Chapter 19
Allegra was halfway down the stairs to us before I could fully comprehend.
Her blotched cheeks, messy bun, leggings, and oversized Adeline Ashwood hoodie. She flew straight into his arms. Before I could catch another glimpse of her teary eyes, she’d already buried them in his chest. Which was okay. Normal. No need to overreact.
“Allegra?” Elliot asked into her hair, confusion and worry in his tone. Embrace tight around her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh God,” she sobbed. “This is so stupid. I’m sorry for just showing up like this. I asked Rowen for your address. I’m sorry.” Another sniffle, and her head buried deeper into his shirt. “He broke up with me! Just like that.”
“Nick?”
A vigorous nod against his chest before her arms tightened around him once more. Absentmindedly, Elliot’s hand ran across her hair.
Again, a totally valid reaction to your best friend’s heartache. It was enough to finally catapult me past them, though. Not out of jealousy, but because I’d been dreaming about getting into my room and away from Elliot for twenty minutes now. Right? This was the perfect opportunity.
“Sorry,” I muttered on my way past, getting the keys out of my bag and trying not to take offense to the fact Allegra might have not even noticed me until now.
“Oh.” She sniffled by way of greeting. Her eyes flicked up to me, a few steps higher now, like she was trying to make sense of the picture. Of her ex, coming home with another girl. “Mandy?”
I tried not to take offense.
“Maeve,” Elliot corrected.
“Sorry,” she said. “Were you two . . . busy?”
We shouldn’t have been. Your interruption came just in time.
“It’s fine,” Elliot said with the same sentiment in his tone. I wondered if his eyes flicked to me at the words, but I didn’t turn around to check; instead, I took two stairs at a time. “Don’t worry about that. What happened?” he added, in a voice so kind, I hadn’t expected him to be capable of it.
I blamed them for my struggles with our door. It always took some finessing, some lifting of the handle, then pulling before pushing with the key turned. But I was distracted. Listening, assessing.
Allegra sniffed. “I’m so glad you’re here, Elli—”
Which was when I finally made a run for it, and disappeared in my bedroom for the rest of the night.
I wasn’t sure what I’d expected my evening to turn into, but listening to Allegra Amato sob through the wall I shared with the living room wasn’t it.
Every now and then, Elliot’s calm voice made it through to my side, but it was too low to make out his words.
Probably things like Fuck that guy. You deserve better. Remember how good we were together? Maybe we should give it another shot.
Her head was probably resting on his lap, the way it had in that video.
He was stroking her hair, offering sweet compliments to make her feel better about the fact that Nick had broken up with her.
Lying there, she’d realize she should’ve never broken up with Elliot because, well, she probably shouldn’t have.
They’d talk about it, she’d apologize, and they would give it another shot.
Finally putting the dating rumors to rest by confirming them.
I tried to convince myself it was good news.
Everything I’d ever worked for was within reach, and I couldn’t risk it all just because Elliot Ashwood was a charming, attractive man who had been moments away from kissing me twice now.
Still, I’d been tempted to check on them.
To pretend I wanted some fresh air on the fire escape or that I’d forgotten something on the table.
But I didn’t need to walk in on them heavily making out on our couch, regret written all over Elliot’s face when our eyes locked because he never should’ve gotten that close to doing the same thing with me.
I tried to distract myself with work, TV shows, texting Paula (whose phone was on DND, which meant she was writing) until I couldn’t take it anymore.
When a loud laugh rang through the wall, the sound catapulted me into shorts, a sweater, and my running shoes, and I was out the door before they could’ve noticed.
Running had always cleared my mind. Ever since Mom died, it had been one of the many ways to still be with her. She’d be in the wind caressing my face, in the other runners passing me with a smile, and the feeling of accomplishment when I hit a new PB.
Tonight, she was in the moonlight guiding the way and the repetitive sound of regret in my head.
What were you thinking, letting him that close to you?
Considering the possibility of his lips on yours?
His bare skin below your fingertips? There’s a reason you’d avoided romantic relationships all your life, and now really isn’t the best time to change that, not with your entire future on the line.
And definitely not with the man who had that future in the palm of his hand.
My father left when I was still so young, I couldn’t even tell you what he looked like. And it had instilled a sense of independence in Mom that was so fierce, she couldn’t help passing it on to me.
When I’d asked her to open a jar for me, she said to do it myself.
When I told her about a boy in kindergarten, she scrunched up her nose despite herself.
I didn’t think she meant to . . . fuck me up that way.
I think she meant to be there with me when I was old enough—to tell me it was alright more often.
It’s okay to like that boy in school. It’s okay to kiss strangers and have casual sex and get attached. It’s okay to graduate heartbroken because, despite all of that, you still graduated.
She never got to be there, though. Never got to say the things that mattered, right the wrongs of my childhood.
So here I was, lungs burning, legs aching, running along the Hudson River and away from my feelings because I’d never really learned how else to deal with them.
Other people’s problems were easy. As an outsider, I had an aerial view of the situation and could easily navigate which way was the right one from above.
But my own issues were a maze. One I’d been trying to escape for five miles now. On the sixth one, when I could no longer take Mom’s voice in my head arguing with my own, I needed a distraction.
The line beeped for less than thirty seconds, and I slowed as it rattled.
“Maeve?”
Surely, it was the wind that brought tears to my eyes, not the hopeful undertone in her voice. Not the soft, familiar cadence of it, either. “Mimi,” I said by way of greeting. “How are you? I’m sorry for not calling sooner.”
“Hah!” She guffawed before sounding more distant, phone probably turned away from her mouth.
“Peter, get on the other line! It’s your granddaughter talking nonsense again.
Baloney,” she added, speaker back by her ear.
“We’re busy enough out here. Don’t worry even for a second, darling. How are you?”
She’d always done that—turning a question around without answering it herself.
“Good. Busy,” I mirrored. “How’s his hip?”
And God, worrying about them felt so much more familiar than worrying about myself.
“His hip’s fine,” Pops said, as grumpy as always. In recent years, it always sounded like he was grimacing, though. Always in at least a little bit of pain that he tried to mask.
I wondered if Mimi noticed and just ignored it the same way he did.
“Tell him I know he’s lying,” I said, and while she burst into another laugh, Pops rolled his eyes. It was that tsk coming through the phone that gave it away.
“Stop worrying about us, darling!” Her flustered voice soothed something in me. Maybe it was the familiarity of it. The fact that I could not call for three weeks, and we’d still pick up right where we left off once I did.
Or maybe their bickering—with me and among themselves—just sent me right back to a time when the four of us sat around their dinner table for Christmas, birthdays, and Thanksgiving.
When Mom was still alive, and I hadn’t left for college yet, and it didn’t feel like every time I saw them, they’d aged another five years. Like they weren’t slowly dying in front of my very eyes.
Walking back to the apartment, I told them about the city, about work, about my new roommate.
Mimi asked if he was cute, and I’d rolled my eyes like she could see it.
I didn’t mention that they probably knew him, and if they didn’t, his face was just one Google search away.
Mostly because explaining to them how Google worked meant another ten miles of running until they got it.
“Irene Peterson!” I gasped into the night, adjusting my headphones. “Your husband is listening! You’ve got to stop asking about my cute roommate, whose cuteness, by the way, I’ve never confirmed.”
“Oh, Maeve.” She giggled, ignoring Pops’s humph from the second phone in the house. I assume he’d been standing in the kitchen for the entirety of this conversation, while she’d gotten comfortable on the couch. “I can just tell. It’s about time you found someone.”
“I didn’t find anyone—” But I cut myself off.
Because I just had, on the curb of our block, waiting for me.