Kiss Her Once for Me (96)

I wanted someone who would see the whole mess of me—all the feelings and the perfectionism and the desire for control and the shape of my heart and the ache of my dreams, the wild, imperfect hunger of me, and the fear that keeps me from ever feeling full—and wouldn’t get freaked out or turned off. Someone who would kiss me anyway.

So yes. It was a romantic delusion. But beneath the desire to be cherished was the ever-present thrum of my desire to be chosen. I wanted someone who would pick me to be their family. I believed that somewhere out there was the person who would want to spend every holiday with me. The person who would pick me as their partner for every duet, the person who would always care about what I had to say, who would get me off the couch and into the world. The person patient enough to build trust and connection with me first; the person who would notice when I’m hurting and still never calculate the cost of loving me. Despite all my cynicism, I had to believe that person existed.

And last Christmas I thought snow magic had delivered her to me. And when I saw Claire standing there in front of the Airstream, I took it as proof that my belief was childish and na?ve. My own parents hadn’t loved me enough to stick around. Why did I think someone else ever would?

“Are you sure I can’t just blame my parents for making me believe I’m unlovable?”

“That’s the opposite of what I’m saying,” Mere deadpans. “You have people in your life who already love you. People who spent a thousand dollars on a plane ticket on Christmas Eve, by the way,” she snaps. Because Meredith—Meredith loves me enough to stick around, even when I completely fuck everything up.

“It’s not failure to let people see your imperfections,” Meredith says. “It’s vulnerability.”

I snort again. “Gross.”

Meredith erupts with laughter. It’s a glorious, barking laugh, like the sound of a French bulldog struggling to breathe, and it makes me start laughing, too, even though everything is complete and utter shit. I lost Jack, and I lost the money, and all I have now is this terrible apartment.

Actually, I’ll be evicted from this apartment in a week.

“Ellie.” Mere reaches over and touches my cheek. “You have to stop letting your fear of failure keep you from letting people in.”

“That’s not what—”

I’m set to argue with her, to tell her it’s not my fear of failure that caused me to lose Jack twice. Except…

Except maybe it was. Jack said I didn’t tell her the truth about the money because I was convinced we were going to fail, and maybe she was right. Exactly one year ago, I fled Jack’s Airstream before she had the chance to explain Claire to me.

But I didn’t need an explanation. Claire confirmed what I’d already suspected: that Jack and I were never meant to last. I convinced myself we could never have anything more than one perfect day together because I was terrified of what might happen between us when things stopped being perfect. I couldn’t imagine a world where Jack might choose me after the snow melted.

Claire showed up, and she gave me a reason to leave before Jack could leave me. And my supervisor fired me from Laika after I already felt like a failure. And I didn’t tell Jack the truth about the money because I assumed the Butch Oven would fail before it even opened. I didn’t tell her the truth about the engagement because I assumed we would fail. Like a fucking self-fulfilling prophecy.

“I’ve been so fucking afraid,” I say out loud.

“Yes,” Meredith says with the curt nod of her head. She’s crushing my ribs a bit, but it helps me feel like the world isn’t completely falling apart.

“I let fear rule my entire life.” I take a deep breath and try to hold it in my lungs, try to press it into the aching hole inside of me. The hole that can’t be filled by another person; it can only be filled by me. “I don’t want to let fear control me anymore.”

“Good takeaway.”

I shove Meredith. I think about Jack yelling at me in the snow. I think about Jack in the Airstream, refusing to let go of my waist. “But I—I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know how to move forward.”

Meredith peers down at me. “You could start by showering.”





Chapter Twenty-Nine


Monday, December 26, 2022

“Here’s a bedroom for eight hundred a month plus utilities off something called Killingsworth, but it says water signs are not welcome to apply.” Meredith squints at the Craigslist ad on her laptop screen, then promptly chucks it onto the futon between us in outrage. “That is an unethical rental practice, and these harmony-seeking assholes are lucky I’m not feeling particularly litigious at the moment.”

“Mere,” I say, staring at the yellow legal pad where she’s created a very short list of suitable housing situations. It’s a list of two places. Two. “I need to ask Greg to take me back at Roastlandia.”

“You do not, and you will not, and we’re not having this argument again.”

I flick my hand toward the laptop screen. “Even if they would rent to a Pisces, I can’t afford eight hundred a month plus utilities. I can’t afford dinner. Let’s face it: without Andrew’s money, I need to get a job, and going back to Roastlandia is easiest.”

Meredith shakes her head so viciously that the pencil flies out of her bun and red curls spill everywhere. “We are trying to move forward. Roastlandia is one giant step backward.”