The Design(76)
Two months without seeing him was enough time for me to go back and forth about my feelings time and time again. One day I’d wake up and miss him so much that I’d lay in bed pulling up old text messages and rereading every word he’d ever sent to me. Other times, I’d remember an email about a scholarship or an interview he’d negotiated, and I’d feel so angry with him that I had to stop myself from dialing his number and berating him. Most days, I fluctuated between loving and hating him at least thirty times (and that was all before I’d had my coffee).
It was perplexing to work through such polar opposite feelings for one person… especially when at the end of the day, Grayson was the one human on the entire planet that I knew I couldn’t live without. He was intimidating and passionate, creative and intense. He taught me to love architecture and he inspired me to pursue my dreams, so why couldn’t I forgive him for overstepping his bounds?
Why couldn't I realize that being with Grayson wouldn’t mean that I was completely giving up my independence?
I missed him so much that a week before I was scheduled to fly back to LA for Brooklyn’s engagement party, I’d even managed to convince myself that his actions were somewhat noble. It wasn’t as if he’d been secretly sabotaging me. He’d been a guardian angel of sorts, ensuring that there weren’t any obstacles blocking my path. Could I really hate him for that?
Maybe a little, but not enough to stay away any longer.
…
Arriving back home in LA felt similar to when I’d first arrived in France. I had no place to call home, no money to my name, no job, and Grayson and I weren’t speaking. As terrifying as all of that was, the final detail was by far the hardest to stomach.
It felt just about as shitty as you could imagine to return home having failed at your dream. All I had to show for my two-month stint abroad was a smattering of French words and a purse full of Parisian chocolate. Some people would have been ashamed, but I was above that. You see, I had consumed copious amounts of alcohol during the long, long flight home and I couldn’t actually find the will to care about anything, let alone the fact that I was a giant loser with no job and a boyfriend who wasn’t actually a boyfriend, but rather someone I hadn’t spoken to in two months.
“Cammie! You made it!”
I looked up to see Brooklyn and Jason standing at the bottom of the escalator with open arms. One quick scan around them let me know that Grayson was nowhere to be found.
“What the hell is the point if it’s just you two and he’s not here and just—” I’d made it to the bottom of the escalator and all but tossed my luggage at Jason. “Just take that because it’s heavy and I bought way too many Parisian scarves. Who the hell wears that many scarves? And berets? No one wears them. If you wear one you look like a buffoon. Just an FYI.”
“Wow. Alright, looks like they served some drinks on the flight over,” Brooklyn said, exchanging a knowing glance with Jason.
“I see what you’re doing. Stop being telepathic with each other and just take me to the airport lounge so that I can wait for Grayson to pick me up.”
“Grayson?” Brooklyn asked, her bright blue eyes meeting mine. She looked so innocent and sweet with her golden blonde hair and designer clothing. I hated her for seeming confused about why I wanted Grayson to pick me up from the airport.
“Yes. Grayson. The person I’m in love with. He needs to pick me up from the airport.” I shook my head, annoyed that I had to catch her up to speed.
“Listen, why don’t we go home and we can finish setting up for the engagement party tomorrow. Maybe Grayson will come over after that?”
That sounded reasonable, so I let Jason and Brooklyn lead me out of the airport, a cloud of booze following my every step.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Grayson didn’t come over while we set up for the engagement party. He didn’t call or text me. He knew I was back in town: I’d overheard Brooklyn on the phone with him earlier that morning, confirming my arrival and my presence at the party. I guess we really weren’t on speaking terms or he would have at least called me himself.
I yanked a long-stem rose out of a bucket of water and started plucking off the leaves. The engagement party was due to start any minute and I still had a few last minute flower arrangements I needed to throw together.
Brooklyn had stressed the fact that she wanted the decorations to be tasteful, so I’d skipped balloons in favor of flowers and large framed photos of her and Jason placed around the room. We’d spent all day transforming Brooklyn’s condo for the party and it was finally coming together.
Three long tables were set up for dinner. A catering company was hard at work in the kitchen, whipping up hors d’oeuvres and a four-course meal for the small gathering.
I’d invited thirty guests. Everyone from Brooklyn’s publicists to Jason’s friends from Montana would be in attendance, and I couldn’t wait to deliver the speech I’d been working on for the last few days.
“Cammie! I can finish doing that, you go get dressed!” Summer, Brooklyn’s spunky assistant, demanded as she pulled the rose from my hand. I hadn’t seen her in a few months, but she looked as awesome as ever. Last time I’d seen her she’d dyed her hair purple ombre. Now it was a bright pink.
“I’m almost done!” I protested.