“Did he tell you…” I can’t bring myself to ask.
But Moira Ramsay is quicker than I gave her credit for. “Did he tell me what happened at the party? He did.” Her expressiondarkens. “Despicable. I nearly drove him down to Liverpool myself to make him apologize. He should never have put you in that position; that’s not the son I raised. Whatever mess he’s made is his and his alone to clean up.”
“Thank you for saying that.”
“No, thankyou. Thank you for loving my son the way he deserves to be loved—or deserved, maybe, before he went and said what he did.” She rises from the table and takes my empty glass of whisky. “Now come on, love, get your coat and let’s go.”
“Oh, that’s okay—my hotel is just down the street.”
“Don’t be daft. What kind of mother would I be if I left you alone in this state? You’re coming home with me.”
This gesture nearly knocks me back into full-on sobbing, but I manage to hold it in. I shake my head. “Thank you, but I just can’t.” I hope she can read my look, can read the fear of what would happen to me if I spent the night in Lachlan’s childhood home, trading stories with his mother, seeing the posters on the wall of his bedroom, imagining what it would be like to spend Christmas and Easter and birthdays enveloped in the warmth of the Ramsay family. No. Going home with Moira would shred me to pieces, sad little ribbons too fragile to weave back together. I can’t risk it.
She must understand, because she smiles and pats my hand again. “You’re a good girl, Abby McIntyre. And if he knows what’s best for him, he’ll realize that before the end.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Seeing Oban and talking withMoira lessens the tension I’ve been carrying with me since New Year’s. I survived prolonged contact in his hometown, with his mom; maybe I can get over this. Maybe there is a future where this whole episode becomes a mere footnote in my life. Reassuringly, when I get back to Liverpool, the weather continues to mimic my mental state: cold and gray, but now with the occasional tantalizing hint of something different and better just over the horizon.
The first something better comes in the form of Josh—specifically, comes in the form of me getting off my high horse and accepting that he was just looking out for me and that me screaming at him was probably not the response of an emotionally well-calibrated adult. Losing Lachlan’s friendship is devastating, of course, but losing Josh’s has felt like losing a limb. It’s time to apologize.
In college, Josh and I gained minor notoriety for the parties we’d throw a few times a year, each with elaborate themed snacks based on whatever totally meaningless food holiday the internet and/or food lobbying groups had invented—Lima Bean Awareness Week or California Dried Plum Digestive Health Month or Chocolate-Covered Insects Day (surprisingly, more popular thanthe digestive health party). Based on this history, the best way to show him I’m ready to no longer be an asshole is to see what ridiculous holiday we can celebrate from afar. After a few enjoyable minutes of googling, I send him two texts. The first simply says, “Are you prepared for National Something on a Stick Day?” I quickly follow that up with a link to a Pinterest board called “42 Things You Can Cook on a Stick,” and about twelve seconds later, my phone is ringing and I hear his voice and all is forgiven, just like that. I tell him everything that’s happened since our fight, and to his enormous credit, he just listens. No judgment, no recrimination, just support.
“I can’t believe it,” he says at the end of my long, slightly unhinged rant.
“Nah, you had him pegged from the beginning. I should have listened to you.”
“I only said all that because I wanted to make sure you were protected. I thought I’d be wrong, I genuinely did. Iwantedto be wrong.”
“I don’t know. Maybe it was all a game to him. Maybe he was just playing me, pushing me to see how far he could go. Maybe he’s back with Claire now. Game over.”
“If that’s the case, then good riddance.”
“Yeah, but Josh, I did it again. I fucking did it again, convinced myself that I didn’t need to say anything, deluded myself into thinking that it would all work out fine. Took the passive road through my own fucking life. And now, once again, I’m crying into my wineglass in an empty apartment.”
“I hate to get all ‘teacher’ on you, but you know, some students need to hear the lesson a few times before it sinks in.”
“Well, Mr. Newman, what homework can you assign to make sure I’ve really learned it this time?”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “Come home.” His voice cracks. “Come back home. Write this off as an interesting experiment and come back to Boston.”
“Tail between my legs? Throwing in the towel the second things get hard? I can’t keep running away when things go wrong in my life. That’s the coward’s way out, for one, and for two, do you know how expensive it is to do a transatlantic move twice in twelve months?”
He laughs, then sighs. “I know. You’re right, and I’m proud of you for being brave. I was being selfish. It’s just hard not to be able to shake you around the shoulders a little bit when you’re being stupid. FaceTime doesn’t quite cut it.”
“I’m sure Apple is working on that technology.”
“Well, we’ll have to make do until they nail it.” He clears his throat. “Hey, you’re going to be okay, you know that, right? You’re going to be fine.”
I sniffle. “Yeah. Thanks, mate.”
“ ‘Mate’? Oh God, she’s gone native.”
I slip into my terrible British accent, voice still garbled with tears. “Yeah, innit. I’ve got to ring off now, pop to the shops, tea and biscuits,et cet-tra.”
“Flawless. Like talking to Dame Judi Dench herself.”
We say goodbye, and I allow myself to believe, just for a moment, that Josh is right: Iamgoing to be okay. Whereas before, the road ahead was pitch-black and full of terrors unknown, with Josh back onside, it’s like now there’s a flickering streetlight or two to guide my way. This ignites the smallest ember of positivity in me, an energy I haven’t felt since before the club. I want to do something with it before it’s gone, snuffed out by the great wallowing hand of my misery. Luckily, I have a guide for just this occasion.
