Chapter Twenty-Five
E verett texts, calls, and knocks on my door, begging for a chance to apologize.
While I want to hear what he has to say and I don’t intend to avoid him forever—a logistical impossibility when he lives down the hall and I have a dog who needs to go out three or four times a day—I tell him I need some time to cool off first. It’s the truth, though not the whole truth, and he’s kind enough to not challenge it, agreeing to leave me alone until I let him know I’m ready to talk.
Aggie’s tremendous company while the sting of betrayal is sharpest, generous with her sloppy kisses and patient with my many smothering hugs, but sometimes even the world’s best dog can’t provide all the necessary support.
So when Hannah arrives at my door two days after Everett’s dinner, looking frazzled but beautiful with an impressive tangle of auburn hair escaping its ponytail elastic, a chic wool coat hanging open over a rumpled hoodie and leggings, a faded duffel bag slipping off a shoulder, a sneaker shoelace undone, and her familiar bold red lipstick as on point as ever, I throw my arms around her and dissolve into tears.
“I can’t believe you came,” I sob into her shoulder.
“You showed up for me two years ago.”
“You were heartbroken.”
“And you’re not?”
I cry harder at that. Of course I’m heartbroken.
I’ve spent the last two days picturing futures without Everett and hating every single one, but at least he didn’t ditch town with another girl.
We might be able to salvage something out of this mess.
Then again, I have no experience rebuilding trust once it’s broken.
I didn’t stay friends with anyone I dated or had sex with once things ended.
In fact, I did my damnedest to avoid all of those men completely.
As I release my hold before I leak snot and tears all over Hannah’s shoulder, we head into my apartment, where Aggie’s sitting a few feet beyond the threshold, patiently waiting while wagging her tail, like she knew we needed a moment before she got her turn to say hi.
“The famous Agatha Goode.” Hannah drops her bag while she crouches and gives Aggie a vigorous pet. “You have no idea how elated I am to finally meet you, TikTok influencer and canine companion who brought my best friend back from dark and lonely times.”
I choke out a soggy laugh. “You make me sound like a brooding recluse.”
She raises an amused brow. “Yes, and that’s generous .”
I concede her point with another breath of laughter while looking around my crowded apartment.
It’s filled with Aggie’s things, and with signs of the friendships I’ve made.
The robo-ball. Jane Eyre . A pair of googly eyes over my bathroom doorknob.
A pink and maroon T-shirt draped over the rim of my laundry basket, having not quite made its way inside.
Customized tea and dog biscuits on the counter.
The wagon with its dismantled decorations tucked in nooks and crannies.
Group and couple photos pinned up on my fridge, surrounding what used to be a lone photo of Marmie.
A super-cozy sweater I don’t want to give back, even though I know I should.
But a year ago, this space contained a dressed-up futon, an empty kitchen, and little else.
Dark and lonely times, indeed.
Over tea and baked goods, I fill Hannah in on everything we didn’t cover by text or phone before she said she’d be here as soon as she could book a flight.
Aggie brings us three balls, her monkey, and a rubber bone before settling between us on the futon with her head on Hannah’s lap, her backside on my lap, and a limp paw draped over the shaggy Highland cow puppet we got at the fall market, now so matted from months of playing, its cow-like shape is only distinguishable by the horns and tail I keep sewing back on.
“So, the promotion was Everett’s goal all along?” Hannah asks when I finish.
“I think so, but I don’t know for sure.” I tip my head back and send a despairing sigh toward the ceiling, feeling like I should have a better answer to this question.
“Encouraging me to pursue sponsorships could mean anything, but he got relentless about them, and about account growth, branding, and all the rest, when we started making the sponsored TikToks in January. The job opening wasn’t confirmed until early February, more than a month later, but he mentioned the possibility on our first date back in mid-November, so he saw it coming. ”
Hannah nods, considering, while she strokes Aggie’s ears.
“You think he’ll tell you the truth if you ask him directly?” she asks.
It’s my turn to nod. This, at least, I can answer with confidence.
“I do. He’s been cagey before, like when his ex came over, but as soon as he knew I was freaking out about her, he told me everything. He didn’t even lie about liking the CDs I thought he inherited from his grandmother, and that was when he was trying to make a good impression.”
Hannah smiles at this. She’s solidly alt-rock, and has been laughing about Neil Diamond and John Denver for months, especially once I told her I was kind of getting into them.
“Sounds like you have to talk to him,” she says.
“I know.”
“And soon.”
“I know that, too.”
“But...”
I roll my head toward her as I rally the strength to say this out loud. To make it real.
“But if he confirms the promotion was his goal all along, I don’t think I can stay with him.
” More tears well up but I blink them away before they fall.
“If he’d told me he wanted to put the Goode Girls account in his portfolio, I doubt I’d have minded.
I wanted him to get the job. We could’ve made choices together, found workable compromises.
But he didn’t tell me. Instead, he manipulated me.
He used my financial difficulties and lack of certainty as openings for his ambition.
He shattered the trust I gave him. I can’t see a way to come back from that. ”
Hannah watches me with eyes full of sympathy as she continues stroking Aggie’s ears.
“So the longer you wait to talk to him...” she starts.
“The longer I put off the breakup,” I finish for her.
She sighs with all due despondence for my potential fate while I reach for my umpteenth tissue from the box I’ve been decimating since we started talking. I have my moments of rational thought, but then I say a word like breakup and my composure crumples.
“Think you can maybe stay friends?” she asks.
I give her a look. She gets it instantly. She knows me too well not to.
“You already looked at apartment listings, didn’t you?” she asks.
“On the opposite side of town,” I confirm, unleashing another stream of tears.
“I don’t want to move. I don’t want a breakup with Everett to mean a breakup with everyone else I’ve come to care about in the building and the neighborhood.
But I also don’t want to risk running into him every time I leave my apartment.
And I really don’t want to get home late one night to find him smuggling an oversized plant in with his new girlfriend. Even the thought guts me.”
Hannah plucks a fluffy wad of dog hair off her hoodie and lets it float to the floor, the inevitable result of petting Aggie’s head, an activity she promptly resumes.
“At least you’d still have this exquisite cuddle monster,” she says.
“I don’t know. If Everett and I break up, she might never forgive me.” I pet the back end she so unceremoniously bequeathed me, as if she’s already holding a grudge.
“Aggie will always forgive you,” Hannah counters.
Maybe , I think. And maybe that’ll be her greatest lesson yet. How to be happy, how to trust, and now, how to forgive. Though it’s the trust that got me into this mess to begin with.
“The real consolation is that my mom doesn’t know anything about Everett,” I say.
Hannah cringes. “She’s still sending you updates on your exes?”
“Yep.” I sink lower on the futon while petting Aggie’s back end. “I don’t know why she has to know what everyone she ever met is doing at all times.”
“Curiosity, probably, and not the totally healthy kind, though I also get the feeling she’s lonely.” Hannah’s tone is matter-of-fact, but I reel as if she slapped me.
“My mom’s the ultimate social butterfly,” I say.
“She has more friends than anyone I know. Every conversation is a newsletter about the people in the neighborhood, her book club, wine club, craft club, walking group, and coworkers. She’s stayed friends with other parents she met through my day care .
She knows everyone in Roseburg. And you’ve seen her social media.
If it isn’t a live, laugh, love sunset, it’s a dinner with friends or a perfect date with my—”
I stop myself, feeling like the idiot to end all idiots.
I know my mom isn’t always as happy as she claims. That’s been obvious since I was little.
But when did I last see my parents showing genuine affection toward each other?
Not on social media, but in real life? And if those posts tell a false narrative, why assume nothing else is curated?
Is Hannah right? Is my mom lonely? Has my greatest challenge in life also been hers? And if so, what do I do about that?
“Sorry,” Hannah says, snapping me from my thoughts. “Was that all right to say?”
“Yeah. I think I needed to hear it, though I’m not sure I can fully grasp it right now. Especially not with—” I wave a hand in the general direction of Everett’s apartment.
“God. Sorry. Of course.” Hannah takes my hand as I rest it on Aggie’s back.
“First things first. See if Everett’s willing to talk when he gets home tonight.
I’ll lace up my running shoes and get some miles in while you sort things out.
If your conversation goes well, Aggie and I will take the bed tonight while you have insanely hot makeup sex at Everett’s.
If your conversation doesn’t go well, I’ll be here to ply you with tissues and comfort food all day tomorrow before I have to head home. ”
“Okay,” I say through a reluctant, teary nod. “Okay. Okay. Okay.”
“That’s a lot of okays,” Hannah teases.
“Because it doesn’t sound convincing yet.”
“Then say it as many times as you need.” She gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.
I squeeze back, overcome with gratitude that she’s here, and that even during my darkest and loneliest times, I wasn’t truly alone, a thought that nudges me past my shaky okay s.
I find my phone and open my screen to my long-running text thread with Everett, but I can’t make my fingers move.
Once we do this, once he confirms what he tacitly acknowledged on Monday, all the things we haven’t done will become things we’ll never do.
We’ll never go to another market on the Commons.
We’ll never picnic with Aggie under blossoming spring trees.
We’ll never walk past the waterfalls on a hot summer day, letting the mist cool our cheeks.
We’ll never sing along to “Sweet Caroline” on a road trip to visit his family with Aggie’s head out the back window, her smile wide and tongue flapping.
He’ll never loan me another sweater that smells and feels like him.
I’ll never buy him the take-out dinner I still owe him from the day he drove to Syracuse.
We’ll never wake up naked and tangled together, desperate to collide.
He’ll never tease me about my textbooks full of parasite photos. I’ll never tease him about his plants.
I’ll never tell him I love him. He’ll never say it back.
I don’t want never. I don’t even want sometimes. I want always.
Hannah holds out her hand. “Need help?”
I swallow back the sob that wants to emerge as I hand her my phone. She types for me.
CAMERON: Can we talk when you get home tonight?
She hands the phone back with the message unsent.
“You should probably do the last bit yourself,” she says. “When you’re ready.”
I nod again, afraid speaking will unleash more tears.
I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready. How is anyone ready to sever a relationship that has fundamentally changed them?
But as I stare at my phone with my thumb hovering over Send, Aggie stirs, craning around to look at me over her shoulder.
Maybe I was petting a sore spot on her hip.
Maybe she randomly grew restless. But I swear, as her big brown eyes meet mine and her brows twitch in the way I love so much, she’s telling me she understands what it means to do hard things. She’s telling me to be brave.
I hit Send.
Within seconds the reply comes.
EVERETT: I’ll leave right after my last meeting and be home by 4
“Okay?” Hannah asks.
“Okay,” I say, and will it to be so.