Page 29 of Absolute Certainty
How she wished she could consume fictional content without fixating on every part of it—to love and appreciate things a normal amount.
Shutting her eyes, she slid further down on the sofa, setting her tablet away on the brown oak coffee table beside her. She covered her face with her hands, loathing her mind for its inability to let go of things easily. Wiggling, she tried to make herself more comfortable.
Maybe her period was right around the corner. Or maybe it was the knowledge of how sentimental today was.
Back in May, she and Willa had made an agreement that if Sahar dyed her hair red (which she did), Willa would have to publicly post photos of her and Ethan for his birthday. She was now upstate with Ethan for his birthday, where she hadfinallyupheld her end of the bargain and posted the photos, publicizing their relationship inher ownway. It’d also always been a dream of Willa’s to go inside a treehouse, and before they’d left, Ethanhad told Sahar that he planned to surprise Willa with one in his parents’ backyard.
Perhaps that was it—the further proof that love was real and not something she only ever read about. It was the love her parents had. The love her grandparents knew. It was the relationships her friends were in. It was a man so irrevocably in love with his best friend that he had built a treehouse to make her childhood dreams come true.
And maybe that was why reading Jay’s words was so evocative. Itfeltreal somehow.
But again, why on earth was she crying?
She should text Jay, tell him all her thoughts. He would appreciate that. She was sure of it.No. It’s 2 a.m.—the only thing you should be doing is trying to sleep,her mind bit back.Or, you could go for a late-night treat. There’s no problem sour belts won’t solve.Yes, that was it.
Kicking the covers aside, Sahar bounced off the sofa and strode toward her William Kilburn floral tote from the V&A museum that hung on a dining room chair. Rummaging through it, her fingers swam along her travel makeup bag, sunglasses case, crumpled receipts, and deodorant before she felt the edge of the reusable silicone bag she’d tossed a bunch of sour belts into. She slid a green-apple-flavored one into her mouth. Crisis averted. Sour candy was the cure to all emotional woes. So were everything bagels. Or, coffee ice cream, but there wasn’t any at Ethan’s.
Tulip wobbled in from where she’d been sleeping, jolting Sahar and making her yelp.
Jesus.She’d momentarily forgotten that she wasn’t alone in the flat. The orange cat meowed and circled around Sahar’s ankle. “You want a late-night snack, too, or are your emotions also screwing with you?”
Tulip blinked. Sahar blinked back at her. And then she wobbled away the same way she came in. “Okay, so no late snacks for you, I guess,” Sahar said aloud.
She popped another sour belt into her mouth, deciding she might as well go to the bathroom before trying to sleep.
When lying back down on the sofa, the words came to her again.In my perfect world, you and I would be together.
Over and over and over again.
Fuck.
9
JAY
He could hear running from inside the house as he stepped through the back door and into the laundry room. Then, as he entered his mom’s kitchen, Eloise charged to his side with full force. “Dad! Dad!”
“Hey, kid. Did you have a good day?” He was about to crouch down to hug her, but she hurriedly grabbed his hand and dragged him forward.
“Yeah, we found a new teacher to give me more art lessons. Can I go, Dad? Please?”
“Slow down. What art lessons? Where?”
She pivoted, looking at him like hewas asking the most absurd, unheard-of questions. “Grandma will tell you all about it!”
The screen door was already open, and Eloise pulled him out into his mother’s backyard, where she was hunched over, tending to some newly bloomed, coral hybrid tea roses in her garden. Three barn swallows huddled around the feeder hanging from the branches of their sugar maple tree, as a light breeze served as a welcomed change from the city’s mugginess.
His mother tipped her gaze in their direction. “Hi, honey.”
“Hi, what’s this about a new art class?”
She stood up, dusting her pants. “Do you remember Kathy Sinclair? You went to high school with her son, Mason.”
Jay searched his brain, but neither of the names rang a bell. “Nope.”
“He was a lanky kid, blond hair, very sweet. Kathy was a doll, too. We did some PTA stuff together. They’d moved to D.C. but recently moved back?”
“I don’t remember most people from high school, Mom. What about them?”
