Chapter 29 Margot
Margot
Isettle into my new job, filling my days with mindless accounting tasks.
I keep my head down at work, waiting for the rumors about Ethan and me to fade away.
I avoid the tenth floor of the True North building as if it were the gateway to hell. Because for me, it is.
I run into Ethan sometimes. Afterwards, I go to the hidden bathroom down the hall from the lobby and cry.
I rent a modest, affordable apartment in the suburbs. Not the fancy one overlooking the park; I couldn’t afford it without a pay raise. Even if I could, I wouldn’t give the leasing agent who sold us out the satisfaction—or the commission.
I fill my apartment with IKEA furniture, which I build by myself.
I amass a collection of weird little wrenches that I’m not sure if I’m supposed to keep or not.
I sell all the books that remind me of Ethan to a secondhand bookstore.
I stack the few surviving books in a neat pile on my dresser and give my bookcase away to a neighbor. If I feel like reading, I'll use my e-reader. But I don't feel like reading. Ever.
I adopt a cat, who I name Harriet. Because she is the only thing that brings me any joy, but I feel incapable of providing the same in return, I adopt a second cat to keep her company. I name the second cat Ramona.
I amass a large collection of cat toys.
Some days I eat. Other days I forget. At least I always remember to feed the cats.
I spend time with Emma, who seems increasingly concerned. She asks how I am a lot and never seems to believe me when I say that I'm fine.
I buy a 1500-piece puzzle of a creepy Irish castle because it seems like it might help me work through something. (Spoiler alert: it does not.)
Additional spoiler: cats and puzzles do not mix. Weeks after throwing it away, I still find random puzzle pieces strewn about my apartment.
On the first day of autumn, I am kidnapped.
Emma tells me we’re going out for pumpkin spice lattes but drives me to a therapist's office instead.
She marches me inside and holds my hand while I woodenly recite the events of the past few months to a blonde stranger with a fancy pen and kind eyes.
By the end of the session, I am sobbing, but I also feel better than I have in weeks.
I am cautiously optimistic.
And the next time I run into Ethan at work, I'm able to force a smile, keep my head held high, and keep walking…
… straight to the hidden bathroom off the lobby, where I cry a little less than usual.
I am making progress.
I think.