I’ve cooled down slightly by the time Wilson gets me through the freshly plowed streets to Brooklyn. In hindsight, maybe not contacting Emma since Sunday wasn’t well done of me. It might’ve been only three days, but if she feels our connection as intensely as I do, it would’ve seemed infinitely longer.
I’m still pissed she hung up on me, but I can understand it.
In any case, as the car pulls up to the piles of snow left on the curb by the snowplow, I’m fully prepared to grovel. In addition to explaining just how crazy things were at work, I’m going to offer my most sincere apology and swear never to ghost her again. Not that I did—I just held off on contacting her for a bit—but that’s how she must’ve perceived it.
It’s the only explanation for that out-of-nowhere “goodbye.”
I’m wearing
