Page 59 of For Fox Sake

“I can?—”

Her hand flips up, palm facing me. “Shut all the way up. You are not driving right now. You are not doing this alone.”

My eyes fill and I blink back the tears. “Thank you.”

When we’re both seated in her bright yellow Mini Cooper and halfway to the hospital she says, “Jake put in his notice this early morning. Did you know?”

“I figured.”

“This may not be the best time to ask, but what the hell happened?”

I give her a recap of the evening, all of it delivered in monotone, like it’s someone else speaking right now and I’m only listening, removed from the events. I describe the amazing conversation at dinner—most of it, anyway. I don’t reveal his personal details since his story isn’t mine to tell. Then running into Shane, every perfect thing he did and said... all leading to the aftermath. Everything Jake told me about why he’s really here, how his sister was Mia’s heart donor, and he had no idea except for the letters I had sent to his dad.

By the time I’ve filled her in on everything, we’ve been sitting in the parking lot of the hospital for ten minutes.

“That’s... I can’t believe it.”

“He literally got a job at the hospital, rented the house across the street from me, drove across the damn country to, what, make me fall for him and then act like every other asshole I’ve ever known but a thousand times worse?”

Bernie purses her lips. “Hmm.”

“What does that mean? You can’t seriously be on his side.”

“I’m not on his side.” She reaches over, putting a hand on my arm. “I’m always on your side. Always.”

I lift a hand. “But? Go ahead, I know you’re thinking it.”

“But... he has been through a lot, just like you. And I can see why he would wonder about the letters to his dad, and it’s not like he could have asked his dad, and it would have been really awkward to just show up and be like ‘hey, remember how you exchanged letters with a middle-aged man in high school? Also, why?’”

“He should have told me when we kissed the first time.”

“You’re right. He should have. He screwed up, big time. But maybe you should hear him out.”

“I know what he’ll say.”

He tried to tell me. He stopped us the first night we kissed because he wanted to tell me the truth. He stopped us last night when I invited him in.

When I put myself in his shoes, I can almost understand it. I understand why he wouldn’t immediately ask about the letters, and how not asking right away would put him in the position of making it harder and harder the longer it dragged on.

“But he came to my house. We had hours-long conversations about everything I’ve gone through. He had no problems being vulnerable about his life, about the death of his sister, about so many other things. He helped me with my sink. He hung out with Ari and he, and he?—”

“He made you think he was everything all your ex-boyfriends were not.”

“Yeah.”

“He did come clean though, eventually.”

It’s that eventually that stings.

“Do you think you can forgive him?”

“I don’t know. Am I weak for wanting to?”

“No. Never.”

“I’m not ready to think about him. I need to deal with,” I gesture to the hospital, “whatever needs to be done.”

She puts her hand over mine. “Hey. You aren’t alone in this, okay? We’ll deal with it together.”

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