Page 172 of Let's Kiss and Tell

“Oh my god,” I say clutching my phone, my eyes still glued to my screen. “Oh my god.”

“It’s making its rounds,” Jonah says. “It’s already the most clicked-on article ofThe Journalin the past year and it’s only been up for an hour.”

“I need to talk to him,” I say, pure shock in my face. I cannot believe Marsh wrote this. He not only wrote a vulnerable, honest story, he revealed the truth to the world. I think of his brother reading this article, his mother, even Julia. The ripple effects this story will have on his life. How his rug-burned ego is having to deal with the aftermath of this story alone. “I have to see him.” I stand up.

“What are you going to say?” he asks.

“I-I have no idea, but I need to see him.” I rush back to the elevator that I was in a mere thirty minutes ago and go back to the fourth floor. “I’ll call you back,” I say before I hang up the phone.

I make a sharp right and speed walk to Marsh’s office, past the people, the sound of printers, chatter, and typing. But I stopdead in my tracks when I see a woman on the phone sitting in Marsh’s chair. I look at the nameplate and see the nameSandra Choi.

“Wh—” I spin on my heel and look around, confused. Maybe I have the wrong office. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve been over here. Maybe Marsh moved. I go to the person whose desk is right across from Marsh’s old office. “Excuse me,” I say, and the man looks up at me. “Can you please tell me where Marsh sits?”

The man frowns. “Marshall Oakley?”

“Yeah,” I breathe out. “Did he move desks?”

“I don’t think he works here anymore.”

“What?” My face collapses. “What do you mean? Since when?”

“I think he left a week or so ago?”

“A week ag—” I try to process this information. “Where did he go?”

“I don’t know…” the guy says and then asks someone else in the bullpen. “Hey, is Marshall Oakley still here?”

The woman takes off her earphones. “Yeah, but he’s on a leave of absence. I think he’s going on vacation.”

“Vacation?” I say, confused. Marsh doesn’t take vacations.

Then a guy I vaguely remember meeting once comes walking by with a coffee. “Hey! Lucy, right? How’s it going?”

“Where’s Marsh?” I huff.

“Oh, uh.” The corners of his mouth twist at my abruptness. “He’s on vacation.”

“Whereon vacation?”

“I think he’s going to Thailand or something?” he says. “He’ll be back next month.”

“Next month?!” I cry. I don’t think I can go that long without talking to Marsh. A month may as well be a lifetime because I need to see him now. I need to look into his eyes, tell him that I’mso unbelievably proud of him for putting himself out there and writing that piece. I want to tell him that he’s not alone. I want to tell him that I miss him. I want to tell him so many things.

I walk away speechless. It’s been a minute since Marsh and I spoke, and while some days feel like a lifetime, it also feels like no time at all. I think there was some kind of comfort in knowing that while we were no longer talking, he was a couple floors below me. That we were still orbiting each other’s circle and maybe, just maybe, we could run into each other again. The possibility was always in the back of my mind. Now weeks will go by where that distance between us will grow stronger with each day.

Turning a corner, I pull out my phone and call Marsh. Before I even have a chance to anxiously await his answer, it goes straight to voicemail. I try again. Straight to voicemail. My eyes begin to swell. I can’t help but think this is some kind of sign. A sign that I should leave it and just move on.

I don’t have an appetite for anything, really. I pick at a few items in my kitchen—chips, a granola bar. That’s it. I sit on my couch and pull up Marsh’s opinion piece again. Each time I read the headline I tell myself to just let it go. But here I am, reading it for the fifth time today.

I briefly scan the comments section that has more comments than I’ve ever seen on anyRuearticle:

he got what was coming to him. his ex is better off now. good luck to her and her new husband.

Why was he even invited to the wedding? It’s so obvious she was trying to rub it in his face.

WHO IS THE GIRL AND HOW DO WE REUNITE THEM?!?!?

All day I’ve been teetering on the idea of messaging Marsh, a simple check-in. I typed and then deleted a few text messages. One saying I read the article and asking if he’s okay. Another saying that I hope he’s enjoying his well-deserved trip. No matter what I write I already know I won’t get a response. Why would Marsh respond to me? He told me how much he cares about me, how he wanted to be with me—and I responded by leaving him. Yes, we both said things that were intentionally hurtful. Maybe I should be mad about that, but I’m not. I’m grateful for our verbal sparring. It shows me that we’re tender and real…we’re human.