I don’t call Sadie. I don’t text Hannah in the hope that she has reception in the belly of whatever Nordic sperm whale is her current residence. I run upstairs, almost tripping on carpets and furniture that’s been in the Harding family for five generations, and once I’m in front of Liam’s office I throw the door open without knocking.
Which, in hindsight, is not my most polite moment. And neither is the next, when I run to Liam （who’s talking on the phone by the window）， throw my arms around his waist with utter disregard for whatever he’s doing, and yell:
“I got it! Liam—I got the job!”
He doesn’t skip a beat. “The team leader position?”
“Yes.”
His grin is blinding. Then he tells, “I’ll call you back,” to whoever is on the line, totally ignores the fact that their reply is “Sir, this is a time-sensitive issue—” and tosses the phone on the nearest chair.
Then he hugs me back. He lifts me up like he’s too happy for me to even consider stopping himself, like this phone call I just had that changed my life changed his, too, like he’s been wanting this as much and as intensely as I have. And when he spins me around the room, one single, perfect whirl of pure happiness, that’s when I realize it.
How incredibly, utterly gone for this man I am.
It’s been there for weeks. Months. Whispering in my ear, creeping at me, hitting me in the face like a train on an iron track. It has grown too formidable and luminous for me to ignore, but that’s okay.
I don’t want to ignore it.
Liam sets me on my feet. His hands linger over me before he takes a step back—one hand trailing down my arm, the other pushing a lock of hair past my temple, behind my ear. When he lets go, I want to follow him. I want to beg him not to.
“Mara, you are fantastic. Brilliant.”
I feel fantastic. I feel brilliant, when I’m with you. And I want you to feel the same. “I clearly deserve to choose what to watch on TV tonight.”
“You choose what to watch on TV every night.”
“But tonight I actually deserve it.”
He laughs, shaking his head, holding my eyes. Time stretches. Heavy, sweet tension thickens between us. I want to kiss him. I want to kiss him so, so much. Should I ask him? Would he push me away? Or would he push right back, press me against his desk, turn me around and hold me down with a hand splayed between my shoulder blades and whisper to me Finally, and Be still, and Let’s celebrate, and—
No. Stop.
I gasp. “Oh my God—what do you think Sean is doing right now?”
“Crying in the bathroom, I hope.”
“Hopefully he’s tweeting out his despair and listening to a My Chemical Romance playlist on Spotify. I must go stalk him on social media. Be right back.” I make to skip out of Liam’s office as fast as I ran in. He stops me, though, with a hand on my wrist.
“Mara?”
“Yes?”
I turn around. His happy, uncharacteristically open face has melted away into something else. Something more subdued. Opaque.
“You said . . . A few weeks ago, you said that if you got the job, you’d move out.”
Oh.
Oh.
The reminder stabs like a knife between my ribs. I did say that. I did. But it’s been weeks. Weeks of stealing food off each other’s plates and texting in the middle of the day to bicker about Eileen’s love life and that time he made me laugh so hard I couldn’t breathe for ten minutes.
Things . . . Haven’t things changed with us? Between us?
For a moment, I cannot speak. I don’t know what to say to the fact that his first thought was that I’d move out— No, that’s uncharitable. He was happy for me. Genuinely happy. His second thought was that he’d finally go back to living alone.
I try to crack a joke. “Why? Are you kicking me out?”
“No. No, Mara, that’s not what I—” His phone rings, interrupting him. Liam gives it a frustrated glance, but by the time his eyes are on me again I’ve collected myself.
If Liam wants to live alone, that’s fine. He likes me. He cares about me. He’s a great guy—I know all of that. But being friends with someone doesn’t equate with wanting to spend every single moment of your life with them, and . . . yeah.
I guess that’s my own problem to solve. Something to work on once I move out and this part of my life is over.
“Of course I’m going to look for a new place.” I try to sound cheerful. With poor results. “I cannot wait to walk around naked and gorge myself on creamer to celebrate Eileen’s excellent life choices and . . .” I can’t make myself continue, and my voice trails off.
Liam’s eyes remain withdrawn. Absent, almost. But after a while he says, “Whatever you want, Mara,” in a kind, gentle tone.
I manage one last smile and slip out of his office as the first tear hits my collarbone.
Twelve
One day ago
No dimensional plane exists in which apartment hunting （more precisely: apartment hunting while heartbroken） could ever be pleasant. I have to admit, however, that browsing Craigslist on the phone with my friends while I sip on the overpriced red wine Liam got from an FGP Corp retreat does dull the pain of the ordeal.
Sadie just spent an hour recounting in wrathful detail how she recently went on a date with some engineer who later turned out to be a total dick—a problem, given that she actually liked the guy （as in really, really liked the guy）。 Even though she’s being uncharacteristically dodgy about it, I am 97 percent sure that sex happened, 98 percent sure that the sex was excellent, 99 percent sure that the sex was the best of her life. It appears to be fueling her plans to lace the guy’s coffee with toad venom, which, if you know Sadie, is pretty on-brand.
Hannah is back in Houston, which is good for her Internet connection, but bad for her peace of mind. She has been butting heads with some NASA big-shot guy who has been vetoing her pet research project for no reason whatsoever. Hannah is, of course, ready for murder. I can’t see her hands through FaceTime, but I’m almost positive she’s sharpening a shiv.
There is something reassuring in hearing about their lives. It reminds me of grad school, when we couldn’t afford therapy and we’d engage in some healthy communal bitching every other night, just to survive the madness. There were some bad moments—it was grad school: there were a lot of bad moments—but in the end, we were together. In the end, everything turned out to be all right.
So maybe that’s what will happen this time, too. I’m on the verge of homelessness, my heart feels like a stone, and I want to be with someone way more than that someone wants to be with me. But Sadie and Hannah are （more or less） here, and therefore things will turn out to be （more or less） all right.
“Men were a mistake,” Sadie says.
“Big mistake,” Hannah adds.
“Huge.” I sink deeper into the living room couch, wondering if Liam, my personal mistake, will come home tonight. It’s already past nine. Maybe he’s out for dinner. Maybe, if he has something to celebrate, he’ll sleep elsewhere. At Emma’s, perhaps.
“Sometimes they’re useful,” Sadie points out. “Like that guy with a Korn T-shirt who helped me open a jar of pickled radishes in 2018.”