Page 78 of Badd Baby

I'm not going back to Alaska. He's not coming here. It's over. Permanently, period, full stop.

I just have to get over him.

I slept.

I deep-cleaned my condo.

Fine-tuned and polished my resume.

Spent the next several days posting my resume on headhunter websites, sending it to various businesses, first and foremost the advertising firm I interned with last summer. I was conflicted about that one—I didn't like the office culture there, and the boss I had directly reported to was blatantly chauvinistic and addressed at least eighty percent of his words to my boobs. But on the other hand, I knew they paid well, I knew they liked my work while I was interning, and I knew they needed someone, so I stood a good chance of getting the job.

A few days turned into a week; I got some hits on my resume and went to a few interviews, but none of the places I interviewed felt like a good fit for one reason or another. I was probably being too picky for someone looking for her first real adult job, but I'd like to at least like the company and people I work for and with.

A week became two, and Duncan was still constantly on my mind, especially alone at night.

I took an interview at the ad agency where I interned and accepted a position in their administrative department—an entry-level job, making copies, answering phones, filing, and things like that. It's not glamorous, but it's a job, it pays pretty well, and my boss is a woman who doesn't stare at my boobs. Win-win.

Two weeks became three—the longest I've gone without talking to or seeing Lindsey since we met our freshman year at USC.

She was the one to break the silence, showing up at my condo a little over a month after the wedding, buzzing insistently at the crack of dawn with coffee and bagels from our favorite place.

I let her in without a word, still in my towel after a shower. She took the lid off of one of the coffees and fixed it the way I like it, and then set out the bagels and cream cheese.

"Thanks," I mumbled, freeing my hair from the towel-turban to air dry.

"Rune, about the last time we talked," Lindsey started

"Let me get some coffee in me first," I said.

"Fair enough."

I sipped the coffee, which I'd watched her fix with one cream, one sugar, the way I've taken my coffee since I started drinking it. Only this time, it just tasted…funny. It made my stomach turn.

I sniffed it, stared into the dark khaki liquid, sipped again, wincing at the off-ness of it. "This tastes weird."

Lindsey frowned, reached for my cup, sipped, shrugged. “Tastes fine to me." She tried hers, next. "Same. Normal coffee. You sick or something?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. My stomach has been weird the last few days." I shrugged. “I dunno.” I sipped the coffee again, but my stomach flipped. "What the fuck? I can't drink it. I don't know what's wrong with me."

Her eyes narrowed. “Try the bagel. Sesame, light spread."

I took a tiny bite, but my stomach immediately revolted, and I had to rush to the bathroom to spit it out…along with the rest of my stomach's contents.

When I returned, teeth brushed again, Lindsey's frown was deeper than ever. "Is it a stomach bug going around at work or something?"

"No." I arched an eyebrow at her. "You talked to my parents."

"Mom and Pop Rigby are my second parents. Of course, I talked to them before I came here." She set her bagel and coffee down and stood up. "Hang on. I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" I asked. “You just got here."

"I'll be right back, I said." Lindsey slung her purse over her shoulder and left my condo.

Less than ten minutes later—during which time I decided I was definitely coming down with a bug—Lindsey returned with a plastic bag from the pharmacy on the corner.

I stared at her, shaking my head before I even saw what was in the bag. "No."

She slid the package out of the bag and slapped it against my chest. "Yes."