“My tastes run darker, and romance is fantasy way too often. That’s why the fake wedding scheme didn’t work.”
“If he didn’t care about you, Dakota, it wouldn’t matter to him if you ran away with a biker. He left so you could continue on here with peace of mind. He had something to lose, so he took the loss the best way he could in his own misguided way.”
Oh my God. Is she right? I want her to be right.
Shut up, Dakota. It’s wishful thinking and you know it.
But she’s rubbed this wound raw again. I blink several times, my eyes stinging.
“So, I hate to cut this sort, Tillie, but I have a meeting.”
“But—”
I stand, needing to get out of here.
“I really have to go. Sorry.” I race out of the office, leaving her behind.
In the bathroom, I lock myself in a stall and ugly cry. Once it’s out of me, I fish my phone out of my pocket and panic text Eliza.
Dakota: I wish I was dead.
Eliza: What happened??? I’m shocked you’re still working there. I couldn’t hack it. Are people trash-talking you?
Dakota: Maybe. Probably. I don’t care.
Eliza: What’s wrong then?
I give Eliza a quick rundown on everything that just happened, including Matilda Burns’ bonkers apology offer.
When I tell her the amount, there’s a three-minute pause before my phone buzzes again.
Eliza: OMG. Take it and run! Dakota, you can write your heart out forever.
She sends a gif with a jolly pig rolling around in a pile of money.
Technically, she’s right. I should be euphoric.
I basically hit the jackpot, only, this is a lot more personal than any faceless lottery win.
I send a one-word response. Why?
Eliza: Uh, if being an instant millionaire isn’t incentive enough, how about being able to quit? Not being reminded of Lincoln Burns on a daily basis? That might help you get over him.
I frown, knowing she’s right.
That’s why it’s been a month and I can’t get him out of my head. Everything here still breathes Lincoln Burns.
Dakota: I don’t know. I’m in management now. And it feels like an even crappier move if I take the money and run.
Eliza: You hate management. You’re a Poe.
Fair point.
When I was writing ads, it wasn’t poetry, but at least it was writing.
Dakota: Another issue, quitting would be like admitting all the rumors are true, right?
Eliza: Well...they are.
Dakota: But no one else needs to know that.
Eliza: But they already do!
Before I can reply, another message dings.
Eliza: And why did this woman show up to randomly apologize for convincing her son to fake marry you? That’s weird.
Dakota: She felt bad. She just wanted to make things right. I’m pretty sure my cut is coming out of hers, and it’s not like anyone named Burns is hurting for money...
Eliza: You haven’t texted me from the bathroom crying for over a week until now. I just decided I don’t like his mom any more than I like his stupid face.
I laugh. I didn’t meet Eliza until I moved here, but she’s so loyal. I pity the lunk who ever tries to date her.
Dakota: His mom is very nice. Don’t hate her on my behalf.
Eliza: She upset you. What are you going to do? I hope you don’t move out of state like you did after Jay. You’re the only person in the building I like.
Dakota: LOL. No worries. I hate moving, no matter how much money I’ve got. I have you, my bike, and a really awesome savings cushion.
Eliza: Gotcha. What’s next then?
Dakota: I’m going to wash my face so no one knows I’ve been crying when I walk out of this bathroom. And I’m going to start applying for writing jobs. When I find something, I’ll jump.
Eliza: Only in Seattle?
Dakota: Yes. Relax, I’m stuck here.
I’ve known ever since I moved here that this was the place to be. The rain, the disappearing mountain, the cool breezes, the lush greenery surrounding the city, the art scene... This place may have its problems, but it just vibes writer.
For a while, I even thought I might find someone here to put Jay to shame.
Oh, I got my wish in the worst way.
But I also met Eliza, Cheryl, Anna, and a few more cool people. Until I got promoted, I made a nice salary doing what I love. There are plenty of reasons to stay, and Lincoln Burns won’t scare me away from rebooting my life.
I scrub my face with cold water and head back to my desk.
Acting like memories of Lincoln aren’t looping through my head is harder than it seems.
By afternoon, I duck out early and go for a long bike ride in the early summer breeze.
My legs pump until breathing hurts. I want to imagine I can sweat out heartbreak.
I’ll get over this jackass one way or another, richer or poorer, better or worse.