Page 145 of Hello Stranger

But then I had a comforting thought:

It was fine. It really was.

He’d never listen to it, anyway.

Twenty-Nine

I WENT TObed that night feeling at peace with my choices.

But I woke up the next day feeling nice and angry.

Had I really just called the guy who ghosted me—and thanked him?

Thanked him?

Where exactly was my self-respect?

You don’t thank people who put your heart in a meat grinder. You don’t thank people who abandon you. You don’t thank people who stare at you cold as ice and then turn away when you beg them for help.

That was my plan? To absolve him of all responsibility and then pleasantly move on?

He had dumped me and left town for no apparent reason without even an explanation—and he’d acted like I was the problem.

Not cool.

And I thought it was a good idea toleave him a grateful voicemailfor that?

Yes. Apparently I did.

Which made me even angrier. At both of us.

Because how was I supposed to get over it if I was consumed with rage?

Or maybe getting consumed with rage was part of getting over it…

Fine then. No more moping, no more weeping, no more pining for the future I’d lost hold of.

It was time to be okay. For real.

The anger was very healing—burning through me with a purifying fire.

Sue approved.

When she returned from her kidnapping elopement a few days later, we gave the Joe debacle one last, long hearty evening of processing, decided it was a lucky near miss for me, made a list of guys Witt could set me up with, and spent the rest of the night brainstorming what the hell, now, I should do with my career.

Sue voted for “textile designer” because she thought I had a way with color. But we also considered interior designer, knitting-store owner, and boutique hotelier in the Swiss Alps.

The other big news was that Sue’s parents were throwing her an elopement party.

“They’re not mad that you got married without them?”

“Nope,” Sue said, like that question had been bananas. “They love him. My mom knitted him a sweater with a heart on it.”

Apparently, Sue’s mom thought the kidnapping elopement was very romantic. And she thought Witt was a sweet boy and a good provider. And she was a huge fan of Canada.

Turned out, Mrs. Kim and Sue had been planning a little welcome-home wedding celebration during Sue’s entire cross-Canada train ride—texting pictures of flower arrangements and table settings back and forth—and her mom already had everything worked out for the Friday night after the newlyweds returned.

“Wow,” I said. “Between me and your mom, you barely had time to enjoy your kidnapping.”

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