Great Big Beautiful Life(120)

I’ve just finished when I hear the pounding at the front door, followed by Mom’s footsteps, and then a few overlapping voices.

The back of my neck tingles as I stand and make my way through the small house toward the laughter and conversation. In the entryway, I stop short at the sight of them, kicking off their shoes.

“Alice!” Priya squeals and bounds toward me, wrapping me in a hug.

“What are you doing here?” I say, flabbergasted, as Priya releases me.

“Your mom invited us,” Cillian says, hugging me next.

I look over his shoulder toward my mom. “Did you go through my phone?” I say, more confused than upset.

“Of course not,” Mom replies, seemingly a bit offended by the accusation.

“We exchanged numbers last time I was here,” Bianca says, sidling up to hug me next. I hold on for a long moment, so grateful for these people who show up for me even when I don’t ask them to.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I get out.

“Really?” Priya says. “Then why, pray tell, haven’t you been texting us back?”

“It’s a long story,” I say.

“Would anyone like some tea or coffee?” Mom asks.

“I, for one, would love some, Angie,” Cillian says, following my mom down the hallway, gawking at everything he passes and quickly throwing a look over his shoulder at me as he says, “It’s so nice to finally be invited here.”

“He’s never going to let it go, that he was the last one to visit here, is he?” I say.

“If you die first,” Bianca says, threading an arm through mine and turning me to follow him, “he’ll mention it in his eulogy.”





35




I can’t tell them everything, but I tell them enough. That the job with Margaret imploded. That it took Hayden’s and my budding relationship with it.

That it made me doubt myself and the work.

“We can lighten your load at The Scratch for a while,” Bianca promises, “while you figure things out.”

“I don’t want to put anyone in a bad spot,” I say.

“Alice. You’re in a bad spot,” Cillian says.

“It’s fine,” I say. “This really isn’t that big of a deal, all things considered.”

“Well, then stop considering ‘all things’ for a minute,” Priya says. “This doesn’t have to be the greatest tragedy to ever befall anyone. It doesn’t even have to be the worst thing that’s ever happened to you.”

“Exactly,” Bianca agrees. “You’re hurting right now, that’s what matters.”

“I’m so glad you’re all here,” I say again, and when Cillian opens his mouth, surely to say something snarky, I add, “especially you, Cillian,” and we all dissolve into laughter.

I show them around the property, let them take pictures with Marietta, the friendliest of our chickens.

Mom puts us to work for an hour in the afternoon, and afterward, we take turns using our house’s one shower.

Cillian is craving pizza, so for the first time I can remember, ever, my mom agrees to order some. As we’re waiting for the delivery, she and I make a peach crumble and set it out to cool while we eat dinner. After Mom goes to bed, we play three-quarters of a game of Monopoly, then agree that we hate Monopoly too much to play for another second.

“We should have a sleepover,” Priya says.

“That’s literally what this is, Pri,” Bianca says.

“No, I mean, we should all sleep in the living room together,” Priya says.

“I’m too old to sleep on the floor,” Cillian says through a yawn.

“But I hate sleeping alone,” Priya says.

“I’ll sleep with you,” Cillian offers, waggling his eyebrows.

“Never again,” Priya says, because that actually is how their friendship began.

“I meant platonically,” Cillian insists.

“It’s either that or one of you takes Audrey’s room and the other takes the couch,” I say.

Priya pouts. “Why can’t I sleep with you?”

“Because I already called it, within ten minutes of getting here,” Bianca says.

“Fine,” Priya says. “Cillian, you’re back in.”

“Well, now I’m not sure I’m up for it,” Cillian says, and they squabble for a minute while we’re all standing up and saying our good nights. In the end, he and Priya take Audrey’s room, and Bianca and I tuck ourselves into my bed.

“You seem better,” she murmurs sleepily as we settle in.

“You guys lifted my spirits,” I say.

She shakes her head. “No. I mean, you seem somehow happier than you did before you left. More at peace or something.”

It’s strange, but she’s right. I feel at once utterly heartbroken and also like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

I miss Hayden. I love him. But after sending that letter, I’ve done what I can.

I’ve done what I need to do to live a life without any more regrets.

“I’m thinking about writing a memoir,” I whisper up to the dark ceiling.

Bianca turns over to face me. “Really?”