Chapters (47)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- Author's Note
- · PLAYLIST ·
- · ONE ·
- · TWO ·
- · THREE ·
- · FOUR ·
- · FIVE ·
- · SIX ·
- · SEVEN ·
- · EIGHT ·
- · NINE ·
- · TEN ·
- · ELEVEN ·
- · TWELVE ·
- · THIRTEEN ·
- · FOURTEEN ·
- · FIFTEEN ·
- · SIXTEEN ·
- · SEVENTEEN ·
- · EIGHTEEN ·
- · NINETEEN ·
- · TWENTY ·
- · TWENTY-ONE ·
- · TWENTY-TWO ·
- · TWENTY-THREE ·
- · TWENTY-FOUR ·
- · TWENTY-FIVE ·
- · TWENTY-SIX ·
- · TWENTY-SEVEN ·
- · TWENTY-EIGHT ·
- · TWENTY-NINE ·
- · THIRTY ·
- · THIRTY-ONE ·
- · THIRTY-TWO ·
- · THIRTY-THREE ·
- · THIRTY-FOUR ·
- · THIRTY-FIVE ·
- · THIRTY-SIX ·
- · THIRTY-SEVEN ·
- · ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ·
- · DISCUSSION QUESTIONS ·
- Kate
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
JAMIE: People don’t like to admit to that kind of loneliness, but, for what it’s worth, I think we’re all a little lonely that way. Most of us just aren’t brave enough to say it.
PA: Do you mean that? I haven’t scared you off with my weeknight drunk existential crisis?
JAMIE: If you saw my face, you’d know you haven’t.
PA: Why? What are you doing?
Bringing a hand to my cheek, I feel the forgotten lift in those muscles, the foreign upturn of my mouth.
JAMIE: Smiling.
—
My phone buzzes as I turn off the shower. Running my hands through my hair to get the wet strands out of my face, I step onto the bath mat, then wrap a towel around my waist. My stomach does a somersault when I see who it’s from.
PA: Notorious NRB. So, I told you I’m a creative-type.
JAMIE: You did. But you’re frustratingly thin on details.
PA: Details are for 1 hr from now. There was a joke coming.
JAMIE: I’m all ears.
PA: Why are artists terrible at chess?
JAMIE: I don’t know. Why?
PA: Because they love to draw.
A dry laugh leaves my chest.
JAMIE: Now who’s devolved to corny chess puns?
PA: You started us off with them this week! I’m just bringing it full circle.
PA: Ack. I’m all wiggly knees & jitters. I’m nervous. Are you?
I stare down at my phone, scrolling through the past few days’ conversations. Since my awful encounter with Beatrice and the Baby Carrot, and the late-night texts with Addie that followed, it’s flowed, some days with more conversation than others, but always something meaningful. I’ve never seen her or heard her voice, I don’t know her real name, but I feel an undeniable connection with the person on the other end of this dialogue.
JAMIE: I’m nervous, yes. Nervous-excited.
PA: I feel that way too
. I’ll be in a bright yellow dress. You can’t miss it.
JAMIE: I’m tall, but I’ll likely be seated on the bench, so that’s not much help. Navy blue sweater and glasses.
PA: Okay. I’m signing off. My hair looks like I touched a live wire. It needs to be subdued.
PA: Please disregard that last one & when you see me, imagine I always look this polished.
JAMIE: If it’s all right with you, I’d much rather imagine the wild hair.
PA: In that case, maybe I’ll show up au naturel.
A smile tugs at my mouth as I type.
JAMIE: I look forward to it.