Chapter 6
WHEN IT’S PRETTY OBVIOUS that the cat is not leaving his new hiding spot, everyone calls it a night. Julie prepares a makeshift bed on the carpet beside the couch so she can “monitor his food intake.” The joke Jillian made after that was “very inappropriate”—Julie’s words.
On a mission to not think about work and not individually examine every shattered piece of my life, I settle into bed and load up iDiary on my laptop. There are a few unread notifications on my “heartbreak expert” post, and one new message. I click on the unread message. It’s from user @mirrorball03. They wrote:
If you really are a heartbreak expert, can you give me some tips on ending things with a persistent partner who won’t take no for an answer...?
That is... not at all what I was expecting.
I stare at the message. Clearly, this person is desperate. Why else would you ask a stranger online for breakup advice? Let alone me—the person who has never actually, you know, broken up with someone.
But I did grow up with older sisters. I did witness heartbreak too many times to count. Maybe I do know a thing or two about relationships. Isn’t that what Anita said earlier? That I gave her pretty good advice about that new girl she’s dating?
Okay, Jackie, think . I can either try to say something useful, or do the smart thing and delete this person’s message.
The cursor hovers over the delete button, but I can’t quite bring myself to do it. This is the first real message I’ve ever received that isn’t Suzy making fun of me. I have to answer it. I have to try.
Okay, I need to think this through. They said their partner is persistent and won’t take no for an answer, which is problematic in itself. My first thought is to have a serious conversation with them, explicitly stating that the relationship is over, so there’s no misunderstanding... But that sounds like the stupid, obvious answer anyone would give. And it sounds like their partner might ignore it anyway. Ugh.
Then it hits me. Jillian. Maybe five or six years ago. She was dating this guy who was so clingy. I think his name was Harvey? Harry? Henry? Definitely began with an H . She called him a stage-five clinger and tried to dump him for weeks . Eventually she managed to shake him, but I don’t remember how.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m tiptoeing across the hall and into Jillian’s room. I tap a quick knock, wait two seconds, then open the door. She is swaddled up in bed watching a true crime documentary. A bit of a weird choice to watch before bed, but I’m not surprised. There’s a candle lit on her nightstand, too. I take a whiff, and it smells like... nothing.
“Is that an unscented candle?”
She responds with a glare. “Do you know what time it is?”
This feels like waking a bear from hibernation. “I know, but it’s important,” I plead.
I’m walking toward her bed when she says, “Do not sit on my bed.” I take a seat anyway. Jill has one of those memory foam mattresses that feels like sinking into a cloud. Even after I up and leave, my butt print will be molded into the fabric.
I’m now realizing why she asked me not to sit down.
“What do you want?” she hisses. Some people are moody in the morning, but Jill is moody every second of her existence.
“Remember that guy you dated when you were, like, nineteen? Henry something...” When she shakes her head, I continue. “You said he was a stage-five clinger and wouldn’t let you break up with him.”
“Oh, Hugh,” Jill says, her face taking on this reminiscent look. “I remember. The little shit wouldn’t leave me alone. And why is this important right now?”
The candle on the nightstand flickers, casting orange shadows over Jill’s face. “I need breakup advice,” I say. “Not for me. It’s for a friend. Who is in a... similar situation.”
Jillian groans into her pillow. “Jackie, I don’t want you sharing my personal life with your friends. I barely want to share my personal life with you .”
“Okay— Ouch. And it’s only one person, who won’t tell anyone else. I promise.” It’s sort of a half-lie. Technically, I am telling this advice to only one person. Plus, I’ll keep it super vague.
“If this gets out, you’re dead.”
“Works for me,” I say. “So, how’d you get him to finally leave you alone?”
Resigned to my questioning, Jill sits up. “I don’t remember. I— I think I showed up at his house one day and told him straight up to leave me alone. I didn’t step foot inside or anything. Just right there in the doorway I told him that we were over, that I didn’t want to hear from him again, and I handed him all his shit back.” She pauses, as if in her head she is right back on that porch. “I might’ve also blocked his number and cussed him out.”
“That’s ruthless,” I say in awe.
Jill shrugs, entirely unfazed. “Maybe, but he deserved it.”
I commit everything she said to memory: show up at their house, don’t go inside, dump them on the spot, give them all their belongings back. Cursing them out and blocking their number is optional.
I jump forward onto the bed and give her a big hug. “Thanks, Jilly!”
“Get off of me . ”
“Oops, yes. Okay. Sorry.” I run out the door and whisper good night before closing it behind me.
“Jackie!”
I reopen the door a crack. “Yes?”
Her voice springs out from the darkness. “I just talked to Camilla. The assistant job is yours. You’re coming into the office with me on Tuesday. Got it?”
I do a little happy dance as quietly as possible. “Yes! Thank you.”
Well, consider that a successful mission! Killer advice and a new job? That end-of-summer road trip is calling my name—
Wait. It’s past midnight.
It’s extremely late, and Jillian is on the phone with Camilla? That doesn’t exactly scream “healthy work relationship” to me. There’s a sinking suspicion that something deeper is going on there. Something that my previously heartbroken sister definitely doesn’t deserve to deal with again .
At least now that I’m their newest employee, I’ll be able to investigate with my own two eyes.
Oh, Julie is going to love this.
When I’m tucked back into bed, I type out my response to mirrorball03. I fudge the details here and there and elaborate a bit, just to make it seem more relatable. After a minute or two of editing, I settle on this response:
Here’s how to get rid of a stage-five clinger: Show up at their house and DON’T go inside. Right there in the doorway, you’re going to tell them how you feel. No sugarcoating here. Honesty is key! Then, immediately give them ALL their belongings, so they know you mean it. For the finale, don’t allow them a chance to manipulate you into staying. Say your piece and GTFO! (blocking their number is optional.) Hope that helps!
I chew on my lip, wondering if there are too many exclamation marks. Is it too casual? Too silly? Does it read too young? Should I make it sound more mature?
I groan into my pillow. Before I can obsess over it too much, I post the answer publicly. I doubt anyone will even read it in the first place, so why does it matter?
After putting my laptop to charge, I tuck myself into bed. Then it dawns on me—I have work tomorrow.
I have to face Wilson again. But now as my boss.