“I don’t know.”
Rachael frowns and throws her hands up in frustration. “Then what’s the point? What was the point in fucking Dean over like this if you and Tyler aren’t even going to get together?” Her chair screeches against the floor as she pushes herself away from the table and gets to her feet. “Honestly, I don’t know what you’re thinking,” she says. Grabbing her purse from the table, she backs a few steps away from me. “Dean loves you. You know that. He’s been nothing but good to you since the day you met him, yet you’re choosing Tyler over him? What do you even see in Tyler? You know what they say about kids who’ve been abused,” she murmurs, reaching for the door. A couple people from the communal table behind us have glanced up, surprised by the topic of conversation. Rachael doesn’t even flinch, just shrugs and pulls open the door as she finishes. “They end up being abusive too when they grow up. Don’t come crawling back to Dean when Tyler turns vicious.”
I drop my hands to my lap, where Rachael can’t notice that they’re balled into fists. My teeth grind together as I will myself not to explode. I even bite back the shocked gasp that’s rising in my throat. I’m well aware that Rachael has never really liked Tyler, despite the fact that they’ve always been in the same friendship circle, but that doesn’t give her the right to be downright rude and nasty about him. She doesn’t know him the way I do. She doesn’t understand how hard he’s tried to fix things, to be better. Trying to keep calm, I wrap my hands around my latte again, turning to face the window once more. “Have a nice flight home tomorrow,” I say stiffly. I refuse to listen to her opinion on Tyler. I don’t care what she thinks about him and I don’t care if she accepts the two of us together or not. I really, really don’t care anymore. I’m over it. “By the way,” I say, crossing one leg over the other and reaching for my coffee, “Stephen says be ready for eight.”
And with that, a draught breezes over me as the door to Joe Coffee falls shut behind her. Rachael doesn’t hang around outside, only disappears out of view within a matter of seconds. Letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, I drop my gaze to the table and focus instead on the steamy wisps that rise from my latte.
I don’t think I could be any more relieved to know that Rachael, Dean, and Tiffani are heading home tomorrow. The past few days have flown by in what feels like a painful blur, and I’m glad I no longer have to face them. At least until next week. Tyler and I are heading home too in just four days’ time, on Wednesday evening. Maybe by then Rachael’s anger and disbelief will have subsided, and maybe by that point I’ll be able to talk to her again. Maybe by then she’ll have forgiven me. Likewise, maybe I’ll have forgiven her for the remark about Tyler. Maybe, just maybe, she’ll finally understand that I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.
I hang around at Joe Coffee for a while. It’s nice to be alone again. As alone as I can be in New York City. I trace circles on the wood of the table. I head back over to the counter for a second latte without feeling guilty about it. And I add a shot of caramel. I study the people walking by the window as they head along Lexington Avenue. I take a few minutes to reply to some texts from my mom and Ella, omitting the fact that I’m no longer dating Dean. Mom loves Dean. So does Ella. Sweetest guy around, they would say.
When I finally glance at my watch, I realize I’ve been here for almost two hours. It’s nearly 1:30. Tyler must be wondering where I am by now, because although our relationship is complicated it certainly doesn’t take two hours to explain it.
So I head back to the apartment, my pace slow and out of sync with the rest of the city. I walk as though I don’t have a motive, because I don’t. I’m just strolling down Lexington Avenue and onto Seventy-fourth Street feeling . . . Well, nothing. That’s just it. I don’t feel empty or deflated or sad, nor do I feel overjoyed or thrilled. I just feel nothing. I’m numb.
By the time I climb up the twelve flights of stairs to Tyler’s apartment, half of me is ready to collapse into bed and sleep for an eternity. The other half? The other half is ready to kiss Tyler endlessly.
And when I unlock the door and push it open, Tyler is the first person to greet me. He’s already walking over from the kitchen with a butter knife in his hand, his forehead creased with concern the exact same way it was before I left. I highly doubt he’s relaxed since the moment I walked out the door.
“How’d it go?” he asks immediately. He pushes the door shut behind me as I head into the living room, and then he stands still as he waits for an answer.
“Let me put it this way,” I murmur, pressing my lips and frowning. “When we get home, I don’t think we’re gonna have many friends.”