Anyway, it’ll do.
I give my nails a quick polish followed by a clear topcoat, then lean back on my bed, waving my hands a bit while I wait for them to dry. I’ve got to strategize. I have no idea if he’s home or not, or even if that matters. What am I intending to do? Use my keys to break into his place? Is it breaking in if I have a key? What if he changed the locks already? I don’t think so, though. Just like he didn’t change our relationship status on Facebook. I don’t think he’s changed the locks or deactivated the ID card that gives me access to his building.
But what is my plan? I have no idea if he’s home or not. I can’t waltz into his apartment if he’s home. Why do I even want to waltz into his apartment? What am I going to find there? I could use my ID card and break into his office. But I’m not sure if the door to his office is locked on the weekends. I know I can get access to the building, but can I get access to his office? What difference would it even make? I rifled though his desk the first time I was in his office and didn’t find a single interesting thing. And computer hacking is way beyond my skill level.
I could call Sandra. But no. It would make her a nervous wreck to be put in the middle. I can’t do that to her. Besides, she’s loyal to Sawyer, as she should be.
So I’ll have to wing it.
“Wish me luck,” I tell Chloe while sliding my shoes on. I’m definitely not wearing the Louboutins today. As much as they would blend in at the Ritz, they’re not exactly spy gear. Plus, they make a tapping noise when I walk on a polished surface and you never know when you’re gonna need a silent getaway.
“Good luck! I’ll keep my cell phone on in case you need me to bail you out of jail later.”
“You’re a good friend, Chloe,” I tell her, freeing my ponytail from under my coat.
“Not really.” She shakes her head, smiling. “I’m secretly just happy I’m finally getting a crack at the Pringles,” she says, shaking the can. “You don’t share when you’re sulking.”
I cab it over to Sawyer’s, then hover outside on the sidewalk, the doorman smiling brightly, hand on the door ready to grant me access. What am I doing? Stupid. This is stupid. The residential lobby isn’t large enough to hide in. I can’t very well just sit there. And he’d likely take the elevator straight to the parking garage anyway. Nice plan, Everly.
I turn around and walk, stuffing my hands in my coat pockets. Dilworth Park is just around the corner in front of City Hall. I need to regroup. I arrive at the park a minute later. It’s pretty dead—being the first weekend in February isn’t helping, nice weather or not. I walk around the large rectangle of dormant lawn towards the temporary ice rink that workers are taking apart. I wander in that direction and watch for a bit, the walls of the rink coming down and being loaded into a waiting truck, backed up onto the pavement in preparation.
Nearby a couple of kids screech, playing tag as they run along beside their mother, pushing a stroller with another kid.
I head towards the cafe on the north end of the park, but I don’t stop. Love Park is just across the street. The place Sawyer and I had our first date, outside at the Christmas Village. The Christmas setup is long gone, of course. But it doesn’t stop me from walking the park and remembering every detail of that first date, complete with a blush remembering how it ended.
Signs indicate the park will be closing soon for renovations and I wonder what will become of the famous Love sculpture that the park is unofficially named for during the renovation. I walk in the direction of the sculpture, jockeying for space amongst tourists and locals alike taking selfies with the sign behind them. Sawyer and I took one too. It’s the lock screen picture on his phone.
He’s mine.
I’m getting him back.
I cross John F Kennedy Boulevard heading back toward the residential tower at the Ritz-Carlton. I’m just gonna knock on his door. I’ll go in, I’ll take the elevator up and knock on his door. And if he doesn’t answer I’m going to let myself in. I’ll sit on his couch and wait until he comes home, however long I have to. I will make him tell me what the hell is going on. He’ll admit that he’s a jerk, we’ll have makeup sex and this whole stupid breakup will be over.
Easy.
I walk down 15th Street until I reach the crosswalk at Market Street, then cross over to the Dilworth Park side. I can cut back through the park on my way to the Ritz-Carlton. I’m doing just that when I spot the man himself.