Chapter 24
“YOU’RE HOME,” I SAY to Jillian. For a moment, my laptop and the secret they dug up doesn’t even matter. I’m so relieved to see my sister sitting there that I ignore the anger in her eyes.
It’s Julie who answers. “Jackie, come sit.”
On the laptop screen, they have my iDiary profile pulled up, showing the last couple of messages I answered. If you scroll down—which I’m certain they have—you can see every piece of advice I’ve ever given. All the evidence, right there.
“I don’t want to sit,” I say. Like a storm brewing, I brace for the fight coming. “I don’t want to do this again.”
“Then maybe you never should have done this”—Jill says, pointing at my laptop—“to begin with. Sit down, Jackie.”
My nose begins to burn. My lips quiver. I feel that familiar lump in my throat, the telltale sign that tears are coming.
I take a seat in the armchair across from them. I stare at my knees. My fingers shake. I feel so small, like the stupid youngest sister in need of a scolding.
“Can you even begin to comprehend how humiliating it was for us to read through all these messages?” Jillian says. “To see our most private, intimate moments shared over and over again on your account for entertainment? Like our feelings are some sort of joke to you?”
“Your feelings aren’t a joke to me at all. I thought—”
Julie cuts in. “Let her speak, Jackie.” Her words aren’t fueled with anger like Jillian’s. She sounds hurt—deeply hurt. Somehow, it’s worse.
“I don’t even know what to say,” Jillian says. “I can’t believe this even has to be said. I have to explicitly tell my sister not to blast my personal details all over the internet. That night you came into my bedroom and woke me up, asking me questions about my ex, Hugh. I told you not to share that with anyone. And what did you do? You turned around and published it on your blog not even five minutes later.”
I don’t know what to say. She’s right. I did that and, in the moment, I didn’t even think twice.
“You did the same thing to me,” Julie says softly. “That day in your bedroom, when you asked me for advice on friends-with-benefits. I told you how hard it was to relive that experience, Jackie. How difficult it was for me to lose my best friend. I was being vulnerable and open with you, thinking my little sister needed my help. But you were just using me for more content.”
“Julie— No, that’s not why,” I begin before Jill cuts me off.
“We told you a lot of intimate details about our lives when you were really young,” Julie says. She has her legs crossed on the cushion, fidgeting with her fingers on her lap. “Maybe we shouldn’t have shared so much.”
“No,” I cut in quickly. “Are you kidding? I loved hearing all of it.”
Jillian scoffs. “Clearly. You’ve been what, taking notes for how many years? Waiting for the day you could profit off our pain?”
There are two things I know for certain. The first is that I messed up, badly. The second is that when Jillian is mad, her words aim to kill. What I did was wrong, but I don’t deserve to be painted as some monstrous, manipulative person who’s been scheming for years.
I manage to remember I have a spine, and I sit up straighter. “That’s not fair. I didn’t do any of this maliciously. If you scrolled back far enough, you’d see how the blog started and how it spiraled out of control.”
“But it’s your account, Jackie,” Jill fires back. “At any moment you could have shut it down. You could have chosen to stop responding. You could have realized that what you were doing was wrong. I mean, you woke me up in the middle of the night to ask me about a breakup I went through years ago. And here I thought you were just, I don’t know, curious? But you were trying to pry information out of me so you could resell my experiences as your own!”
“It was really jarring, Jackie,” Julie says now. “To see the way you spun all our past experiences into these quirky little responses. You recycled our stories to make them come off as your own. You lied to thousands of people.”
“I thought I was helping them,” I say honestly. I really, really did. All those users who wrote in every day—who left comments, sent messages telling me how much my advice helped them. It was like a high I didn’t want to come down from.
“Did you think that?” Jill asks. “Because I noticed you monetized your account. From my perspective, it looks like you were only trying to help yourself.”
“I’ve been trying to save up for my road trip with Suzy,” I explain. “I haven’t earned any money off of the blog. I’ll unenroll from the program right now.”
“I want to know why you did it,” Julie says. “Why you felt the need to go along with this charade and orchestrate this new persona for yourself online. Why?”
This is the part that hurts the most. The shame and the guilt that comes with voicing it. What I want is to run away, lock myself in my bedroom, and keep these feelings to myself. But right now, sitting in front of my sisters, I realize that the only way they may understand is if I share that shame with them.
“Because I don’t know who I am,” I say. I hate the way my voice shakes, how I have to squeeze my eyes shut so it feels like I’m sitting here alone, talking to myself. “Suzy is leaving, and I was so overwhelmed with trying to figure myself out. She has this passion, this talent, this thing she wants to pursue and do with her life. She has a plan, the same way both of you do.”
I look at Julie. I force myself to look right at her as I speak, even though it would be so much easier to look away. “Julie, you’re a great teacher. You’re getting married, you want kids. Your whole life is an answer, not a question mark. And you too, Jill.” I turn to her now. “You have a great career. You know exactly who you are. I felt like I was surrounded with all these complete, self-aware people, and I was the one falling behind. When I started that blog, I didn’t have plans for college. I was working at a job I hated. When I thought about my future and what I wanted for myself, it felt paralyzing. It was so scary to not know where I wanted to end up a year or two from now.”
I take a breath, open my eyes, and find that we’re still here, still standing. Even with the words out there, nothing has changed.
“I started pleasebreakmyheart by accident,” I continue. “It was one silly message I answered, and it spiraled entirely out of control. I had hundreds of people writing in, looking at me for advice. Looking at me for answers. And that validation—that feeling of having thousands of strangers tell you that you’re good at something? It felt like I found what I’ve spent years looking for. All I wanted was to have a calling, one thing I was good at. After so long, I finally found it. I had this blog and the praise that came with it, and it felt so, so good. It felt great to finally be good at something.”
When the words are done erupting from my chest, I take another shaky breath. Tears have gathered on my chin, and I wipe them away with the sleeve of my shirt. It might be the most I’ve ever said to my sisters at once. It’s definitely the most personal information I’ve ever shared with anyone.
When my hands stop shaking and my breathing has slowed down, I peel my gaze away from the floor and look up. On the couch, Jill is staring at me with an unreadable expression on her face. Next to her, Julie is crying.
“This isn’t about me,” I continue. “The reason why I did it doesn’t even matter anymore. You’re both right—I shouldn’t have shared all that information. Believe me, I regret every message I answered. But I really, really thought I was helping people. If I had even thought for a second it would hurt either of you, I would have stopped. You have to believe me.”
“I do,” Julie says. “I believe you.”
I turn to Jillian. I need her to say something. I need her to be my big sister and tell me that everything will be okay.
“I understand why you did it, Jackie,” she says finally. “And I think we’re both sorry you were going through all that. But—” When Jillian’s voice cracks, a new wave of tears spills out of me.
I watch her pull herself together. I watch her swallow the tears.
“I confided in you about my promotion,” she says, her face as hard as stone. “I didn’t even tell Julie, or Mom and Dad. I told you about it. And you sat there and you sabotaged me. You knew what turning down that interview would cost me, and you did it anyway. Even if your reasoning was justified, you could have talked to me. You could have told me. That was your chance to come clean, to make this right, and you doubled down and let it affect my career . Do you not see how hurtful that is?”
“I do,” I say, tears soaking my lips. “I’m sorry.”
There’s a million other things I could say. I could tell her that when Camilla threatened to expose my identity, it scared me and I wanted to protect myself. I could tell Jillian how many days I spent going back and forth trying to figure out what to do, but none of it would matter, because I did it. I cost her the promotion. I affected her career. And the truth is, I don’t even think I felt bad. I was only focused on my own pain. I chose myself over her dream job, and I’d give anything to take that back.
Jillian stands up. “I’ve been staying with Camilla,” she says. “I was planning on coming home tomorrow, but I think I need a bit more time now. Just tell Mom and Dad I’m safe.”
When she walks by me, I still wait for her to pause. To hug me. To offer me some sort of comfort I know I don’t deserve. But like the last time she left, Jillian goes without another word. There’s only the sound of her keys jingling, the door closing, then her car pulling out of the driveway.
Julie reaches for a tissue and blows her nose. I go and sit beside her on the couch.
“Please don’t hate me,” I say. I feel like I’m five years old again. A little kid who’s still learning the difference between right and wrong.
“We don’t hate you, Jackie. You’re our sister. We love you more than anyone else possibly could. But those were our private feelings. You had no right to use them as your own.”
I keep wiping the endless stream of tears on my shirtsleeve. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have done any of it.”
She grabs another tissue and wipes at her eyes. “Look, I think everyone needs some space right now.”
“Don’t leave too—”
“I’m going to stay at Massimo’s for a bit,” she cuts in quickly. The words gut me. “You really hurt us, Jackie. And I know you probably want to find a way to fix this, but it isn’t something for you to fix. Right now, maybe just leave us to ourselves so we can find a way to move past this. Okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Can you look after Mr. Chunks?”
“Of course.”
Julie looks exactly like Jillian when she grabs her car keys and leaves through the front door.
I stay on the couch a bit longer and cry. The Myers house is now empty, so there’s no one even left to hear me. I let myself sink into the hurt. It’s what I deserve.
I grab my laptop and opt out of the creators program, ensuring that I don’t earn a penny from any of this. When I reach to place the laptop back on the coffee table, I nearly drop it on the floor when I spot Mr. Chunks’s head peeking out. I freeze, certain that even the slightest movement will scare him away. His big eyes stare into mine. Then, ever so slowly, he wiggles his giant body out from the couch and plops down on the soft spot of carpet right beside it.
“Hi, buddy,” I say. Very gently, I reach down and nudge my fingers into the soft fur gathered at his neck. He instantly begins to purr, craning his neck to the side so I can really get in there.
It’s the first time since Julie brought him home that he’s stepped out from beneath the couch, and neither of my sisters is here to see it.
My tear drops onto his little nose, and he licks it off.
“You don’t hate me, Mr. Chunks. Do you?”
He instantly scurries back under the couch.
Great. Even the cat wants nothing to do with me.
Before bed, I call Suzy. Not matter how badly I want this day to end, I promised her yesterday that we’d talk, and I’ll be damned if I manage to let another person down today.
We’re both sitting at our bedroom windows with the curtains open, having our usual phone conversation while staring out across the stretch of lawn at each other. She’s wearing a sheet mask and braiding her hair. I’m cozied up in an oversize T-shirt with a mug of decaf green tea. I tell her everything about today and wonder when I stopped realizing how important it is to share my life with her.
“Are you going to delete the account?” Suzy asks when I’ve finished.
“It’s the right thing to do,” I say, holding the mug up to my chin, letting the heat warm my face.
“Maybe hold off for a bit. You never know if they’ll come around.”
“They won’t,” I say with certainty. “And they shouldn’t.”
I glance at Suzy through the window. She readjusts the sheet mask sliding down her face. “I hate these stupid things,” she grumbles to herself. “Look, at least you got a taste of internet fame. How many people can say that?”
“I guess, yeah. It was nice while it lasted.”
“What do we do next?” she asks.
Suzy saying we tugs at my heart, making me feel less alone.
I wish I knew. “More than the fame, I really did like helping people. I loved the follow-up messages, when they told me how well the advice worked. It felt good, knowing I made someone’s life a bit better.”
When I look out the window again, Suzy’s face has lit up. The mask slides right off. “Oh my God , this thing is the worst. But Jackie—I have an idea. Tell me, what’s the one good thing that came out of this mess?”
I rack my brain for an answer. All I can think of is Wilson, but I doubt that’s what Suzy is referring to. In fact, she hasn’t asked about him once.
But then, from the corner of my mind, I pull out another realization. The Rundown didn’t only introduce me to loads of great people and great career paths. It made me realize that I really do enjoy helping people—I just said it myself to Suzy. Running my iDiary account, speaking with small businesses in town, grabbing lunch for all the girls, making customers laugh with my dad jokes as I take their orders.
For my entire life, that’s how my sisters made me feel. Their guidance, their presence, their jokes—all of it made each day easier. Every experience felt more familiar knowing they had experienced it first. By helping people on pleasebreakmyheart , it felt like I was finally sending that back into the universe. Like I was helping other young women the same way my sisters helped me.
“I think I found my passion,” I say slowly.
“I think so, too.”
“And I work at a magazine,” I say. “Maybe I can keep doing it. Or a new version of it. I can talk to Camilla about starting some sort of advice column. Maybe Jill and I could even team up on it?”
It doesn’t even have to be relationship focused. I could give advice on how to best clean vomit, or how to fall for your mortal enemy. Whatever the advice may be, I just want to keep helping people in some way.
Suzy gasps. “I love that! You can call it like ‘ Sisters Talking’ or something. Wait, that’s really bad. Don’t call it that. But something along those lines.”
“Suz, this is really good idea,” I say. My mind is racing, thinking of a million different ways to make this happen. This pit of hope plants itself in my chest, and I can feel it growing by the second. “ The Rundown doesn’t have a segment like this yet. It could bring in a whole new audience.”
“It doesn’t have to be anonymous either,” Suzy adds. “This time, you could actually be credited for your work.”
The daydreaming comes to a halt when I realize the one big obstacle. “Except Jillian currently hates me and will never go for it. Not to mention that I highly doubt Camilla will green-light this either.”
I lean my head against the cool glass.
“Good ideas take time,” Suzy says to console me. “Maybe not right now, but who knows where you and Jill will stand in a week? A month? Just promise me you’ll pitch the idea to her at some point, because it’s fantastic.”
I stare down into my tea. I realize I’m holding the pink Best Sister Ever mug that Julie bought me for Christmas last year. She bought Jillian the same one but in black. Of course, Jill barely had a reaction to it and simply set it aside. But every night, I saw her fill it with hot cocoa and carry it to her room. She held the mug with two hands, like it was precious enough to cradle.
“I promise,” I say. When Jill and I put this behind us, I’m going to run the idea by her and see what she says. A way for us both to control the narrative.
“And hey,” Suzy says, her tone growing serious. “About yesterday—”
“I’m sorry again,” I blurt out. “I shouldn’t have ditched you for Wilson. This is our last summer together, and I should’ve put you first.”
“I’m sorry too,” Suzy says. “I had no idea you were struggling with all those things. I should have asked. I— Well, I should have been more considerate with how much I was talking about college and leaving Ridgewood.”
“You were excited, Suz. I want you to share that with me.”
“Yeah, but I could have done it in a way that didn’t make you feel left out. I guess... Well, I guess even with me moving away, it never once made me question how our friendship would change. Like, I know it will be different, obviously, but I also know it will always be there.”
“How can you say that so confidently?” I ask, voicing the question that has weighed on me for far too long.
Dreading the day when her room will be empty, I watch her through the window.
“Because I would never let us not be friends, Jackie. Ever. As long as we promise each other that, we’re set for life.”
“I promise,” I say.
“I promise,” she says, and those two words are somehow exactly what I’ve needed to hear for months.
“And for the record, I am excited for you, Suzy. I give it like, five years before you’re nominated for an Oscar.”
“Five? Maybe twenty- five,” she corrects, but she’s laughing all the same.
“You know, we still have a few weeks of summer left...” I add.
“We do. And I have so many things planned for us, but let’s put that on pause. Right now, I need to know what the hell is going on with you and Wilson.”
“It’s about time you asked,” I say, and I tell her everything.