“Yes?”
I turn around. His happy, uncharacteristically open face has melted away into something else. Something more subdued. Opaque.
“You said... A few weeks ago, you said that if you got the job, you’d move out.”
Oh.
Oh.
The reminder stabs like a knife between my ribs. I did say that. I did. But it’s been weeks. Weeks of stealing food off each other’s plates and texting in the middle of the day to bicker about Eileen’s love life and that time he made me laugh so hard I couldn’t breathe for ten minutes.
Things... Haven’t things changed with us? Between us?
For a moment, I cannot speak. I don’t know what to say to the fact that his first thought was that I’d move out— No, that’s uncharitable. He was happy for me. Genuinely happy. His second thought was that he’ll finally go back to living alone.
I try to crack a joke. “Why? Are you kicking me out?”
“No. No, Mara, that’s not what I—” His phone rings, interrupting him. Liam gives it a frustrated glance, but by the time his eyes are on me again I’ve collected myself.
If Liam wants to live alone, that’s fine. He likes me. He cares about me. He’s a great guy—I know all of that. But being friends with someone doesn’t equate with wanting to spend every single moment of your life with them, and... yeah.
I guess that’s my own problem to solve. Something to work on once I move out and this part of my life is over.
“Of course I’m going to look for a new place.” I try to sound cheerful. With poor results. “I cannot wait to walk around naked and gorge myself on creamer to celebrate Eileen’s excellent life choices and...” I can’t make myself continue, and my voice trails off.
Liam’s eyes remain withdrawn. Absent, almost. But after a while he says, “Whatever you want, Mara,” in a kind, gentle tone.
I manage one last smile and slip out of his office as the first tear hits my collarbone.
Chapter 12
One week ago
No dimensional plane exists in which apartment hunting (more precisely: apartment hunting while heartbroken) could ever be pleasant. I have to admit, however, that browsing Craigslist on the phone with my friends while I sip on the overpriced red wine Liam got from an FGP Corp retreat does dull the pain of the ordeal.
Sadie just spent an hour recounting in wrathful detail how she recently went on a date with some engineer who later turned out to be a total dick—a problem, given that she actually liked the guy (as in really, really liked the guy). Even though she’s being uncharacteristically dodgy about it, I am 97 percent sure that sex happened, 98 percent sure that the sex was excellent, 99 percent sure that the sex was the best of her life. It appears to be fueling her plans to lace the guy’s coffee with toad venom, which, if you know Sadie, is pretty on-brand.
Hannah is back in Houston, which is good for her Internet connection, but bad for her peace of mind. She has been butting heads with some NASA big-shot guy who has been vetoing her pet research project for no reason whatsoever. Hannah is, of course, ready for murder. I can’t see her hands through FaceTime, but I’m almost positive she’s sharpening a shiv.
There is something reassuring in hearing about their lives. It reminds me of grad school, when we couldn’t afford therapy and we’d engage in some healthy communal bitching every other night, just to survive the madness. There were some bad moments—it was grad school: there were a lot of bad moments—but in the end, we were together. In the end, everything turned out to be all right.
So maybe that’s what will happen this time, too. I’m on the verge of homelessness, my heart feels like a stone, and I want to be with someone way more than that someone wants to be with me. But Sadie and Hannah are (more or less) here, and therefore things will turn out to be (more or less) all right.
“Men were a mistake,” Sadie says.
“Big mistake,” Hannah adds.
“Huge.” I sink deeper into the living room couch, wondering if Liam, my personal mistake, will come home tonight. It’s already past nine. Maybe he’s out for dinner. Maybe, if he has something to celebrate, he’ll sleep elsewhere. At Emma’s, perhaps.
“Sometimes they’re useful,” Sadie points out. “Like that guy with a Korn T-shirt who helped me open a jar of pickled radishes in 2018.”
“Oh yeah.” I nod. “I remember that.”
“Hands down my most profound experience with a man.”
“In hindsight, you should have asked him to marry you.”
“A missed opportunity.”