Owen takes a swig of his beer. “I’m dragging Jacob out of his music studio to meet some people from AstRoBot for a drink at Blackbird.” When Owen graduated from MIT, he was still a computer nerd. But then he got a job at a robotics start-up fueled by a gazillion dollars in venture capital, and suddenly he started wearing two-hundred-dollar hoodies, classic Vans, and beanie hats even in summer. Now, he hangs out in bars that serve cocktails made of charred persimmon and pickle juice, and where Pabst Blue Ribbon costs fifteen dollars a can.
I’m a little surprised that Jacob made late-night plans to go out for drinks with Owen’s tech-bro friends. But if this night taught me anything, it’s that I really don’t know Jacob at all. Maybe I never did, and maybe… it wouldn’t be the worst thing if I got to know him a little better.
Owen stands up. “I gotta go break the seal.” He heads down the hall for the bathroom, leaving me alone with Jacob.
I jump up off the couch and turn to face him. “So…”
“Sadie…” He stands too, only inches away, and I have to tilt my head back to look at him. I’m painfully aware of how his T-shirt stretches across his chest, his long eyelashes cast shadows across his cheeks in the dim light, his lips are slightly swollen from kissing me.
I open my mouth to tell him that the past hour was the most fun I’ve had this year. That I actually feel something like my old self again. And to ask him if… maybe… he wants to hang out tomorrow. No pressure, just lunch, or a walk in the park or something…
But before I can say a word, he blurts out, “Sadie, I want to apologize.”
“Wait.” I stumble backward. “What?” Apologize?
He runs a hand through his hair, and the words come spilling out. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I mean, you came in here looking so sad, and I—Well. I—” He shakes his head, cursing under his breath. “I’m so sorry.”
“You’re sorry for—kissing me?”
“Yes, for…” He waves a hand at the couch. For all of it.
And then it dawns on me with complete clarity. He’s not interested in me, and why would he be? I’m the sad girl in her bathrobe on his couch, eating cereal straight from the box and crying over episodes of Queer Eye. Jacob felt sorry for me, that’s why this happened. Tonight was nothing but a pity kiss for Owen’s pathetic sister.
My heart constricts in horror. What if I’d actually said that stuff about hanging out tomorrow? What if he turned around and told Owen? My brother would literally laugh so hard he’d pass out and need medical attention, and I’d have to move to a yurt in the desert for the rest of my life.
I press my hands to my cheeks. “Oh my God.”
Jacob runs a hand through his hair. “I made a move on you when you were vulnerable.”
Well, if I didn’t feel pathetic before, boy, do I now.
“Sadie,” he continues. “I’m really—”
“Stop saying you’re sorry.” I turn away because if I have to look at the mouth that was just pressed against mine telling me how deeply he regrets it, I might haul off and smack him.
“I understand if you don’t want to forgive me right now.”
“You want me to forgive you for kissing me.”
“I—” He nods. “Yeah, I guess so.”
God, I am such an idiot.
“Maybe we can pretend it never happened?” He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “It doesn’t have to be weird, right?”
I push a lock of hair out of my face and come out with a palmful of red powder. This is the worst night of my entire life. And the real kicker is that Jacob is right. What was I thinking, making out with my brother’s best friend—the owner of the apartment where I’m currently living because I’m homeless and underemployed—and thinking it could turn into anything less than a disaster? Could I possibly sabotage my life any further?
I stand up straight, determined to walk out of here with whatever teeny-tiny shred of dignity I have left. And then to wake up tomorrow and get my shit together. Maybe it really is time to look at those stupid college brochures my parents sent me. I mean, I’m running out of options here.
I glance up at Jacob and force myself to shrug. “Pretend what never happened?”
Relief flashes across his face. “We’re good, right?”
“Yep!” I say, my voice like rainbow sprinkles. “Of course. Absolutely!” He looks at me sideways, and maybe I’m laying it on a bit thick. Suddenly, I am exhausted. “Have a good night, Jacob.”
I head down the hall to do what I should have done hours ago. Climb into bed and pull the covers over my head.
Chapter 5
January
Because I’ve always been a glutton for punishment, I wake up with Jacob on my mind. If such a thing is possible, I am even more humiliated than I was last night. Here I was thinking he was lonely and wanted my company. Thinking we had a connection.
But no. The poor guy was just waiting for his night to start, and I showed up, pathetically covered in pixie dust and blabbering about my parental issues. He probably kissed me just to get me to stop talking.
And oh lord, what a kiss.
How am I supposed to live with him and pretend it didn’t happen? I guess the silver lining is that Jacob succeeded in getting me off his couch because I will be hiding out in my room, so I never have to face him again.
I open my eyes and stare up at the ceiling. I have truly hit rock bottom. The star-shaped midcentury chandelier above my bed sways gently, as if it’s nodding along to this assessment. A breeze from the window ruffles the curtain in agreement. I always leave it open a crack because the old radiator in the corner has one setting—broil—and otherwise I’ll be roasting when I wake up. I roll to the left side of the bed to grab my phone, debating about whether or not I should call Kasumi and tell her about what happened with Jacob.
My hand fumbles in the air. There’s no nightstand on the left side of the bed. There’s only—Oh my God, what is happening?
I bolt upright.
There’s a man sleeping on the other side of the bed, his back to me and the covers pulled up all the way to the crown of his head.
Panicked, I fling aside the duvet and jump to my feet. Did I sleep with Jacob last night? Maybe someone really did slip something in my drink at the carnival party. How can I not remember this? （Damn, if that kiss was any indication, I really want to remember this.）
And then I freeze.
The chandelier. I cried when I packed up that chandelier and Owen took it to storage in Flatbush.
The open window and the radiator that’s channeling the surface of the sun. That shouldn’t be here. Jacob’s updated building has forced air heating.
I spin in a circle as the rest of the room comes into focus. The screen prints I bought at the Brooklyn Flea. My West Elm duvet. A black chef’s coat with XAVIER’S embroidered on the pocket, ready to wear to work.
This is my old apartment. The one I had to leave when I lost my job. How the hell did I get here?
My gaze flies to the door that leads out into the building’s hallway. Maybe I got drunk and broke in last night? Except, the door is neatly closed, and there’s no sign of forced entry. Besides, if I’d broken in, my stuff wouldn’t be here anymore. Someone else’s stuff would be here. I reach out to touch the fabric of the chef’s coat, right above where my name is embroidered. It’s rough beneath my fingers, just like I remember it. No, I’m obviously hallucinating. I’ve finally cracked from the stress of the past year, and my brain has taken me back to the time before it all fell apart. I slap my hands over and over on my cheeks, hoping it will bring me back to reality, and when that doesn’t work, I pinch my upper arms.