ChapterTwenty-Nine
Piper
Mindy and I are in the middle of retail therapy when she gets a call.
“Are you serious? I told you I needed the night off.” Mindy waves an exasperated hand. “I’m at Columbus Circle.”
We’re walking through the mall, weaving through shoppers, carrying bags of clothes and accoutrements from Williams-Sonoma.
“I’m sorry,” she mouths to me.
I wave her off. “It’s fine.”
She speaks back into her cell. “Ugh. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Then she hangs up and looks at me. “I’m sorry. This shouldn’t take more than an hour.”
“It’s fine. I’ll meet you back at home. I’ll order takeout, and we can watch The Tenth Kingdom.”
She laughs. “You kids and that show. Come on, we can share a cab part of the way.”
I get back to the apartment within the hour, deposit Mindy’s bags in her room, and then plop down on the couch so I can text Oliver. I saw him this morning, but already…
I pull him up on my phone and type, I miss you. I delete it. Too needy.
But true. I type it out again and then hit Send before I can chicken out.
I toss my phone onto the side table so I won’t be tempted to sit there, staring at it like a moonstruck teenager, and then I force myself off the couch and put away the clothes I bought on our shopping spree, including a cute little black number I got for Oliver. I’m walking out of the guest room when a text comes through. I go back and grab my phone, eager.
It’s not Oliver. It’s Mindy: I forgot my key.
I grin and key in, The great and powerful Fox forgetting something?
Her reply is almost instantaneous: Hardy har. I have the one for the building, just not the apartment.
I type, It’s fine. I’m here to let you in.
A few minutes pass, and then my phone dings again; On my way back now.
Perfect timing. I call the Chinese place down the street to order dinner. I hang up, and almost immediately, my phone dings.
Oliver. It’s a picture of him and Carson on his couch, doing cross-stitch. Oliver is grimacing, Carson’s wearing a tired smile.
I laugh and type, Cute. I tap Send.
A second later I get another text: I miss you too.
The grin that spreads my face feels decidedly goofy.
My phone dings again: Tomorrow?
It’s amazing how he can pack so much into one word.
I type, I’ll be there. Dinner?
On me, he responds.
I bite my lip, thinking, then send another text: I bought you a present.
His reply is almost instant: It’s not my birthday anymore.