Page 105 of The Lucky One
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Salmon. Rice. Beans.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Dr Pepper. Pasta. Barbecue sauce.
The rhythmic sounds of the checkout scanner echoed through Walmart, each beep marking another item in an endless list.
I was a robot again, going through the motions just like I had in Germany—school, work, eat, sleep, repeat.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Candles. Candy. Chips.
“It’s my birthday!” announced a customer, pointing at the candles.
“Happy birthday.”
As soon as the customer had walked away, Natalia remarked, “Wow, that was the saddest happy birthday I’ve ever heard.”
I chose to ignore her.
She leaned over the counter, concern etched on her face. “You haven’t heard from him for over a week, Emily. Don’t you think it’s time to move on?”
I sighed. “It’ll be fine, Nat.”
But deep down, I wondered if that was really true.
I didn’t tell Caroline what happened with Jon. I didn’t want to hear her advice to start working on myself or some other crap I knew already. For about five minutes now we’d been sitting in silence, and I wouldn’t be the one to break it. Silence was better than talking about how Jon had sent me into another tailspin.
“Emily,” she said finally, “we’ve been having these sessions for almost three months now...” She sighed. “You’ve told me a lot, but you’ve been hiding something from me too.”
I grabbed a couch cushion and put it over my jiggling leg. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’ve told me a lot about your first host family, your new host parents and your little host brother, Jon and Paul, your friends Danielle and Breana...”
“Exactly. A lot.”
“Right. I know about your struggles to maintain friendships, how Paul feels like home to you, your drug cravings, which have died down—” She paused for a moment and I nodded confirmation. Jiggle jiggle jiggle. “And your concerns that it might never stop for Jon.”
“See? You know all about me.”
“Really, Emily?” Caroline raised a gentle brow, her pen poised and ready on her notepad.
“I’ve told you everything. Even about the time I cut myself.” I spat the words at her, tired of feeling like I was doing something wrong.
She sighed. “I’m not trying to annoy you,” she said, leaning back in her chair and allowing a few seconds to pass. “But are you aware that everything you’ve told me so far is limited to your life in America?”
My knee stopped jiggling. I looked down at my cushion.
“Emily?” she said softly. “If you’re not ready to talk about it, we don’t have to. But I want you to know that I’m here for every aspect of your life. If there’s something you want to talk about that didn’t happen here, we can.”
It was true, I realized. I had never opened up about my life in Germany. It felt distant, almost forgotten—yet suddenly, by the power of her words, so close again. All this time I had clung to the hope that I wouldn’t need to go back—that Jon would be ready to pop the question, no big deal.
But that wasn’t likely going to happen.
“I’m trying to not think about it much.” I toyed with the fringe on the cushion.