Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 105175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Nicolás laughs. “Wait, let me get this straight: you’re putting in your two weeks notice with one week of vacation left? What does that even mean? You’re going to fly back here for a week and then fly home?”
It makes sense to me. “I need to get my stuff and say goodbye to the girls.”
Diego shakes his head. “No, no. While we’d love to see you once more before you move back to the States for good, why don’t we just ship your stuff back to you?” He glances toward Nicolás, who’s nodding in agreement. “No sense in wasting a couple grand on flights if you don’t have to.”
I laugh at how naïve they’re being. “Olive wouldn’t mind so much, but Luciana will never forgive me if I don’t come back to say goodbye to her.”
Diego rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry about that. Luce will understand if we frame it as a love story: your clock struck midnight and you had to rush home from the ball. Now all you need is to find your prince.”
I’m glad they seem to think that, because when they hand the phone over to her during the FaceTime call and I begin to explain the situation, she hangs up on me midsentence, and not by accident. I call again. She answers, and HANGS UP AGAIN.
Diego shoots me a quick text.
Diego: Okay, she’s taking it slightly harder than expected, but there is still no reason for you to come back to Spain just to get your stuff. Luciana will calm down. Also, when did she get too old for fairy tales?
Olive, bless her, doesn’t give a shit that I’m leaving. She sends me a thoughtful, quick text message thanking me for being her tutor and wishing me well in the future. By contrast, Luciana texts me 15 skull emojis paired with an adorably incorrect English idiom.
Luciana: Sorry, can’t talk—too busy pulling this fork out of my back!
I hate the fact that I’m hurting her, especially because I know what it feels like to be left at her age. It’s not like Luciana expected me to stay with her and her dads forever—we even joked about how terrible her next tutor would be compared to me—but this abrupt exit isn’t ideal. If I could explain my reasons to her, I know she’d understand. After all, she knew how I felt about James.
I try to call her several more times, but she’s obviously not ready to talk. Eventually, she blocks my number, and Diego tells me to give it time. She’ll cool down, he assures me, though I fear that’s not the case. Luciana is headstrong and stubborn. All I can do is hope that one day she’ll understand my decision to stay in Texas.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Against Ellie’s advice, I try to call James first thing the next day. I’m sitting on the floor in my room with sticky notes spread out around me.
The green ones are covered with all the things I want to say to him:
I’m sorry!!!!
I’m not going back to Spain!
Our timing sucked, but I want a second chance!
Please, let’s sit down and talk.
The red ones are covered in the things I absolutely mustn’t say to him:
How many times did you and Lacy bang??
Was she good? Better than me?
When do you want to get married? What should we name our kids?
Finally, on a small note near my foot, there are three words I’m not sure I’m ready to say, but they’re there, just in case.
The sticky notes are necessary because I’m scared that once the call clicks on and his deep voice filters over the line, I’ll lose my cool. I want to be prepared. I want to sound eloquent and sure of myself. The rings drone on and on, and I unconsciously start to crumple one of the sticky notes. I freak and try to flatten it again, but my sweaty palm smears the pen. I’m sorry now looks like a jumbled mess of gibberish. The call rings one final time and then jumps to voicemail.
BEEP
“James! Hi! It’s Brooke calling again. I was hoping to reach you so we could set up a time soon to sit down and talk.” My sticky notes jump out at me. “I’m sorry! And I’m not going back to Spain! And I would really like a second chance! Did I already say this is Brooke? I can’t remem—”
The voicemail cuts off and when the little automated voice asks me if I’d like to rerecord my message, I jump at the opportunity and just delete it all together. So much for my sticky notes helping me sound eloquent.
I try his phone twice the following day, but the calls go straight to voicemail. He’s ignoring me on purpose, just like Luciana. They should probably start an I Hate Brooke fan club.