Step 3: Carefully remove bowl from microwave.
Step 4: Get a fork.
Step 5: Use fork to put food in your mouth.
Step 6: Repeat step 5 until the bowl is empty.
I’ve just finished step 1 when the doorbell rings. I know it isn’t the downstairs neighbor telling me we’re being too loud. I hope it isn’t the upstairs neighbor warning me they have a water leak. Maybe Eden forgot her keys. Maybe Mom wanted to check on me. Maybe… I laugh dryly as I let the train of thought die an abrupt death.
But, I remind myself, Alec is going to call me when he gets to London. And that’s a start.
It’s only when I open the door that I’m conscious I didn’t bother to comb my hair after my shower. In fact, I haven’t glanced in a mirror in several days. I find myself facing two beautiful women while I’ve got birds’ nest hair and am wearing Alec’s dress shirt, a stretched-out tank top, and no bra.
I immediately recognize one of them, but she is the second to last person I expect to see there.
“Georgia,” Yael says in disgust, “you look like garbage.”
The woman at Yael’s side smacks her lightly, and recognition hits like a slap. “Don’t be mean. She’s had a very shitty weekend.” Sunny Kim gives me a familiar, dimpled smile, and my lungs take a nostalgic nosedive.
I look back over my shoulder. Yes, I’m in my own doorway. Yes, I appear to be awake. Yael and Sunny stare at me, waiting for me to say something. I manage only, “What is this?”
Sunny steps forward, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. “Hi.”
On instinct, I lift my arms, too, tentatively snaking them around her waist. There’s a familiarity to the feel of her against me. Her grown-up body still carries the echo of her younger one. “Hi.”
“I realize this is a surprise.” She pulls back, placing her hands on my shoulders and holding me at arm’s length. “But you actually do look awful, G.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” My brain is finally catching up to my eyes. I look over at Yael, who is unusually casual in a T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. I look back over my shoulder again. Still in my doorway. Still awake. I narrow my eyes at Yael. “I thought you were on a plane to London.”
“I am not,” she says simply.
“But Alec is,” I explain very slowly.
Sunny turns to look at Yael. “Can you imagine if our planes actually crossed paths midair? He would never stop lecturing me.”
I don’t know if it’s the wrong time to point out that they both seem very flippant about letting a distraught Alec Kim fly home to London, where he will not find his sister waiting for him. In fact, I honestly don’t know if the average person would understand what is happening right now and I am just a mental mess, or if they are being intentionally confusing. “I have no idea what the hell is going on.”
Yael rolls her eyes. “Then for fuck’s sake, Georgia, let us in.”
At least these two appreciate a good cup of hand-brewed black coffee. They hum into their mugs, quietly complimenting the flavor. It unspools my memories of my morning here with Alec, his unapologetic sweet tooth, the signing later that day, his proposition that I stay with him at the hotel, Yael’s warnings…
I have to admit I don’t entirely feel like Yael Miller is Team Alec right now. I don’t understand her motives at all. Why isn’t she with him? Alec may be right, and Yael may be in love with Sunny, but Yael is his personal assistant. She handles everything for him but lets him fly back to London alone in the middle of a crisis? Heat creeps up my neck.
“How are you holding up?” Sunny asks me.
“It seems like the more important question is how you’re holding up,” I say, turning my gentler attention her way.
She laughs humorlessly. “It’s been a terrible few months, but I suppose the silver lining is that instead of constantly worrying that the other shoe is going to drop, the other shoe has actually dropped.”
“Yes, I think even if Alec hadn’t been photographed outside of the club, your and his association with Anders would have eventually come out anyway.”
“Exactly.” We stare at each other for several long beats, and finally our smiles break out in unison. “God, it’s so good to see you,” she says. “You became the most perfect version of your future self. And you’re just right in front of me.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” My heart does a heavy, contented squeeze behind my breastbone.
With a small smile, Sunny sets her coffee down on the table and tucks her legs beneath her. We’re the same age—our birthdays are only one week apart—but engulfed as she is by the cushions of our big yellow sofa, she seems so much younger. Her posture, her energy—it all feels very youthful. How could anyone hurt this person? A wave of heat passes over me, and I relate very intensely to Alec’s protective streak.
“You did an amazing job with the story,” Sunny says. “I’m very grateful.”