Not You It's Me (Boston Love #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,122
her toddler throw bits of bread to the ducks, laughing each time a bird snaps one up.
To my left, a teenage girl on a bench groans into her cellphone — but, Mom, all the other kids’ curfew is eleven. Why do I have to come home at ten?
Mothers are everywhere I look.
It’s like the universe is actively trying to smack some sense into me with as many signs as possible.
You’re mad at the wrong person, genius.
I sigh as I reach into my purse and pull out my cellphone. A growl of frustration erupts when I see I’ve grabbed the new, Chase-approved one from the depths of my bag by accident. With a rough shove, I return it to a deep pocket and locate my real cell — complete with sparkly blue case and cracked screen.
My finger trembles a little as I dial a series of buttons I know by heart.
“Hello?”
I press my eyes closed at the sound of her voice.
“Gemma, are you there?”
My free hand curls into a fist by my side and the other tightens around the plastic.
“Gemma?”
“I’m here.”
“Oh, good, I thought you’d pocket-dialed me.” She laughs. “What’s up, baby girl? You finally ready to tell me about your night at the ball with Prince Charming?”
“No.” I clear my throat. “I actually need you to tell me something.”
“Name it.”
“Why have you spent twenty-six years lying to me about my father?”
Chapter Thirty
Fine
I step inside the doors of the brightly lit shop, its plexiglass countertops revealing a vast array of delicious-looking sweets.
Crumble — the best cupcake place in all the land. Or, at the very least, in the Greater Boston area.
The woman at the cash register recognizes me immediately.
“Hey, Gemma!” She smiles wide. “You want the usual?”
God, I have a usual. That’s a little sad.
“Hi Katy. No — today, I’m gonna need a whole half-dozen.”
“To go?”
“Nope.” I swallow. “For here. Just for me.”
Her eyebrows go up as she looks from my tear-stained face to the platter of chocolate-on-chocolate cupcakes she’s just pulled out. “You sure?”
I nod.
“Alrighty, then.” She smirks a little as she loads up a hot pink plate with six giant cupcakes. “But, if your arteries clog in one of my booths, I’m not responsible.”
“Hardy har har.”
She smiles as she passes me the plate. “Gemma… if you want to talk about it…”
“No,” I say immediately. “But, thanks.”
“Whoever he is, he’s not worth the calories.”
“So true,” I mutter, Milo’s face flashing in my mind as I grab my cupcakes and head for a back table, where I can eat my feelings in peace.
***
“This better be good, I was right in the middle of my CrossFit session—” Shelby breaks off abruptly when she catches sight of my face — which may or may not be covered in chocolate frosting. “Oh, Jesus. What’s wrong?”
“Nuffing,” I slur around a giant bite.
“I’ve known you six years. Never once have I seen you resort to a sugar coma to fix your problems.”
I shrug. “First time for everything.”
“You’ve got chocolate, like…” She grabs a napkin from the dispenser and passes it to me with a grimace. “…everywhere.”
I glare as I snatch the paper from her outstretched hand and begin wiping my mouth. She waits until I’m done chewing before she sighs, pulls out the seat across from me, and settles in.
“Gemma.” She steeples her hands on the table in front of her. “Look at yourself.”
I push the plate of cupcakes toward her. “Cupcake?”
She stares at me like I’ve just offered her methamphetamine. “Are you kidding? Do you know how many carbohydrates are in a cupcake? How much sugar is in that frosting?”
“Whatever. More for me,” I say, grabbing another one and taking a colossal bite.
“You want to tell me what happened?”
“Not really,” I mutter around a mouthful.
“So you just called me here to bear witness to your moping?” She snorts. “Sounds productive.”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’m already here — missing my workout, I might add. Paul’s traveling for work. All I’ve got waiting for me at home is a Paleo meal and a rerun of TopChef.” She stares at me, eyebrows raised. “Lay it on me.”
So, I do.
I tell her everything — about my father, about Phoebe, about Chase. I even tell her about Brett and his threats to spill the story to the press. It takes over an hour — in part because Shelby interrupts me with questions every two seconds — but when I finally finish, she doesn’t say a word. She just reaches out, grabs the final cupcake off the plate, and takes a bite.