As I turn around, I catch his big body slumping, and I feel a part of me break. So, I walk inside and shut the door. Quietly and carefully, away from him, and back to my cave where it’s definitely safe. And I don’t look back.
Not even once.
Lie.
Ten minutes later, when I’m sure he’s left, I open the door and pick up the hoodie.
And I put it on.
THIRTY-THREE
Nico
The honey crystallizesin the jar. I run my thumb over the lid. It’s the same kind she stole off the hotel breakfast buffet, pretending to be discreet as she shoved two into her purse. I teased her about it. She told me to live a little and made me taste-test a dozen honeys on her belly that night and rank them. This was the winner—dark, smoky, with a strange tang of wildflowers.
I mail it to her first.
No note. Just the honey.
It’s ridiculous. I know it’s fuckin’ ridiculous. Izzy tells me it’s ridiculous. “This is notAmélie,” she says. “This is notLove Actually. She is not going to get the honey and realize you are soulmates.”
“Soulmates in hell,” I correct.
I can hear her rolling her eyes at me over the phone.
I rub a hand over my face. “I just want her to know I’m still thinking about her.”
“She knows.”
“Then I want her to know that I’m not done trying.”
Izzy laughs. “Then maybe stop mailing her groceries and try giving her the truth.”
I don’t sleep much anymore.
There’s a spreadsheet open on my laptop—six tabs, twelve columns, tracked expenses. After paying off Ma’s bills and her entire mortgage, I have so much money I don’t know what the hell to do with it. And for the first time in my adult life, I’m not surviving. I’m secure.
Annie was right about that, too. About everything, really. She made me want things that felt impossible—honesty, intimacy, a future with someone who doesn’t look at me like I’m a fuckin’ embarrassment.
She looked at me like I was inevitable.
And I broke that.
The second thing I send her is sorbet. Or at least, the recipe.
It’s scrawled in her handwriting on a page she left in my notebook. She’d titled it “Sorbet for Illiterate Gorillas” like a little joke she knew I’d find, eventually. It lists three ingredients: black sesame, coconut, and honey. It’s the one we made in Michelle’s kitchen.
I recreate the whole thing from memory. I tweak the proportions a bit, adding my notes in the margins. I circle the part where she wrote,Don’t you dare add rosewater, you pretentious fuck. I underline it twice and scribble back,
Noted, Ali. Miss you.
P.S. The honey makes it fucking delicious.
Izzy doesn’t know about this one.
I mail it with trembling hands and a stupid, stubborn hope.
I ship the gold dress and the shoes to Izzy’s apartment.
