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“Hey,” I say, looking everywhere except her fiancé’s face.
“I hope you’re well.” She comes closer to me while her guy talks to the nurse. “I met your Tessa just the other day. Is she here with you?” Natalie asks, searching the lobby.
Shouldn’t she be like screaming in pain or something? “No, she’s, uhm . . .” I begin to make up an explanation, but right then another nurse steps from behind the check-in station and says, “Miss, we’re ready for you.”
“Oh, hear that? The show must go on.” Natalie turns, but then looks over her shoulder and waves at me. “It was good to see you, Hardin!”
I sit there, my mouth agape.
This must be some sick joke from above. I can’t help but be a little happy for the girl; her life wasn’t completely ruined by me . . . Here she is, smiling and madly in love, ready to have her first child while I sit alone, smelling and wounded in the crowded waiting room.
Karma has finally caught up to me.
Chapter nineteen
TESSA
Thank you for following me here. I just wanted to drop the car off and grab the last of my things,” I tell Landon through the passenger window of his car.
I was conflicted when it came to where to leave the car. I didn’t want to leave it parked at Ken’s house, because I was afraid of what Har—he . . . will say or do when he eventually shows up to get it. Parking it in the lot at the apartment makes more sense; it’s a nice, well-patrolled area, and I don’t think anyone will mess with it without being caught.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come up there with you? I could help you carry stuff down,” Landon offers.
“No, I’ll go alone. I only have a few things anyway. It will only take one trip. Thank you, though.” All of which is the truth, but the truth-truth is that I just want to say goodbye to our old place on my own. On my own: it feels more natural that way now.
When I walk into the lobby, I try not to let old memories flood my mind. I think of nothing—blank white spaces and white flowers and white carpet and white walls. No thoughts of him. Only white spaces and flowers and walls, not him.
My mind has another plan for me, however, and slowly the white walls are streaked with black, the carpet is soiled with black paint, and the flowers rot into black waste leaves and flake away.
I’m only here to grab a few things, only one box of clothes and a folder from school, that’s it. I’ll be in and out in five minutes. Five minutes isn’t long enough to get sucked back into the darkness.
It’s been four days now, and I’m only growing stronger. It’s getting easier to breathe with each second that passes without him. Going back here, to this place, could end up being a terrible blow to my progress, but I need to get this over with if I want to move on and never look back. I’m going to New York.
I’m going to forgo summer-semester classes, like I’d been considering, and get to know the city that will be my home, at least for a few years. Once I’m there, I’m not leaving until I graduate from college. Another transfer on my transcripts will only make me look bad, so I have to stay in one place until I finish. And that place will be New York City. It’s a scary thought, and my mother won’t be happy about the move, but it’s not up to her. It’s up to me, and I’m finally making decisions based solely on my needs and my future. My father will be finished with his rehab program by the time I get settled in, and if it’s possible, I’d love for him to come visit me and Landon.
I begin to panic just thinking about my lack of preparations for this move, but Landon is going to help me sort out all of the details; we have spent the last two days applying for grant after grant. Ken has drafted and sent out a recommendation letter, and Karen has been helping me google part-time jobs. Sophia has been over every day, too, filling me in on the hottest spots in town and warning me of the dangers of living in such a massive city. She was sweet enough to offer to speak with her boss about helping me get a job as a hostess at the restaurant she’ll be at herself.
Ken, Karen, and Landon recommended that I just transfer to the new Vance Publishing branch that will be opening within the next few months. Living in New York City without an income will be impossible, but it’s just as impossible to get a paid internship without graduating college first. I still haven’t talked to Kimberly about my move, but she has so much going on right now and they just returned from London. I’ve barely heard from her, only a text here and there, but she assures me she will call as soon as everything settles down.
Pushing my key into the lock of our apartment, it hits me that a hatred for the space has taken root since I was last here, making it hard for me to believe that I ever loved this place so much. Entering, I see the light is on in the living room: just like him to leave it on before going on an international trip.
I guess it was only a week ago, though. Time is tricky when you’re in hell.
I walk straight to the bedroom and into the closet to grab the folder I came for. No reason to draw this out any longer than needed. The manila folder isn’t on the shelf where I remember its being, so I’m left sifting through piles of Hardin’s work. He probably shoved the folder into the closet while attempting to clean the messy room.
That old shoe box is still on the shelf, and my curiosity gets the best of me. I reach for it, pull it down, and sit cross-legged on the floor. I lift the top off and set it aside. The box is full of page after page of his handwriting scribbled in random lines, covering the front and back of the pages. I notice that some of the pages are typed, and I choose one of those to read.