Finding Ms. Right Box Set

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2

Joanne dreamed of Miranda, not for the first time since the break-up. Five years was a long time, and Joanne had almost begun to believe she was in love. She wasn’t unhappy, and they always said, “Love you,” before going to work or falling asleep. Even when the words became perfunctory, they must’ve still meant something, right?

In her dream, Joanne felt the same ache in the middle of her chest that she’d felt when Miranda walked out of their apartment for the last time. At first Miranda wasn’t even in the dream; it was only Joanne, sitting on the sofa in her living room, staring at the shut door with the feeling that Miranda had just left. If Joanne wanted to, she could catch Miranda before it was too late. Before Miranda was gone for good. If she stood up, she could race to the door and holler down the stairs, “Wait!”

Miranda would stop, hand on the railing, one foot hovering above the pavement in mid-step. But she would wait, Joanne knew she would, and maybe they could talk things out. Get together again. Be right together again. If only Joanne could get up off the sofa…

Suddenly her phone began to ring on the cushion beside her. Joanne snatched it up, relieved to see Miranda’s number on the display. Into the receiver, Joanne asked, “Hello?”

Even though she’d answered it, the phone continued to ring.

Joanne held it away from her and frowned at the display. Miranda’s name and number were still there. But no matter how many times Joanne hit the ACCEPT button, the phone wouldn’t let her answer the call. It simply rang and rang, a tinny jingle cutting through her muddled mind. “Hello?” she asked again, then louder, “Hello!”

“Answer the damn phone, will you?” Miranda snapped.

Joanne looked up to find her ex-lover standing in the doorway of her apartment. She wore the same jeans and T-shirt Joanne had seen her in last. Curly auburn hair flared around Miranda like a halo, hair Joanne always envied even when she realized the sexy shade came out of a Clairol bottle. Miranda held her cell phone to her ear and glared across the apartment at Joanne. “Pick up already!”

“I’m trying.” Joanne slapped her phone with the palm of one hand, then held it to her ear. “Hello?”

The ringing continued, pulling her groggily from the dream. For a disoriented moment, she blinked in the darkness of her bedroom and mumbled, “Hello?”

Then she saw her iPhone, the display lighting up a small area on her bedside table. She shook her head, trying to clear it as she fumbled for the phone. Her heart stuttered—what if it really was Miranda? What time was it, anyway? Late…at least, it felt late. When Joanne sat up, the whole world seemed to roil around her woozily.

God, she needed another couple hours of sleep. “What time is it?” she muttered, scooping up the phone.

Somehow she managed to answer the call before it went to voicemail. She blinked at the display, her eyes refusing to focus, and heard a small voice from far away ask, “Jo?”

A male voice. Not Miranda, she thought, brushing away the hair plastered to the side of her face. Thank you, Jesus.

Taking a shuddery breath, Joanne put the phone to her ear. “Hey,” she said as she stifled a yawn. “Who is this?”

“It’s me. Did I wake you?”

Me who? But what she said was, “No, not at all.” Then she yawned loudly and blinked at the LED display of her alarm clock, which read 2:45. s**t. Her brows knit together in confusion. “Who’s this again?”

“Michael,” came the reply. A heart beat later, he prompted, “Your brother?”

“Oh, yeah, hey.” Joanne yawned again, her head drooping back to the mattress. “What’s up?”

If she hadn’t taken the Benadryl, she might have figured it out before he answered. But the allergy pills, mixed with the wine, had a sedating effect that hadn’t completely worn off yet. Each time she blinked, it grew harder and harder to open her eyes again, and the thought of falling back asleep was tempting. Couldn’t they talk in the morning? Whatever he called to tell her could probably wait…

Apparently not. “Shelly’s water broke,” Michael said.

“What? Now?” Joanne forced herself to sit up in the darkness. Michael was five years younger than she was, married with two children already and a set of twins on the way. His wife Shelly had been on bed rest for the past several months, after she had begun to dilate early, and Joanne had stopped by every other weekend or so to help out around the house.

Michael laughed, obviously nervous. “Yeah. Do you think maybe you could come over and sit with the kids while I take her to the hospital? They’re already in bed, and you can sleep on the couch, if you want. I know it’s late—”

“No, no, I’m on my way.” Joanne ran a hand through her hair to push it out of her face and yawned one final time, her mouth opening so wide, her jaws ached. “Give me five minutes. I’ll be right there.”

In the bathroom, she splashed cold water on her face and combed down her close-cropped dark brown hair. Thank goodness she’d fallen asleep still dressed. Tucking her phone into briefcase, she grabbed her keys and slipped on her flats, then hurried out into the cool night. By the time she reached her car, she was fully awake.