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I handed her the latte and she took a long sip.
“Thanks,” she said, nodding for me to follow her to the couch.
“So, what’s up?” she asked, tilting her head in the cocoon of the comforter.
“Your plan failed,” I muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“I spent all weekend reading one of Monica’s books. She’s fantastic, by the way.”
“Duh,” said Erica smugly.
“I memorized one of the speeches from the book, and when I recited it to her today, she ran out on me.”
“Hmm…” Erica looked thoughtful. “What book was it?”
“Her most recent one.Losing You. Something like that.”
Erica began typing in her phone and her eyes scanned the screen.
“Uh-oh,” she said.
“What?” I sat up straighter.
She began reading from the screen.
“Losing Youlost me. Worst book Durrall has ever written. Never should have read this book. Read this if you want to be depressed.”
I looked at Erica, confused.
“These are reviews of the book, Troy,” said Erica seriously, before her eyes went back to her phone screen. “And these are the nice ones, if you can believe it.”
I groaned as I slid my hands down my cheeks. I had chosen her worst reviewed book and recited it to her. I felt like a complete idiot. That book was probably the reason she didn’t write anymore, and I had just rubbed her failure in her face.
“You didn’t know,” said Erica, putting her hand on my back.
“Of all the books,that’sthe one I chose to read first.”
“Whydidyou start with that one? You’re kind of supposed to start with the first book by an author.”
“I figured it was her most recent depiction of love. I wanted to get it right, as the woman and author she is now.”
“Makes sense,” Erica mused. “So, now what?”
“I have to go apologize. I have to make things right.” I stood from the couch and straightened my charcoal gray jacket. I had worn this suit today because I knew it was Monica’s favorite. She always used to compliment me whenever I wore it.
“Good luck,” said Erica as she stood and pulled me in for a hug. “I’m rooting for you two.”
I gave her a weak smile and headed out the door. On the cab ride to Monica’s apartment, I began putting together another speech. Not one I had memorized from a book, but my own. It was time to tell her what was in my heart. I just hoped it wasn’t too late.
As the cab pulled up to her building, I saw someone leaving her building. I quickly handed the cab driver a wad of cash and ran to catch the door. I climbed the stairs to her apartment and took a deep breath before knocking. I could hear quiet footsteps on the other side of the door and then silence as if she was just on the other side.
“Monica,” I said softly through the door. “It’s me. Please let me in.”
There was a pause and then I heard the locks of her door begin to click. I breathed a sigh of relief as her door opened and she stood before me.
Before she could say anything, I blurted out, “I’m so sorry, Monica.”