“That’s ridiculous,” Emme said angrily. “He told her he loved her the night before.”
Nate shrugged. “All the more reason to set her free.”
“That makes no sense at all.” Emme refused to budge. “If he loved her, he’d want to be with her.”
“Not if he thought sacrificing her was for her own good.”
“He said he doesn’t want anyone to have to take care of him,” I told them.
“Typical man,” Emme huffed. “That’s what you do when you love someone. You take care of them.”
“He said I should forget him and find someone better. He’s all fucked in the head because of how his family treated him. They favored his older brother,” I explained to Nate. “So he grew up thinking he’s not good enough, but he is. Oh, God, you guys. This is hopeless.” I tipped over onto Emme’s lap, and she stroked my hair.
“I’m sorry. Men can be so stubborn.”
“Look, guys sometimes think they’re being heroic by shutting down their emotions,” said Nate, a little grudgingly. “Feelings scare us.”
“I don’t get that,” said Emme. “Feelings are not scary. Brain tumors are scary!”
“Admitting you have feelings makes you vulnerable, though,” Nate went on. “It’s like you’re giving someone the opportunity to hurt you.”
“He sounds like Stella,” I said to Emme.
“So he’s protecting himself by breaking things off?” she wondered.
Nate shrugged. “Essentially, yes. But he doesn’t see it that way.”
“A man’s brain is a frightening, frightening place.” Emme looked down at me. “So now what will you do?”
I sat up and blew my nose again. “Try to get over him again, I guess. There’s nothing else to do.”
“Why not give it a little time and then reach out to him? Tell him how you feel. Tell him you still want to be with him, if that’s what you want.”
“It is, but …” I shook my head, wondering if the tears would ever stop. “I’m afraid I’d only make a fool of myself. He flat out said he doesn’t love me.”
My sister put her arm around me and tipped her head onto my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know it hurts.”
It did. And I couldn’t help thinking that somehow it was my own damn fault. I took a shuddery breath. “Hey Emme, is that invitation still open to go with you to Abelard this week? I could use some time away.”
“Absolutely.”
Nate exhaled and rose to his feet. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do. In the meantime, how about some pizza?”
“Maren doesn’t eat pizza,” said Emme.
“What? Who doesn’t like pizza?” Nate stuck his hands on his hips.
“I like it, I just don’t eat gluten,” I explained. “But you know what? I’ll eat it tonight. I’m in the mood for it.”
Emme squeezed me and stood up. “Pizza makes everything better. Come on, let’s go open a bottle of wine.”
“Okay.” I grabbed the tissue box and followed her to the kitchen. “And do you happen to have any strawberry Pop-Tarts?”
That night when I got home, I lay in bed with my phone in my hand, my stomach in knots. I wanted to do what Emme said and fight back, but the truth was, I was too scared. I didn’t want to hear him say he didn’t love me again. But what if what Nate said was true? What if he really did love me, and breaking things off was his way of protecting himself?
What was the right thing to do?
I curled into a ball and hugged my knees to my poor belly, which had been upset before I’d eaten four slices of Meat Lovers Delight and two strawberry Pop-Tarts. (Nate actually went to the store to get them for me. He is a good man.)
In the end, I was so tired, I fell asleep without doing anything. The nightmare woke me around four, and I was so worked up, I couldn’t fall back to sleep. I got out of bed and dug the Post-It note Allegra had written on out of my bag. Madam Psuka, it said.
I grabbed my laptop and googled her.
She had a website, psychicpsuka.com. On the All About Psuka, I learned that she was a “moonchild” who’d always had a special talent for premonitions, intuitions, and receiving messages from beyond. Her services included palm readings, numerology, dream analysis, house blessings and smudgings, aura cleansings, and spiritual channeling. The first visit was free.
Some of the things she did I believed in and some I didn’t, but the testimonials were all good (Madam Psuka had cured one woman of her fear of chins, predicted another woman’s big inheritance, and helped a gentleman connect with his beloved cat beyond the grave), and I figured it couldn’t hurt to go see her.
I scheduled an appointment for Thursday afternoon and went in to work, miserable and exhausted.
Later on Tuesday, I got a reply from Finn Shepherd.
Dear Maren,