“You have Sam’s number, right? If you need help, give him a call and we’ll be there.”
“Thanks.” It was weird that a woman she barely knew was acting like they were best friends and even weirder that said woman seemed intent on throwing her boyfriend back with his ex, but that wasn’t Olivia’s problem.
Sammy remained silent, his expression unreadable.
Olivia mumbled a goodbye, paid for her dinner against her earlier plans—she didn’t trust Wesley to cover their tab or tip appropriately—and hailed a cab home.
While the taxi wound its way through San Francisco’s hilly streets, she tipped her head back and closed her eyes, exhaustion sinking into her bones.
God, what a night. First her ridiculous date, then running into Sammy and Jessica.
She hadn’t reached out to Sammy when she moved to California last year, even though he’d been the only person she knew in the area. Stanford was a forty-five-minute drive from San Francisco, and she’d been swamped with schoolwork. Plus, while they were no longer on hostile terms, they weren’t exactly friendly, either.
“Get it together, Olivia,” she muttered under breath.
Dwelling on the past was a waste of time, and if there was one thing Olivia hated, it was wasting time. The average life expectancy for a female in the U.S. born in Olivia’s birth year was seventy-nine years. That was 28,835 days, 41,522,400 minutes. She had an ever-present clock in her mind, ticking down those days and minutes until they reached her inevitable, if unknown, death date. Some might find that morbid, but she found it reassuring. Olivia thrived on structure, and life had a beginning, middle, and end, as all things should.
The mental clock had the added benefit of reminding her how precious her time was. If she wasn’t productive, happy, or relaxed, it was time wasted.
Tonight? A colossal waste, and she wouldn’t drag it out by wondering, for the millionth time, if there could’ve been a different ending for her and Sammy. If she’d stood up to her mother, if she hadn’t lied, if Sammy hadn’t said the things he’d said...
Olivia shook her head, shoving thoughts of the past back in her mental “Do Not Open” drawer where they belonged. To distract herself, she pulled out her phone and tapped out notes for Monday’s meeting until the taxi rolled to a stop in front of her apartment building.
San Francisco rent was even more ridiculous than New York—and that was a high bar—but she’d gotten lucky with the studio apartment she’d sublet from a friend’s friend. She was still paying a ridiculous amount of money each month for something the size of a shoebox, but it could’ve been worse.
Olivia unlocked the door, eager for a hot shower and sleep. She couldn’t wait—what the hell?
A thick, musty smell slammed into her nose before her brain registered the scene in front of her: the floors of her apartment glistened beneath two inches of water.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Her high, shocked voice echoed off the walls and absorbed into the puddles destroying her belongings. Her mattress, which she’d placed on the floor since her bed frame hadn’t arrived yet? Donezo. Her beautiful wool area rug? Unrecognizable. The cardboard boxes she’d yet to unpack because she’d been so busy at work? Half-disintegrated.
There’s an emergency at the apartment.
Olivia’s earlier excuse came back to her, and she wanted to throw up. She wasn’t the superstitious sort, but a tiny part of her wondered whether she’d manifested this nightmare. She’d only been gone for a few hours. How thehellhad this happened?
She pressed her palm to her temple and tried to deepen her shallow breaths.
It was nine at night, she was exhausted, half her belongings were ruined, she had no clue where tostartcleaning this mess up, and she had no friends in the city. No one to help her.
A wild sound emerged from her throat, and it took her a few seconds before she realized she was laughing. Hysterically.
For once in her well-planned life, Olivia Tang had no clue what to do.