Intensely irked, I catch my voice going low.
“Ilikeaccounting, Hanry. The neat little rows on my spreadsheets, the color-coordinated headers. The predictable formulas that tell you what will happen in all the little boxes. And I like Manhattan and my roommate, and I like that all of it gives me a life that’s predictable and safe and unchaotic and awesome.”
“Then you understand why I’m doing this. You’re as afraid of getting hurt as I am.”
I squeeze my eyes shut.
I should’ve done all of this differently. If I’d been vulnerable and honest from the beginning, if I’d let Hanry know how much he mattered to me, maybe he would have considered coming with me to New York, or at least trying to make a relationship work in spite of living a couple hundred miles apart. Maybe then he’d have considered that this didn’t have to end in heartbreak for both of us.
Now it’s too late, and I can’t stand it. I can’t stand the fact that he matters so much to me. We’re a pair of romantic cowards.
For some reason, though? I can’t stand the thought of calling him out. And he doesn’t demand more from me either. As the wedding music trickles under the door, we sit there wordlessly, too close to each other, and also too far, a thousand things hovering in the gap between us, neither of us wanting the moment to end.
Until finally, time’s up.
“I’ve got to get back in there,” I say, dry-mouthed. “You know. Before it’s time for dessert, and cake cutting.”
Hanry’s eyebrows draw together in apology. “I get it,” he says. “Goodbye, Sabby.”
My heart thuds. This can’t really be goodbye, can it? For so little reason?
I don’t want this. I couldn’t want anything less. But I force my breathing to normalize and mirror him.
“See ya,” I say.
It doesn’t sound half as smooth as it did in my head.
Cool cool cool cool cool.
19THE AI AUTOCORRECT OF GREAT AND UNNECESSARY SUFFERING
IMAKE IT THROUGH THElast few hours of Sidney and Brett’s wedding on autopilot. I drive Mandy and I back to Salem, completely forgetting about the lush accommodations available to me at the hotel. Only after passing out on the living room recliner and waking up to unfiltered sunlight from the unkindly unadorned window does reality set in: last night, I pulled off another wedding. I unmasked the saboteur. And I lost Hanry.
I’m about to lose my dream job too, but my imminent firing doesn’t sting as bad, for some reason. Probably because it’s been such a long time coming.
I check my phone. Start reading through my last texts with Hanry before I can stop myself. I’m going to need a lot of ice cream to get through today. I think Mandy has a secret stash with helpful spells worked into the cream.Hexlato, she called it. Maybe one of them contains an emotional-numbing spell? A paranormal brain freeze wouldn’t be remiss.
A banging sound coming from the front lawn forces me to roll over in bed and get up. I’m mostly certain the noise belongs to a horde of go-getter revelers. No surprise the holidaying Salem pilgrims are starting festivities early, and with a questionable understanding of private versus public space. After all, today is the worst day of the calendar year: the one that memorializes my trauma.
Halloween.
I can’t believe I’m back here for this.
Grumbling, I make my way to the window, arms wrapped around my waist to close up my not-nearly-cozy-enough cardigan. Lean out to view the trespassers, prepared to shout at them to stop confusing my yard with a tourist stop.
It’s not tourists, though. It’s Matilda and the rest of Grandma’s witch cabal.
Somehow, that’s worse.
“Go away!” I shout at them. “You’ve already taken the flamingos, you can’t take the landscaping! I’m going to sell that eventually!”
In spite of her hunchback, Matilda waves back at me, but otherwise ignores me to join her friends in doing the conga. That’s it. Loud noises and petty theft are one thing, but Boomer dancing is where I draw the line.
I rumble downstairs, ready to tell that crew what’s what. Swing open the front door.
“Hi, Samantha,” Matilda creaks at me. “Care to join us? Kawbahahaha.”
“Absolutely not. Who’s the Oompa-Loompa?” I demand, pointing to the person at the end of the line. The witch’s skin has the hue and texture of an orange, so I’m sure I would’ve noticed her before.
