I blink slowly as a realization strikes me. “I don’t know where he lives.”
“You don’t— You’ve never been to his place?”
“He moved in before I had a chance to see his house.”
“Fine. Take the box to Wollstonecraft. Throw it in his face and let him know he’ll regret this moment for the rest of his life.”
I laugh listlessly. It’s what she’s expecting, and I don’t want her to feel like she’s failed to cheer me up. But the sense of amusement I got when she told me the same thing about Todd doesn’t come. All I’m feeling is glumness—and the fact I miss Griffin so much already. “I don’t think it’s going to be like that.”
“You never know. He might get on his knees and beg you to stay, now that he’s had the weekend to think things over. You can superiorly kick his pleading hands aside and strut away, leaving him to grovel in the dust.”
This time I smile for real because her suggestion just gave me a great idea.
Griffin has probably cooled off by now. I can use the pretext of returning his things to start a conversation, this time calmer and more levelheaded.
Surely he can see that I only want the best for him—and us—and I would never do anything to diminish his genius. Although I love the name the Midnight God for our product line, it’ll be easy enough to come up with something else.
Then this whole thing can be chalked up as one of those crises that we’ll laugh about five years from now.
Optimism surging, I hug Ellie. “You’re the best.”