Why Can't I Be You Read Online Free PDF Page A

my life—all my plans, all my goals, everything—revolved around Deagan. Without him, I didn’t have anything. I didn’t know anything about myself anymore. I felt my knees wobble.
    “Oh, Jessie,” Myra said, wrapping her arms around me again. And even though this time I was sure she wasn’t saying “Jenny,” and I was absolutely positive beyond a doubt that I wasn’t who she thought I was, I hugged her back, because I needed a hug.
    She grabbed the room key out of my hand when the elevator doors opened. “I have so many questions! I mean, what are you doing now? Where do you live? Who’s this idiot who broke up with you? And at the airport? Who
does
that?” she said, talking a mile a minute as she shuffled me down the hall. She pushed me into the right room and started the shower for me immediately. “But I’ll wait until we get you all cleaned up and feeling better.” She made a beeline for the minibar, grabbed a little bottle of rum, opened it, and handed it to me. “You look like you need this!”
    “I don’t even have luggage,” I wailed, drinking from the bottle like I was taking medicine, even though I almost never drink.
    “Then we’ll have to go shopping! What a pity!” she said, in fake horror. “How awful that we have an excuse to go shopping together! I have the perfect place to take you. And when we’re done, you’ll look so fantastic you won’t even care that he’s gone. Promise.” She flopped down on the bed, pulled her phone out of her purse, and flipped it open. I grabbed the hotel robe out of the closet and headed into the bathroom.
    Just before I closed the bathroom door, I heard her say, “Oh my God, Heather! You’ll never guess who’s here!” and then, “No! Better! Jessie Morgan! No, I’m not. She’s really, really here.”
    Before I jumped in the shower, I studied my face in the mirror. I’d never thought much about my nose one way or another, but it really did fit my face perfectly.

“I can just take the shuttle to Seattle to go shopping,” I called from the bathroom, as I toweled off. I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to create some semblance of an even part, since like an idiot I’d packed my brush in my suitcase. “You must have so much to do for the reunion.”
    I couldn’t bring myself to tell Myra that I wasn’t this Jessie person. If I could go into the city to shop by myself and change rooms when I got back, I’d avoid the whole “You know how I hugged you and pretended to be your long-lost friend . . . yeah, I’m not” awkwardness. Maybe I could leave a nice little note from Jessie at the front desk, telling Myra it was great to see her but I had to go. I’d stay away from the banquet room while the reunion was taking place, and everything would be fine.
    “Don’t be silly,” Myra called. “When were you even last in Seattle?”
    I froze. I’d never been to Seattle.
    Luckily, it was a rhetorical question. “You wouldn’t know where to go now!” Myra said gleefully. “I know the perfect place. And I want to spend as much time with you as I can while you’re here!” Her phone chimed. “Oh, crap! I have to go check with the chef about something for the reunion menu, but meet me in the lobby when you’re dressed and we’ll go. Okay?”
    I heard the door close before I could even answer. I pulled my salad-dressing-splattered, travel-rumpled clothes on again, and emerged from the bathroom. The room was undoubtedly the nicest hotel room I’d ever been in. A big fluffy bed with a Myra-shaped imprint on the comforter. A wood-burning fireplace stacked with logs and ready to go.
    Deagan would have been in heaven. There were few things he loved more than lighting fires. His parents had one of those old-fashioned houses with a fireplace in every bedroom, and he told me once that when he was a kid he used to write his secrets on paper and burn them in his fireplace.
    I thought I knew all his secrets. When we lay in bed at night, Deagan