Page 68 of The Wedding Fake

Only two percent of the world’s population is naturally blond

Six percent of people believe they could beat a bear in unarmed combat

It went on and on, and though I tried to ignore them the way I had most of my life, each took residence in my brain in a little file labeled Claire.

What I needed was fresh air. I pushed myself up off the couch, walking to my room and pulling on a fresh pair of sweatpants to replace the ones I’d been rotting away in. I laced up my shoes and grabbed a hoodie to fight the evening chill, then I walked out my door and down the hall. I hesitated at the elevator, but hit the button, because Claire would never be out so late on a weeknight.

The door slid open and it was empty, just as I suspected. I pressed the button for L to take me down to the lobby. I didn’t expect the elevator to jolt so suddenly, and I looked up at the little digital number just as the elevator dinged and the doors began to slide open. Four. My heart thundered in my chest, my eyes trained on the sliver of light that grew as the door opened.

But it wasn’t Claire.

I recognized the older man as the husband half of a Filipino couple who lived down the hall from Claire. I’d met their son last year, and he’d given me a great recipe for chicken legs marinated in 7-Up. I gave the man a polite nod and he smiled in return, settling into one corner while I scooted to the opposite side.

In the lobby I lifted the hood of my sweatshirt, in part because I knew it would be cold outside, but also because I wished I could block out the world. I pushed through the vestibule door a little too hard and it almost banged. I jumped to catch it, embarrassed, and a package caught my eye. It had been there when I came home Sunday night and there it lay, nearly two days later. I wondered if Claire had seen it and if she was livid.

The man from upstairs slipped by me, walking out the front door, but I stood frozen, staring at the box, wondering if I should grab it and find its owner. The name wasn’t showing, probably because it had already been picked up and put down so many times, and I shook my head, turning away and heading out the door to work out.

An hour later I returned, sweaty and tired, but no closer to clearing my brain, and found myself frozen in place once more, staring at the mysterious box. Finally, I approached, turning the box over with a single, delicate finger. For a moment I just blinked at it, but it wasn’t changing. Claire Davis. It was a package for Claire Davis. I picked it up, holding it gently like it was a little piece of her to take care of. Had she sent me a message? Did she want me to find her? She’d called the day after the wedding. I’d been meeting with Amy and hadn’t seen the missed call for hours. Then I stared at my screen, not sure what to do, before finally deciding she’d call back if she wanted to reach me. She hadn’t called back.

Impulsively, I picked up the box, slinging it under my arm and heading to the elevator. I pressed four as the doors slid closed, then watched the numbers begin to tick. One…Two…Three—what was I doing? It was almost midnight for chrissake, and Claire had to work tomorrow. I hit the button for Five and the elevator dinged immediately, lurching to a stop. I stood stock still, as if moving might draw attention to me, but the doors slid closed a moment later, and the elevator began moving once more.

Back in my apartment, I tossed the box on my console and headed to the shower, pretty sure I didn’t stand a chance of forgetting about Claire.

36

CLAIRE

It was gone.

I blinked in disbelief a couple of times. The box had definitely been in the vestibule for a day and a half. I saw it when I got home last night, and my heart had sunk. I knew it was a dumb idea, but that was the first moment I realized it might not work.

I’d ordered the tea a few days after I got home, once I realized Hudson wasn’t going to respond to my call. I hated tea, but it was the first thing I found that had a quick delivery. This one had promised to come the next day and had been ten percent off. It was a no-brainer. As in I think I’d lost my mind when I did it. But I needed to see Hudson.

And now the box was gone, but Hudson hadn’t come. I’d convinced myself he would show up at my door, just as I had with his box. I’d apologize and we would talk and then Hudson North would hold my face in his hands and lean forward until his forehead touched mine. In my fantasy he’d say, “Christ, you’re beautiful,” as he had so many times before. And we would kiss.

But the box was gone and Hudson hadn’t come, and I let out a slow, sad sigh, realizing we were over for good.

Work had been interminably long today, just as it’d been yesterday, but at least today was Friday. Still, all I could think about since I’d found the box missing yesterday morning was Hudson. It was possible he hadn’t taken it. Perhaps I’d been right all along, and untended boxes drew thieves. Maybe my box had been stolen. I could take solace, at least, in knowing they would be stuck with disgusting tea.

And part of me would rather know thieves were stealing boxes from the building than that Hudson had seen the box and didn’t want to see me.

Hiking my bag higher on my shoulder and straightening my coat, I pulled open the door to the vestibule and stopped in my tracks. It couldn’t be. I approached slowly, my stomach twisting violently the closer I got. It was in the exact same spot I’d first seen it, untouched, unopened, as if I’d imagined the past two days. Claire Davis. I hadn’t ordered anything else. It was my tea.

I picked up the box, and without thinking charged ahead into the elevator, pressing the button for five. I didn’t give myself any time to think through what I was doing. As the elevator ticked up…One…Two…Three…I pictured Hudson picking up the box and then returning it and I fumed…Four…Five. The elevator lurched and the doors slid open.

I headed down the hall and pounded on his door, then stood, the box pressed tightly to my chest, my brow knitted miserably. I heard footsteps, then the click of the lock. And there he was. It was as if I’d forgotten how handsome he was, and seeing him now, like this, sucked all the breath out of me. “Hi, Claire.”

The words were too kind. It disarmed me. “Hi, Hudson.”