| LA |
A GROUP CALL HAS IT ALL
It's been six days. Six days since I called it off with Cece. Six days I've been alone, yet I haven't had a single minute to myself. Funny how that happens.
If I thought people cared about our lives before, it's even worse now. The demise of our engagement seems to have only reignited interest from miscellaneous third-party people -people whose lives are in absolutely zero way affected by Cece and I no longer being together.
No longer together.
These words bop around my head as I complete my routine morning jog down the street, past the mural, across the park, and right up to Edge's spiral stairs to the rooftop. This is my favorite view of the city skyline and my favorite time of day. Sunrise.
6:23 AM
Daybreak is on the horizon, painting the sky pink. But the sky is still blue too with dark night clouds lingering. I think maybe the sky reminds me of myself right now. Bright with a new dawn, with promise and hope, but still dark, still marred by years' worth of bullshit.
I lean on the railing and chug my water, enjoying the crispier September air. It's not as if I dumped Cece and immediately made plans or instantly felt relief. Maybe she wasn't the one. Maybe I do want Emmy back. But I'm still sad over losing something. Cece was still important to me and I took no pleasure in breaking her heart.
People knew almost instantly. As expected, I guess, but certainly aided by Cece's Instagram stories. Out each night with Banko and Pez. No ring on her finger. A random guy's arm around her in the latest.
And I'm happy for her. As happy as I am about the GC tonight.
I make my way back inside and down to my private office on the second floor. It's adjacent to the gym lounge, and stocked with a whole spare wardrobe. My mind is elsewhere as I select new pants and a dress top and carry them into the shower room.
The motion-sensing speaker comes to life as I enter. I can hear faint music through the hot water and still can't believe Miles insisted we put music in the locker rooms. At least it distracts me now.
The team arrives just after 8 AM, which leaves us 3 hours until go-time. I direct the new models and photographers to the second floor studio, where the latest apparel line awaits. Miles starts arranging the new window displays. Izzy and Jess carry crates of fresh fruit up to the juice bar. Javier wipes down the countertops.
11 AM
A loud crowd arrives, we do our best to keep the line moving. It's not lost of me how many people there are. I find myself wondering if my new public break-up has had anything to do with it. Miles also points this out.
"At least 27 more memberships for the gym/lounge floor," Miles says as he comes into the back room. "Also, didn't we order bulk recycled cups for the juice? Can't find them anywhere. And Jess said they already ran out of carrots."
"Check beneath the sink up there. The sink in the washroom. And order more carrots, I got it." I nod.
I'm busy answering Brody's text about answering mom's text.
"Thinking about ordering some pizzas. I'm sick of poke," Miles announces.
"Didn't think you'd ever get sick of poke," Javier says, slumping into a chair across from me. "I am beat."
"Pizza's fine." I shrug.
"I'll call Capi's and get a few. I'll order extras for the gym lounge," he says.
"Isn't that sort of counteractive?" I look up.
"Exactly," Miles laughs.
About 30 minutes later, 30 pizzas arrive. No shit. Miles has lost his shit.
I'm in the back still, analyzing our sales and spend ratio and wondering how in the fuck I lucked out with this Edge bull.
Not that it's bull and not that I didn't bust my ass (at times). But it's like I held out an apple and it just got coated in a thick glossy layer of sheer dumb-luck. I find myself wondering what my dad would say. I let the sadness pass and laugh to myself, knowing full well he'd be proud inside, but still find something to point out and bitch about.
The rest of the day goes as quickly as the first half. I'm exhausted and force-feeding myself slices of meat lovers to stay awake. I'm anxious for tonight, and keep checking my phone every five minutes.
Things that cross my mind: What will Emmy be doing? Will he be with her? How much should I talk? Do I direct anything towards her?
I'm literally 12 years old.
I finally duck out around 5 PM. I'm careful to avoid the group of giggly 20-year-old girls that were very clearly waiting to catch me on my way out. Five-year-ago Jay would have been all for it. Ah, growth.
I jog back to my apartment and hop in the shower. Cece's toning shampoo bottle stares at me from its spot on the shelf. My sudsy fingers close around it and I lob it into the trashcan. I catch a whiff of her smell as I do so.
Miles texts me on his way out of Edge, promising to drop off some pizza on his way home.
Somehow I make it through the next hour, until it is finally 10-of 8:00 and I settle myself onto the couch.
Ready.
YOU ARE READING
Never Really Over (Bremmy 3)
ChickLit*THREEQUEL* Even when they're done, all things are never really over. It's been one year since Emmy left for the airport, two tickets in hand. A long, eventful year. Brooks has successfully launched the flagship Edge and snagged a model girlfriend...
