Page 4 of The Last Days of Lilah Goodluck

And then I hear it...a quiet shuffling sound coming from inside the bathroom. For a moment I almost think I imagined it. Like my mind is playing tricks on me. It has been that sort of night. But the way my boyfriend reacts leaves no room for doubt. His eyes go wide, and his mouth does the same. Though there are still no words coming out. Guess he doesn’t know what to say. Which would be a first.

“Is there someone in the bathroom?” I am quite proud of my voice. It is a little quiet but firm. “Josh?”

Now there’s panic in his eyes.

No. This cannot be happening. But the way my heart has sunk straight through the floor says otherwise. My boyfriend really is cheating on me. He hasn’t even finished unpacking, and he’s already chosen to stray.Holy shit, the witch was right.

He finally pulls himself together enough to say, “Babe, I can explain. It’s not what you think.”

“It’s that new girl from work, isn’t it? The one you said you asked to stop messaging you because it was inappropriate. But of course, that was a lie. Because you faked being sick and invited her to my home so you could bang her in my bed.” My hands start to shake, so I curl my fingers into fists. I’m not going to hit him. Not that he wouldn’t deserve it. But I will deal with this like a grown-ass woman. One who doesn’t want to be charged with assault.

“It was an accident,” he says. Followed fast by “This is just a misunderstanding.”

A loud thud comes from the bathroom. Guess his sexy-times guest disagrees.

“Babe, I swear, just let me explain. I didn’t have a clue she was coming over. Don’t even know how she got the address.” The doorknob tries to turn beneath his hand. “Stay in there. Just give us a minute, please.”

This time, there’s an angry thump against the other side of the bathroom door. Fair enough.

“This is all just a horrible mistake,” says Josh. “I mean, you’ve been working such long hours lately and—”

“Are you trying to tell me this is my fault?” I ask, incredulous. “Seriously?”

He tugs his short hair in frustration. “No. Yes. I mean...you’re so busy all the—”

“Stop.” I take a deep, cleansing, fortifying breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t want to hear it. Just pack your shit and get out of here.”

“But it’s not what you think!”

“It is exactly what I think, and we both know it,” I all but growl. “I want you out of my home and out of my life. Right now, Josh. You and I are through.”

He stares wide-eyed at me in shock. Then his shoulders finally slump in defeat. Josh has always been a bit of a golden boy. The favorite child and so on. I don’t think the idea of there being actual consequences to his behavior ever occurred to him. Life sure comes at you fast sometimes.

Finally, a woman’s voice calls out through the bathroom door, “Can I come out now?”

2

Saturday

“You look awful,” my boss tells me the next afternoon at the end of my shift. Patricia is tall, thin, and more than a little mean. Take for instance the way she glares at small children. Sure, they can be shouty. But it isn’t easy to explain the concept of quiet in the library to a toddler. And sometimes being a book lover does mean attempting to eat them. Such is life. “Not that I don’t appreciate you covering Courtney’s shift. But are you certain you’re not also coming down with the flu? And what on earth happened to your hands?”

The dream of enjoying a lazy weekend after dancing the night away with my best friend is long gone. I am instead at work after approximately two and a half hours of sleep, much soul-searching, and no small amount of crying. Not that Josh deserves my tears.

It took a while to remove every trace of his presence from my apartment. Then, at three a.m. when he was finally gone, I donned my emotional-support hoodie and had a much-deserved breakdown. Just got it all out. And I solemnly promised myself this would be the last time it happened.

At least for a while.

Forget dating. I am focusing on my career for the foreseeable future. I turn thirty later this year, and there are things I want to achieve by then. A committed relationship was on the list...but oh well. Turns out you can’t schedule love. However, it’s not too late for the others: inching my way closer to managerial level, visiting the Bodleian Library in Oxford, England, eating my way through the pastry display case at my favorite bakery on La Brea, and learning how to keep a houseplant alive.

When I still couldn’t sleep, I had a stern talk with myself about Good Witch Willow. I am not superstitious, and I don’t believe in the paranormal. People cheat in relationships every day. The data relating to this is of course unreliable, but estimates suggest that up to 75 percent of people have cheated in some way at one time or another. My parents are the outliers, still being happily married after over thirty years and two children. Plenty of people come from single-parent homes and split families. All my friends have struck out relationship-wise at least once. I myself have been ghosted, disappointed, dumped, and duped. Without being bitter, I think it’s reasonable to acknowledge that findingthe oneis hard. Ifthe oneeven exists. There is nothing spooky or mysterious going on in my life. Josh is just an asshole. End of story.

Despite the long night, when the request came from work to fill in for a sick colleague, I said yes. A distraction sounded great. I fortified myself with more painkillers, caffeine, and carefully applied makeup. Then I made my way back out into the world as a strong single woman.

“I had a little accident last night.” I hide my hands in my pockets and give my boss my best fake smile. “But I’m fine. Just fine.”

“If you say so,” she sniffs. “Can you stay a bit longer? Some items are about to be dropped off for a display. If you could handle that before leaving?”

“Not a problem, Patricia.”

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