“Does she even know you’re home?”
“Yes.”
“But she just had a baby. I’m sure she’s been busy.”
“She’s known I’m home for weeks. Or at least, she knew I was home a few weeks ago. I ran into her at the club. In the bathroom. She pretended everything was fine, but I know she knows I overheard what she said. It’s over, Mom.”
“Ziggy. Oh, my sweet girl. Are you okay?”
And that’s what does it. That’s what finally makes my eyes hot and puts a lump in my throat. “No.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“Because it makes me want to puke and I’m tired of puking.”
“I’m going to talk to her mother?—”
“No. Please don’t. Please. Don’t. I don’t want anyone to fix this. I just want to grieve and move on.”
“Should I come over?”
“No. I’m okay. Ish. Okay-ish.”
“Miranda and I can be there withThe Princess Bridein thirty minutes.”
I draw a deep breath and rub my still-twisted belly. “Rain check. I need to get groceries and get ready for my big day tomorrow. And I promised Jessica we’d go to a dog park.”
“I worry about you.”
“I’m okay.” I’m not. Not yet. But I will be. “Promise. I just?—”
“Need some new friends. You’ll love the staff at Dad’s office. They’re so nice. And you’ll get to see Miranda every day too. Before you know it, you’ll have forgotten Abby Nora ever existed.”
I blink quickly.
I don’t want to forget.
Some of my best memories will always be with her.
But I could do with not feeling guilt and shame and embarrassment and stupidity and anger and pain every time I think about what we were and what we’ll never be again.
“I’m looking forward to it,” I lie.
I make up an excuse about Jessica needing something, and I get off the phone without crying.
Barely—it counts as not crying if the tears haven’t actually fallen and you’re trying to convince your eyeballs to suck them back in, right?
If so, then I make it without crying.
Feels like a miracle these days.
But then?—
Clomp. Clomp. Clomp.
I jerk straight and turn around.
Holt’s come back.
