at him, do NOT look up, because I’m positive he will kiss me if I do.
Luckily, the common sense side of me is running efficiently enough to tell me
that should never, ever happen.
Tempted beyond reason, I manage to pull
away and say “Goodnight Collin” a sixth time, and the last. Closing the door on
his slightly disappointed face stirs a strange sensation of pride; I’m relieved
to know I’m not a girl who is desperate enough to cling like a leech on flesh
to the first person who makes me feel attractive and worthy once again.
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