Page 164 of Hello Stranger

“So after she broke up with me, I wanted to stay as far away from her as possible—go off and lick my wounds. But she kept showing up at my place and texting me and wanting to hang out.”

“That’s terrible breakup etiquette,” Sue agreed.

“Right?” Joe said. “The dumper is supposed to give the dumpee a little space.”

I winced. “But instead, I demanded that you come as my date to my art show.”

Joe looked at me with affection. “I thought you were so mean.”

“It was mean!” I agreed. “By any normal standard, it was objectively super mean!”

Joe shrugged. “Except that we left normal standards behind a long time ago.”

“Exactly.”

Sue looked at us gazing at each other. “So, okay. You’ve cleared this all up. What now?”

Joe and I turned to look at each other. And I suddenly felt so awash with gratitude for this moment—for everything we’d been through. For the fact that I’d called Joe and left that voicemail. And that Mr. Kim had decided to matchmake us. And that Joe had chased me across the rooftop to try to get the story straight. We could have let it all go longbefore now. We could have tried less hard. We could have given up in the face of all our misunderstandings.

But we didn’t.

It takes a certain kind of courage to be brave in love. A courage you can only get better at through practice.

Standing here on this rooftop, with the wind rustling my skirt and the sky floating above us, I was so grateful to Joe for giving me a reason to try.

“It’s like that, is it?” Sue said, taking it all in.

“Yeah,” I said, my eyes still locked on Joe’s. “It’s like that.”

“Guess you guys don’t want to stay and help clean up, then?”

“Not especially,” I said. “No.”

“Fine then,” Sue said. “You’re excused.”

Epilogue

ONE YEAR AFTERthat party, Mr. and Mrs. Kim kicked me out of my hovel. They were making a rooftop garden and needed it for a potting shed.

“You’re kicking me out?” I said.

But Mr. Kim wasn’t having it. “Go marry Helpful. You’re practically married, anyway.”

“Maybe I will,” I said, and then I held up the engagement ring on my finger.

I wasn’t spending much time at my place by then, anyway—now that I’d helped Joe refurnish his apartment.

I mean, that Viking stove of his was a significant draw.

And so, of course, was Joe himself.

Oh, and you heard that right. I’m still calling Oliver “Joe.”

He just looks like a Joe to me.

And we really are getting married.

I admit: the idea of Joe’s wantingto be a family with mehas taken the pressure off Peanut to defy all laws of nature and live for another twenty years.

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