Page 66 of Can We Skip to the Good Part?
“Better to have loved and lost?”
Max sighed. “I don’t know that I subscribe to that theory, given what I’m feeling right now.” She eyed the bag. “Maybe I should hit more things.”
“Only if I can watch.” Amanda held up her hands. “Kidding. Your attention is spoken for, and I respect you for it. I’m also here if you want to talk it out some more. You have my number.”
Max turned. “You really think less is more?”
“Right now, I do.”
She exhaled, swallowing the pill. “I hear you.”
When she got home an hour later, she allowed herself to check her phone, something she’d forbidden herself from doing every five minutes. Nothing from Ella. Max set the phone on the counter and stared at it like she could will a message into existence.
She braced her hands against the cool surface, exhaling slowly. The house felt too quiet, her thoughts too loud. She grabbed a glass of water and took a long sip, then clapped her hands a couple of times, as if physically resetting the vibes in the room might help.
One day at a time.
One hour at a time, if that’s what it took.
She pushed off the counter and headed for the shower, letting the night wash over her.
The Weepers were meetingthat night, and Ella wouldn’t be there. That was hard, but necessary, at least for now. She and Max had exchanged messages only twice since the porch debacle. In the first, Max had asked if she was okay and if there was anything she could do. In the second, she said she’d hoped to see Ella at book club and inquired if she’d be there. Ella had answered both texts as politely as possible, but gave very little of herself, which Max had picked up on.
As the days passed, she began to truly feel the loss of Max in her life. “It was the right thing to do,” she said quietly to herself as she made a quick sandwich between work sessions.
Even if she missed the way Max’s laughter could pull her out of the heaviest moods. Even if she missed the warmth of her hand resting casually on Ella’s knee, like she belonged there. Even if she missed the late-night conversations that stretched until dawn, where Max saw through all of her walls and made her feel understood in a way no one else ever had.
Even if she missedher.
“I lost my job,” Rachel said, dropping her Prada bag on the kitchen counter with a decided thump.
“What?” The two of them hadn’t done a lot of talking in the last few days. They exchanged pleasantries, but kept their interactions at surface level for Rachel’s comfort. But this was different. This was life stuff that demanded an immediate pause to the new dynamic.
Her face was blank. “My director of sales is bringing in her niece, who is moving here after graduating from design school in Paris. I’m not making this up.”
“This is exactly the kind of romance novel victim status I thought we’d sidestepped.”
“What?” Rachel turned to her, brows down. She looked exhausted, as if she’d spent the week wrestling ghosts no one else could see. “I don’t know what that means.”
“Nor should you.” Ella leaned back against the counter. “What do you need?”
“Um, maybe those hoopty things you like.” She looked around the kitchen, as if unsure where the box might be. Her voice had taken on a childlike quality, which made sense. “In a big bowl.”
Ella whirled into action. “Excellent choice. I’m on it.”
“Can I maybe have some sugar on top?”
“Goes without saying. I’m not a heathen.” She ushered Rachel out of the kitchen. “Tell you what. I’ll make the snack. You go get comfy pants on. The bigger, the better.”
“You think?”
Ella turned back and met her eyes. “I know.”
“Okay, yeah, this probably warrants the big, soft pants. It’s like my brain’s not even working.”
“It doesn’t have to, okay?”
Rachel paused on the way to her room and met Ella’s gaze. Her features softened. Whatever issues they had between them, Ella was still a familiar face, which Rachel likely needed right now. “You’ve had a rough go of it and just need a soft place to fall. Let’s just give you that. You can hate me again, after. I promise.”
