Chapter 4
The driver pulled over to the side.
Zoey stepped out and stood at the roadside, her gaze lingering on the building across the street. It was the headquarters of Gibson Holdings.
Thirty-eight stories of gleaming glass towered above her. A row of luxury cars lined up out front. In the lobby, streams of employees in sharp suits rushed through the revolving doors, busy as ants.
She stared for a few seconds, then turned away and got back in the car.
"Let's go," she said.
The company put her in as chief designer.
On interview day, the HR manager stared at her resume with a complicated expression.
"Ms. Sutton, you interned at Chanel, spent three years in Prytham, and even won an international award. Why'd you choose us?" he asked.
Zoey smiled, "It's home."
The HR manager froze for a second, then broke into a smile.
Later, she found out the company had offered her double the market rate just to get her back. The boss had said, "Pay whatever it takes. Just get her."
*****
On her first day, Zoey received a bouquet of flowers.
The card read: [Welcome aboard. Can't wait to see what you create.]
It was signed by the boss, a real self-made woman in her fifties, who had started out running a little tailor shop and built it up into a full-blown fashion company.
Zoey set the flowers on her desk and got to work.
Her apartment was right by the river, way up high with floor-to-ceiling windows. Every night, she could see the whole river and the city lights stretching out on both sides.
The first night she moved in, she stood by the window for a long time, just taking it all in.
The river rolled east. Boats drifted by. On the other side, office towers were lit up like daytime, neon signs flickering and changing colors nonstop.
Her phone rang.
She glanced at the caller ID. It was an unknown number from Riverview City.
She picked up. There was a long pause on the other end before a familiar voice finally broke the silence. "Zoey."
Zoey kept silent.
"It's me," the person said.
"I know," she replied.
"You... you're back?" he asked.
"Yeah," she said.
Another silence stretched between them.
Then the voice came through. "Can we see each other?"
Zoey gazed out at the river, watching a riverboat glide slowly past, its countless little windows glowing with soft, golden light.
"Timothy," she said. "Did you call for a reason?"
"I..." Timothy paused. "I just... I want to see you."
"Why?" Zoey asked.
"I have something to say," he replied.
"What is it?"
The line went silent.
She waited a few seconds, then said, "If you don't have anything to say, I'm going to hang up."
"Wait."
She didn't hang up.
"Luna..." Timothy's voice sounded rough. "We had a fight."
Zoey froze for a second, then couldn't help but laugh.
It wasn't a happy laugh. It was the kind of laugh that comes when someone realizes how foolish they've been.
She'd waited for him to say something, to explain, to apologize, to finally give her any of the words she'd been hoping to hear for the past three years.
But in the end, all he had to say was that he'd had a fight with his wife.
"So?" Zoey asked.
"I..." Timothy hesitated.
"And what does your fight with your wife have to do with me?" she said.
He went quiet.
"Timothy, did you call me because you want me to play therapist, or because you want to admit you regretted it?" Zoey's voice was calm. "If it's the first, that's not my job. If it's the second..."
She paused, then said, "Honestly, you have every reason to regret it."
She hung up. Then she tossed her phone onto the couch and went back to watching the river.
The river breeze slipped in through the window, cool against her skin. She stood there for a long time, letting the chill seep into her bones. Then she finally closed the window and went to take a shower.
As the hot water poured down, she suddenly remembered that day at the airport. Timothy was standing there in the rain.
His hair was soaked, his coat dripping wet, and he just stood in the crowd, watching her. Even from that distance, she could feel the mess of feelings in his eyes.
Back then, she thought he'd come after her. But he never did.
And now, after all that, he called her just to say he had a fight with his wife.
Zoey turned up the heat, letting the hot water stream down her face and eyes, blending with her tears until she couldn't tell where the water ended and the tears began.
"It didn't matter," she told herself, "I've stopped crying a long time ago."