Page 245 of Mad Girl

ELIZABETH HARRIS for MAYOR

ELIZABETH for BOSTON

We spotted so many signs along our walk, in fact, that I couldn’t imagine a future where Libby didn’t win the election.

Like Michael, though, I clung fiercely to the hope she’d end up losing. If not for the two-faced bitch she was, for the added anxiety it would cause you when you decided to tell the Harrises your secret.

Across from the Garden, we waited at the crosswalk. A car nearby honked. Another one honked back, the driver laying on his horn. The pixelated man appeared on the black screen, and we made our way across Beacon Street, your hand at the small of my back. I cursed my dad for causing a scene and making me forget to bring pumpkin seeds for the squirrels.

Midway through the park, you bumped my arm. “Are you okay? Your dad earlier—that was pretty intense.”

Okay? Twenty minutes later, I still wanted to cry. Or scream until my throat burned. It was Halloween, after all. Maybe no one would notice.

“You shouldn’t let him order you around like that,” I said.

“How can I not? He pays my bills. He’s keeping my secret. I owe him.”

“I get that, but it’d be nice if you were on my side for once.”

“I am on your side. What makes you think I’m not?”

“When you do what he says, it makes you complicit.”

“Complicit,” you said with a bitter laugh. “I’m giving up my entire night so you can be with your stupid boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Close enough. And I may respect your dad, but if you think I’d stand by and let him drag you upstairs and lock you in your room, you’re sorely mistaken.”

I cast a sideways glance at you. Hands jammed in the pockets of your slacks. Jaw like rippled stone. Hair slightly tousled, as always. For one prickling second, I wished our lives were a lot less complicated—that I could pull you underneath one of weeping willows by the pond and kiss you. But I only said, “My dad could probably take you.”

You shrugged. “Except he wouldn’t.”

“You sound pretty confident about that.”

“Because he respects me, too. He might’ve lost his shit over what I did to those pricks last year, but he also knows I’ll do anything to protect you. Even if it’s from him.”

My stomach fluttered. “Except you weren’t actually protecting me last year. You retaliated.”

You snorted. “Please. Don’t argue semantics with me after you nearly blinded Sienna in one eye.”

“Hey, that was a warning. Mess with him again and see what happens to you then, bitch.”

“Jesus,” you muttered, holding back a laugh. “We will never see eye-to-eye on this.”

I smiled. “Ha! Eye-to-eye. I see what you did there.”

You bumped my arm. “Seriously, though, it’s not funny. You could’ve blinded her.”

“I know,” I said with a groan. “I know.”

Outside Willoughby’s, you stopped me at the stair rail to his stoop. “Listen,” you said, gently clasping my wrist, “why don’t we skip the party? We could get hot chocolate. Walk around. Watch the trick-or-treaters. See all the dogs in their costumes. You don’t have to be here.”

I glanced down the street as a family of four approached on the sidewalk. A little girl dressed as a green fairy. Her superhero brother. They skipped ahead of their parents, orange gingham buckets dangling from their hands.

You were right. We could stroll through the best neighborhoods and take it all in—the decorations, the costumes, the squeals of delight—and it would probably feel nostalgic and magical, like the Halloweens of my childhood, even if I were only an observer. Why hadn’t we done that the previous Halloween? Why hadn’t I suggested it? Why had I been so determined to go to that party? To rebel against my dad?

And what made me so determined to do it again?