Page 105 of Happiness for Beginners

“Where’re you going, Prom King?” Mason said. “We’re not done with you yet!”

Through the open doors, I could see they’d put Windy up on a chair on the banquet table—and an empty chair waited for Jake.

With that, they carried him off, the minions chanting “Prom King! Prom King!” Jake turned back like he might try to shout something to me—but then the doors swung closed behind them, and they were gone.

I stood still for several minutes, looking around, hoping against hope that Jake might come back out. But he didn’t. When it was too pathetic to stand there any longer, I turned and walked myself back up the steps—trying like hell to think of Three Good Things for the day, but not coming up with even one.

Chapter 15

I left that night and made it back to Grandma GiGi’s by the next. No, I did not do all fifteen hours without stopping—and yes, I stayed in the same motel where Jake and I had stayed on the drive out, coincidentally, in the exact same room we’d had before. And, yes: I felt so alone against the contrast of those memories that I could barely sleep.

At bedtime, I lay in Jake’s old bed, in the solid hotel-room blackness, wondering if this was whathisblackness would look like, when it finally arrived. With the heavy hotel curtains closed and all the lights off, the darkness was as thick as cotton. I opened my eyes as wide as I could against it, straining for any sliver of light, but nothing changed. It made me feel closer to Jake in a way to lie there like that and imagine that I was seeing through his future eyes. It was a stupid game, but one I couldn’t stop playing, and after far too long—An hour? Two?—of waiting for sleep, the ache to talk to him finally got so strong that I fumbled around in my purse until I found my phone, found his number, and hitSEND.

I was thinking I’d confess it all. Who cared if it was embarrassing? Who cared if he’d found someone better? I couldn’t keep it all in any longer.

But then I hitENDbefore it even rang.

It was too humiliating to call him. This wasn’t some kid I’d never see again. This was Duncan’s best friend. I would know this guy—and see him at Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s, and Duncan’s birthday—for possibly the rest of my life. Mistakes I made with Jake would last forever. And I’d already made plenty.

I convinced myself to wait until daylight. If I still wanted to call him in the morning, I’d call him in the morning. Never call anybody you have a crush on after tenP.M.Crushes for Beginners.

So, I didn’t call. I just lay in the darkness and thought about how brave he was, and how good he was at making the best of things. At last, I just gave in and let myself miss him, and the feel of his hands, and the warmth and pressure of his body, and the way that something about his gaze made me feel profoundly, heartbreakinglynot alone.

Until, at last, alone in his motel bed, I fell asleep.

***

By the time I made it home to GiGi’s the next evening, just in time for supper, I was groggy, overcaffeinated, and hoarse from far too many Aretha Franklin songs.

When I tried to set my purse down on the kitchen table, I caught the edge instead, and all the contents—lipstick, wallet, crappy cell phone—hit the ground in a splatter.

GiGi was cooking. She turned at the sound, and smiled to see me. “You’re back already?”

“I’m back,” I said, squatting down behind the table to pick up my mess.

Guess what else was in that purse? Jake’s poem from my bra. I probably should have burned it with the rest of my filthy things. I’d promised not to read it, but now that it was all finally over, that funny little promise didn’t seem to mean much anymore. So, without asking myself permission or even hesitating, there on GiGi’s kitchen floor I unfolded the paper and read it.

I don’t know what I was expecting but it was exactly what Jake had said it was. A Pablo Neruda poem. Actually, just an excerpt. But it was enough to make me clasp my hand over my mouth as I read.

Only do not forget, if I wake up crying,

it’s only because in my dream I’m a lost child,

hunting through the leaves of the night for your hands.

GiGi came looking for me behind the table. “You okay?” she asked, when she found me.

“Not really,” I said, folding the poem up and sliding it back into my bra where it belonged.

I stood and came over for a hug.

She pulled away to get a good look at me. “Darling, you’re gorgeous.”

“Hardly.”

“Youare. That mountain air did something to you. You’re radiant.”

“I don’t feel radiant.”

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