Heads or Tails

Chapter 20

We arrived in Chicago the following day. I didn't attend the after-party. Jessica didn't speak to me the entire flight, and I didn't bother trying to speak with her, either. Everything was still too fresh.

Our group moved from the plane to customs to baggage claim. I'm in a fog, waiting for my luggage, which spins around, and everyone else's is received.

Mine, though, it takes forever.

It's so long that I almost report it missing until it appears once everyone is good and gone. My luggage looks like it's been thrown around and dropped, cinched between the conveyor belts.

It looks about as destroyed as I feel.

A taxi idles at the curb, its headlamps extinguished. As I approach, the driver glances at me over the top of his magazine, his expression sour, his face lined with what appears to be a permanent look of annoyance.

He steps from the cab and meets me at the back of the card, trunk already open.

"Where to?" he asks, grumbling.

I give him my address, and he responds by taking my suitcase, lifting it without effort, and depositing it in the cab's trunk.

The driver drops into the seat before me and meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. "You coming home or visiting?" he asks.

"Home," I tell him before quickly looking away.

All I can think about is getting home to my condo and my phone to see if Ben has called to apologize or even text me with some explanation.

The taxi speeds through the empty streets, and the city whips by in a blur of stone and concrete. I press my forehead to the glass and try to block out every memory of Ben. I remember how many amazing times we've had together and how much I already miss him.

Once I arrive at my apartment, I open my front door and head inside. The first thing I do is check my phone. There are no text messages from Ben and no missed calls from him either.

My fingers hover over his contact on my screen. I want to press it, to call him and tell him I want to work through this, that I love him. But I don't. Instead, I power off my phone and decide I'm not ready.

I stare at a picture of us on my nightstand before turning it over. Looking at a photo of us as just friends, so happy, so just us. It's too overwhelming.

I close my eyes, lay back on my mattress, and fall asleep.

When I wake up the following day, my first instinct is to kick off my bedsheets, put on a sharp blazer, hop on the subway and head to work. But then my second instinct rolls around a few seconds later, whacking me over the head and reminding me there is a consequence of

being at the office: I'll be forced to see Ben.

I would rather hide in my apartment and pretend the outside world doesn't exist and that Ben didn't see me by boarding an early flight.

So, I call in sick. I make up a lame excuse about having traveller's diarrhea. I spend the rest of my morning in my pyjamas, laying on my couch, eating an entire box of Oreos. By noon, my stomach was sore, so I took a nap. When I wake up, I binge-watch The Big Bang Theory and eat a tub of ice cream. That does not help my bowels. Around dinner time, I

decided to turn on my phone again. Ben has yet to call or text.

But I decided to check in with my colleague and fellow realtor, Emily Waterford. She covered for me while I was in Costa Rica.

"Hey, Megan," she says. "How are you feeling?"

I smile, hearing Emily's bubbly British accent.

"Better," I say.