Page 100 of Never Your Valentine

“How could you forget the students? They’re everywhere.”

I pick up my stylus and draw some lines that look like waves. I miss Lake Michigan. I miss how the whole town faced it, and everyone wanted to be near it. The snap of it in the winter. The fog drifting off it now that it’s spring.

“I never ran out of ideas there,” I say.

“There?”

“Echo Creek.”

She studies me for a second too long. “Ah.”

“It’s not an ah.”

“It’s a very loud ah. You miss it. You miss him.”

“We’re not doing this right now.” I get up and stomp through the house. It’s a small house, so it doesn’t take long.

Kat’s right on my heels. “We’re doing this. I had a cancellation at ten so I’ve got all morning.”

We end up in the living room, where I sit on the edge of the couch, ready to bolt. Kat sits in a wing chair across from me. She tucks her feet under her as if she’s settling in for a long story.

I sigh in Kat’s direction. “He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t say the words.”

She nods. “But…”

I stare at the wall. “He did everything else.”

Kat doesn’t jump in for once. That’s what keeps me talking. “He showed up,” I say. “Constantly. For stupid stuff. Real stuff too. He packed orders when I was behind. Moved furniture. Shoveled our parking lot. Made up funny lines for my cards that were so ridiculous I…”

“You what?”

“Was forced to make better ones, I guess? I don’t know why it was his business to—I mean—why did he even care?”

“Because he believed in you?”

I stare down at my hands. “He says he doesn’t feel love.”

“Sure.”

I frown. “That’s all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. Tell me he’s emotionally stunted. Tell me I deserve someone who can give me what I need.”

Kat considers that. “Do you think you don’t deserve him?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“I didn’t ask what you said.” Kat levers herself off the chair and pads back to the kitchen in sock feet. She returns with both our coffee cups and hands me mine. She settles back into her chair.

I rotate the cup in my hands, then set it on the side table. “I kept waiting for it to look different. Being with him, I mean.”

“What did it look like?”

The question sits on my chest like a heavy weight and I sink into the couch, my hands dangling between my knees. It looked like laughter, and fond teasing, and late-night conversations. It looked like euchre games, and a surprise burrito, and way too much noise. It looked like wearing extra layers to go out, and stripping naked to stay in. It looked like a neighbor I could always count on.

My throat squeezes down and I have to close my eyes when I think of what else I had. Because it’s not just Grant. I also had candy-colored storefronts and a lake as big as the sea. Where a dogsled pulled through town, and the best cupcakes in the world were in the bakery case, and the forest was five minutes away. Where people I barely knew helped me dig out my car. Where three old men remembered everyone’s history and three young women befriended me from day one.