Page 63 of Seven Percent of Ro Devereux
“The whole thing,” I tell Maren. “Forever.”
She puffs up her cheeks and lets out a slow, controlled breath. “Damn, okay. How are you feeling?”
“Uh,” I say, managing another laugh. “Like shit.”
She reaches for my hand on the comforter, squeezing it. “I’m sorry, Ro.” Our eyes meet, and I have to look away so I don’t start crying again. “This is all kinds of fucked up.”
I just nod, and she tugs my arm to get me to stand. “Here,” she says. “These might cheer you up.”
The wordcheerfeels pretty much restricted from my vocabularyat this point, but I follow her over to her desk anyway. She puts down her mug and flips open an oversized manila folder. Inside is a thick stack of glossy photo prints. They’re black and white, grainy, a little off-center like she developed them in a hurry.
“Look at these,” she says. She spreads them in a fan across the desk, and I lean closer to get a better look. Every single one, I realize, is Miller and me. A close-up of the V between our wrists as we hold hands in the school hallway, Miller’s thumb curved over the knuckle of my pointer finger. Miller watching me over the roof of his car as I talk to someone, out of frame, in the parking lot. Even one in the break room at XLR8, the backs of our heads next to each other on the couch with Felix framed right between us, rolling his eyes. Seeing him makes something seize up in my chest: he knew about all this, and he didn’t tell us.
“Oh. This one’s my favorite.” Maren drops another photo on top of the others, and I pick it up to bring it to my face.
I’m standing on the docks outside the Snowberry Room in Vera’s dress, framed in string lights and snow. I can just see the edge of Felix’s suit at the corner of the shot, his arms poised in the air to take a photo. I’m talking to him, the whole set of my face exactly as annoyed as I felt that night. Seeing myself, trapped there in time, I remember it exactly: the needling pain of knowing Miller didn’t want to be there with me the way that I was realizing I wanted to be there with him. How infuriated I was by it. How angry I was with myself.
But there’s Miller, right next to me in his tuxedo, impossibly handsome. His dark features are even sharper in black-and-white.And as I’m complaining at Felix, he’s looking down at me. Watching me like I’m the only thing worth looking at on the whole entire lakefront.
“He loves you so much,” Maren says. I look up at her, and she smiles in a sad way. “He’s a good liar, but I knew it. We’re here for you, okay? We’re going to figure this out.”
I step forward and hug her, careful not to crush the picture. I don’t know if I believe her, but I want to. “Thank you,” I whisper.
She squeezes me, then lets go. “What can I do to help?”
I put the picture down on her desk, my eyes lingering on Miller before I finally turn back to her. “Can you lend me some clothes?”
Maren grins. “Always. What do you want?”
I let out a puff of air. “What would you wear to your own funeral?”
I call Dad when Miller and I are already on the highway. Maren has me in my own dark jeans and her black leather jacket—one that she claimsputs the “fun” in “funeral.”Under his coat Miller’s wearing the same T-shirt he wore that very first day, when we sat across from each other in the boardroom at XLR8 and he signed on to do all this with me. I’m exhausted, and I’m terrified, and I’m so sorry. I drive the wagon, and Miller twists in the passenger seat so he can hold my hand with his right one the whole way downtown.
When I get through to him at Beans, Dad practically shouts my name.
“Jeez Louise,” he says, “I thought you were dead. When’s the last time you slept until one o’clock? Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” I tell him. “I’m sorry for worrying you. I’m going to XLR8 now and I’m going to try to put an end to all of it. Shut down the app.”
There’s silence on the other end of the line, just clinking dishes and the hiss of the espresso machine in the background. Then, “You are?”
“Yeah. It’s the right thing to do.”
“Are you sure?” Dad says. He could say,I told you so.He could tell me he knew we’d wind up here. But he doesn’t. “Do you want me to come down there?”
I clear my throat. “I’m sure. And it’s okay. I just need to rip off the Band-Aid, you know? Get it done.”
“Okay, Ro,” he says gently. “Get it done.”
I walk into the building with every intention of doing just that. I take a deep breath; I press the elevator’s 11 button; I ride all the way up with Miller in resolute, determined silence.
And then Mia leads us wordlessly to the conference room. The same one where everything’s happened: meeting Evelyn for the first time, bringing Miller on board, going through love training with Felix.
But this time, a woman sits at the center of the table. She’s dyed her hair auburn, tied it up in a neat bun. She’s older, unfamiliar lines around her eyes. There’s a new sharpness to her jaw.
But still, I’d know her anywhere. My mother.
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