Page 115 of Astrid Parker Doesn't Fail

MONDAY MORNING, ASTRIDfinally left her room. She showered, washed her hair, even put on a little makeup. But standing in frontof her closet, rows of black and white and ivory hanging in front of her, she couldn’t seem to force herself to put on a suit or a dress.

She found a pair of black jeans stuffed in the back of her dresser and slipped them on, followed by a plain white tank top. She paired that with a few gold chains, some gold hoops in her ears. As she stared at herself in the mirror—eyes still red and puffy, hair wavy because the idea of blasting herself with a hair dryer felt unbearable right now—she thought she recognized the woman in the reflection.

Exhausted.

Heartbroken.

That’s what this was. For the first time in her life, Astrid’s heart was shattered. Or had it always been like this and she’d just never let herself feel it? She wasn’t sure, but it felt right. It feltreal.

She poured a tumbler full of coffee, got in her car, and drove to the Bright Designs office downtown. If this were any other day, she’d have a lot of work to do, and she wasn’t sure if the dread she felt at the prospect of more projects, more designs, smiling for clients, was all part of thisreal, or something else.

She’d spent most of Sunday with her best friends and Delilah, watching bad movies and sleeping, but after her breakdown, she hadn’t talked much. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to—she simply wasn’t sure what she needed to say yet.

TherealAstrid was still all tangled up with the one from before, the one her mother had made in her own image.

Once settled behind her desk, she finally turned on her phone. The screen lit up with dozens of notifications.

Delightful Human Who Ruined Your Ugly Dress

Astrid’s throat tightened at Jordan’s name, the one Astrid couldn’t bring herself to change for some reason. She knew she was stillSemi-Decent Human Who Wants to Kiss You Againin Jordan’s phone, and shit, how true that first part had turned out to be.

Jordan had made all of her calls on Friday, pretty soon after Astrid left the Everwood. She hadn’t left any voice mails, but she’d sent several texts. Astrid’s hands shook as she opened up her messages.

Don’t do this, Astrid.

Please answer me.

Let’s talk about this, please.

Why are you doing this?

Baby. Call me back. Please.

And that was the last one. That sweet, soft plea. Astrid could almost hear Jordan’s voice wrap around the words. The hurt.

“Fuck,” Astrid said out loud, tears clouding her eyes. She pressed a hand to her mouth, stared at Jordan’s last message. She hadn’t texted or called at all on Saturday or Sunday. Which meant Astrid had really fucked up.

Panic rose in Astrid’s chest, and she hovered her finger over Jordan’s number. One tap. That was all she needed to do.

She set her phone down.

She’d meant what she said to Jordan in the Everwood foyer—Jordan deserved every good thing, and Astrid was a fucking mess.

She looked around her tiny, gray-walled office, abstract paintings placed just so, white sofas in the waiting area, white desks. She closed her eyes and thought of deep, midnight blue; sage green and goldenrod and silver; clawfoot tubs and delicate flowers painted on a ceiling.

“So you are alive, then,” a voice said.

Astrid snapped her eyes open to see her mother standing by the front door, regal in ivory pants and a black silk blouse. Astrid had a few versions of the exact same outfit in her closet.

Isabel slid off her sunglasses and folded them in her hand, then walked to one of the white chairs in front of Astrid’s desk. She sat primly, calmly, but her mouth was pinched, skin tight around her eyes.

Astrid slumped back in her chair. She didn’t even cross her legs. Instead, she propped one leg up on the seat and wrapped her arms around her knee.

One of Isabel’s brows lifted, but she said nothing about Astrid’s lackadaisical pose.

“Well?” her mother asked instead. “Are you going to explain yourself?”

“Explain what, Mother?”