“Indeed.”
“And how did you feel when her attention was on you?”
“Seen. Special. Popular.”
“And those things were important to you why?”
“Because I’d never felt those things by my peers and it felt good.”
“And then what happened?”
“She started having excuses as to why she couldn’t hang out with me. And then I’d find out she’d been hanging out with other friends. Other guys.”
“And that made you feel?”
“Hollow.”
“Who broke up with whom?”
“She dumped me after four months. I was crushed and didn’t date anyone again until college.”
She made a note and then looked back up at me. “And what was she like?”
“Elizabeth 2.0. She strung me along for two years.”
“She strung you along? Or you hung on?”
I was silent. Fuck.
My experiences with both were nearly identical and it was embarrassing to realize my compliance. My desperation. My basement-level self-worth and the way I’d sought the high I’d gotten from the beginning days of the relationship. The attention and love and feeling of being seen.
But Nadia had been the master. And now I could see it so clearly. The way they’d seen not me, but my weakness.
And sure, what they’d done wasn’t okay by any means, but the truth of the matter was, they weren’t to blame for me staying in relationships that weren’t healthy.
I was.
I went back to my hotel room after and laid on the bed, staring at the ceiling, thoughts circling my mind as I revisited the things Novi had said and asked in our session.
My alarm sounded and I turned it off and lay for a moment more before swinging my legs over the side of the bed and grabbing my laptop. My article for Around the Neighborhood was due the following day and I needed to finish it up and send it. But when I opened the document – my eyes skimming the paragraphs I’d written the day before about a new brunch spot with a great selection of vegan pastries – I found my usual enthusiasm for finding little gems like this lacking.
My finger wandered to my email app and I clicked it, then opened an email my editor at the newspaper had sent a week ago. Subject line: The city demands an update.
I rubbed my eyes and then scrolled down to the screenshots she’d attached. Image after image of emails readers had sent to the paper. To me. Accumulated over the past couple months ever since the incident in the park with Lior. Apparently people were invested. They wanted to know if I’d seen the woman again. If perhaps she’d seen the article and emailed me an apology. If she knew about B’s passing. If I could describe her so people could be on the lookout.
In my mind, I pictured her that day, seeing now what I hadn’t seen then. The looks of confusion, anger, and angst like a kaleidoscope on her pretty face, changing as some invisible hand turned and turned.
I stared at the article nearly done. Nearly ready to read over and send off. And then I opened a new document and started anew. Not for my readers… but for me. And for Lior. Maybe we’d never talk again, but in case she still read my articles, at least she’d know I was sorry. She’d know that I’d seen how I’d failed both of us by giving up before even giving us a chance.
Lowering my hands to the keyboard, I began to type.
“Sometimes, friends, shit happens.”
Chapter 34
Lior
“Well,” I said to Addie. “What do you think?”
