It's a Waverly Life (15 page)

“You think so?”

He nodded.

I looked at Ivy. “Do
you
think so?”

“I’ve never met her, so it’s hard to tell. But if you and she are as close as you say, maybe it’ll be fine. She’ll understand.”

I looked back at Nick. “I hope you’re right.”

“I’m always right. I’ve already told you that.”

As soon as I was outside the
Sun
office on Market Street, I called Andie on her work line.

“Andrea Barnett.”

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Hi.” Her voice sounded dry.

“I’m back from New York. Want to meet for a drink tonight to catch up?”

“I can’t tonight,” she said, not elaborating.

“Got a date with Gaslamp Guy?”

“Yep.”

“So how’s that going?”

“Fine. Listen, I’m really busy right now. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

I closed my eyes.

“Andie, is everything all right?”

“It’s fine.”

“Are you sure? Because I’m really sorry about that comment yesterday. I don’t know what I was thinking, using your name like that.”

She didn’t respond.

“Andie?”

“I watched it here at the office,” she said. “With my boss and about ten of my coworkers.”

I stopped walking.

“Oh my God.”

“I need to go now.” She spoke in a tone I’d never heard before.

“Okay,” I said softly.

“Bye, Waverly.”

She hung up, and I hung my head. I stood there on the sidewalk for a few moments, not knowing what to do. I wanted to call Jake but couldn’t. I wanted to call McKenna, but I knew I’d only get her voicemail.

I suck.

The whole bus ride home, my mind was consumed with a single thought.

I really screwed up.

When I got back to my apartment, I noticed a sticky piece of paper on the floor near the mailboxes. I saw it was a “missed delivery” notice, addressed to me. The return address read
Soulflower Floral Design.

Flowers?

I unlocked my front door and pulled out my phone, then sat on the couch as I dialed the number on the card. The cheerful woman on the other end of the line said she had a “lovely arrangement” for me and would send it over within the hour.

A lovely arrangement?

It had to be Scotty.

I stood up and looked at my phone for a moment, then set it alongside the missed delivery notice on the coffee table. I decided to change into jeans and have lunch before reading through the deluge of e-mails that had come through in the past twenty-four hours.

Eloise Zimmerman had been right. My
Today Show
appearance had struck a chord with a lot of frustrated single viewers, dozens and dozens of whom had e-mailed to tell me just how frustrated they were.

I scrolled through the messages as I munched on my sandwich.

Hi Waverly, great job yesterday. I’m thirty-three and single and SO glad to see I’m not alone out there. Men can be such tools. Thank God for wine and girlfriends.

Dear Waverly, I’m dying laughing over your Fresno Gramps story. Thanks for sharing, and I’ll be checking out your column for sure. Keep it up.

Waverly, you give me hope that I’ll find my Mr. Right AND that I won’t end up like that plastic Barbie who was on the show next to you. You go, girl!

Dear Waverly, did you see any hot guys while you were in New York? All the babes in San Francisco are cocky players. Or married. Or gay. Some of them are all three.

The comments weren’t
all
positive, though. Hardly.

Ah, Miss Picky who thinks she knows it all, you need to take a reality check, my dear. If you don’t get married soon, all the good ones will be taken. Then where will you be? That’s right, ALONE. Oh, that’s right, you already ARE.

As a God-fearing Christian, I’m appalled that an unmarried woman would mention having multiple sexual partners on national television. Where are your morals? I hope the Lord has mercy on you.

That one was signed “Good luck in Hell.”

Okay then.

I was debating whether to call Andie again when I noticed a message near the bottom of the inbox.

It was from Jake, and it had been sent the night before.

Oh my God, he wrote back.

I put my sandwich down and clicked to open the e-mail.

To:
Waverly Bryson

From:
Jake McIntyre

Subject:
Message received

Hi Waverly, I saw you on TV today and was a bit thrown for a loop, as you can imagine. We’re clearly not on the same page, so I think it’s best if we nip this in the bud. I’m sorry for not calling, but I think you probably know how I’m feeling at the moment.

Take care of yourself. You deserve to be happy.

Jake

My jaw dropped. I picked up my phone to call him, but before I could dial, my doorbell rang. I stood up to answer it.

“Yes?”

“Delivery for Waverly Bryson.”

“Come on in.” I pressed the button and opened the front door. A few seconds later a man approached with a vase full of red roses.

“These are really for me?”

“Yes ma’am.” He handed me a clipboard. “Can you sign here, please?”

I signed the receipt and traded him the clipboard for the vase, which I set on the coffee table after he left. I pulled the card out of the little envelope.

Hi Waberly, I miss you so muck too. I also want you to be my Valentine. Good luck in New York this week. I know you’ll be great because you always are. I’ll call you on the big day to say hi from my new phone, which I’m picking up today.

Love, Jake

I set the card on the coffee table and picked up the missed delivery notice from the florist.

It was dated February 12.

Oh my God.

Jake had sent the flowers before my trip to New York, but I’d left a day earlier than planned.

He sent me a dozen red roses, and I went on national television and announced that I didn’t have a boyfriend.

I had to talk to him.

I ran into my office and picked up the phone.

Please answer, please answer, please answer.
I paced around the room.

His voicemail picked up after one ring.

You’ve reached Jake McIntyre with the Atlanta Hawks. I’m currently on leave and without access to this phone. If you need to reach me, please contact the Hawks main office at 404/555-HAWK and ask for Melissa. Thanks.

The message ended with no beep.

I sat down in my chair and closed my eyes. I could feel tears welling up.

After a few moments I realized I still had the phone in my hand. I was desperate to talk to him but didn’t have his new number yet, and he didn’t have a land line at his house. I put the phone on the desk. How did everything get so screwed up? What had I done? How had I made such a colossal mess of, well,
everything
?

I looked over at all the e-mails on my computer screen. Dozens and dozens of e-mails sent to a relationship advice columnist who had just appeared on
The Today Show
.

I felt like a fraud.

For a few moments I just sat there, not sure what to do. Then I opened my desk drawer and unfolded the latest mystery letter.

lie

How fitting.

At six o’clock I walked over to Andie’s place two blocks away at Fillmore and Washington. I sat on the front step of her building and waited.

At six fifteen, I was cursing myself for not having brought something to read and for forgetting my phone.

To distract myself, I watched a woman in a tiny car unsuccessfully trying to parallel park across the street. It reminded me of my college days in Berkeley, when I had to master the art of squeezing into the teeniest of places or I never would have made it to class.

Thinking of college made me remember how I’d met Andie. It was our junior year, and McKenna and I were at a semiformal date party thrown by the SAE fraternity house. SAE stands for
Sigma Alpha Epsilon
, though I knew many a scorned sorority girl who called it
Same Assholes Everywhere
. Mackie and I were proud, anchor-wearing members of DG (Delta Gamma), and our pledge sister Whitney was dating an SAE named Bryan. For the record, Bryan was, and still, is a non-asshole. Thank God, because Whitney ended up marrying him.

Bryan set us up with two of his buddies, Marc (with a C, he pointed out) and Tyler. We met them at a pre-party at the SAE house, and while McKenna and I sipped wine coolers, they downed cheap scotch in plastic cups. We all thought we were so classy and mature. Ha. Then we were bussed en masse (again, so classy) to the venue for the evening. I briefly cringed as a vision of the strapless turquoise dress I wore flashed before my eyes. In addition to math, English, science, and history, I think that every teenage girl should be required to learn the immutable fact that
no one looks good in strapless turquoise
. No one.

Marc with a C was quite charming, especially to Waverly with a Buzz. We had a lot of fun together, so when he accidentally put his hand on my boob on the dance floor, I laughed it off. Later, when he was telling me about all the top law schools he’d been accepted to, he accidentally put his hand on my butt. Looking back, he was clearly an arrogant jackass. But he was also very good-looking, and he was paying a lot of attention to me. My youthful naiveté, blanketed in a blissful fog of alcohol, kept me from heeding the red flags everywhere. When the DJ played “Truly Madly Deeply” by Savage Garden, we made out like no one’s business. I felt so cool, because when you’re in college, making out on the dance floor is even more cool than drinking wine coolers.

I “fell asleep” on the bus on the way home, as did Marc with a C. I’d long lost McKenna and Tyler, whom I’d last seen swapping spit in a dark corner. When we pulled up in front of the SAE house, it was nearly two in the morning.

Marc nudged me awake.

“Waverly, we’re home,” he whispered.

“Dad?” I mumbled.

“What?”

OH MY GOD.

I sat up straight, pretending to be sober. “Um, we’re home?”

He put his arm around me and gently helped me from my seat, then led me out of the bus and toward the front door of the fraternity. The front lawn was filled with similar couples in a quiet, drunken stupor. It reminded me of the “Thriller” video.

“I should really go home,” I whispered. “It’s so late.” Even in my impaired state, I knew I shouldn’t go inside with him.

Suddenly Mr. Super Nice Guy was in the house. “Are you sure?” He smiled and put his hand on my cheek. “Your skin is so soft,” he whispered.

“I really should go.” Ms. Super Mature Girl
also
was in the house, and she was just saying no to, well, to going in the house.

He hugged me close, then leaned down and kissed my ear. “Just come with me and lie down for a while.”

I shook my head. “I really should go. But thanks so much. I had a lot of fun.”

“Are you sure?” He kept his arms around me.

I looked up at him.

He was so cute.

So, so cute.

I hesitated for just a moment.

And then Ms. Super Mature Girl threw in the towel.