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I have a cleaned-out cathartic feeling in my chest. I wipe my eyes. “Is that why you’re such a good listener?”
“Am I?” He’s similarly flustered. “I didn’t think I was.”
“You are the best listener I’ve ever known.” I drag my fingertips through another section of his hair, admiring the glassy shine my shampoo has bestowed. “I’ve thought sometimes I should see someone about my mental health. What do you see a therapist for?”
“How to cope with having hair this good.” He gets to his feet and helps me up. “Reset the alarm. I’ll lock the door.” We do that, and it’s only when we’re walking up the hill that I realize that we’re holding hands, and he completely sidestepped my serious question with a silly reply.
“Can we talk about what you go to a therapist for?”
Teddy sidesteps a tortoise this time. “I want you to know that I’ll always take your side. Even when I’m in Fairchild, you just call me, okay?” He’s making his voice cheerful and it’s making me feel worse. He’s just taken me apart completely and learned the worst moment of my life. And he won’t give me anything back. But I can’t make him.
“I wish you trusted me like I trust you.”
“I’m not a guy you should trust. I thought Brianna just explained that.”
I trail him into our courtyard. In the dark, the Dream Girl sits, where he’s taken her apart, too. “Could I go for a ride on her before you leave? How are you taking two bikes with you, anyway?”
“I’ll definitely take you for a ride. I promise.” He uses my keys and unlocks my door, puts me on the couch, and switches on lamps. Now he’s in the kitchen like it’s his, taking my favorite mug out of the cabinet. “Hmm. Sleepy Time Tea or hot chocolate?” He looks over at me. “What are you waiting for? It’s time for Heaven Sent.”
As he adjusts the crooked pillow behind my back, then hands me a steaming mug, I think that this is surely what it must feel like to be adored.
“I’m sorry I stole your shampoo,” he says as he presses play on the episode. “I don’t suppose I could have a spare key? I really want to have a bath in your tub with all the candles lit. It’s something I want to do before I go.”
After all I’ve shared tonight, this request seems like a tiny thing. “Sure thing.”
Chapter Nineteen
All we need is a stunning photo and we’re ready to go live on your dating profile,” Melanie tells me. “Here, put this on. And this, this, this.” She tosses random cosmetics at my head from across the office. “This, this, this.”
I lower my arms when it’s safe. “You’re forgetting. We don’t do this in work hours.” I get up from my chair to collect the makeup, but I’m so stiff I have to stay bent over. “Oh, my back.” My computer glasses swing on their chain and whack me in the face.
“You old granny,” Mel says with affection. “If you’re not careful I’ll load a pic of your bum, bent over just like that. You’d get plenty of messages from weirdos.”
“I will kill”—I get down to ground level and pick up a lipstick—“you”—a blush—“Melanie Sasaki.” Highlighter. Eyelash curler. She even threw a makeup brush. I straighten up with difficulty. “I swear, I feel it in my joints when a storm is coming through.”
“You are aging rapidly by the day. By week six I’ll be dyeing your white hair back to brown. I’ve got to get you out of here before I go.” She takes a long swig of the massive bottle of pale green juice on her desk. I already know from her earlier swigs that it tastes like celery had diarrhea. It’s Wednesday and day three of Mel’s cleanse. I’m desperate for her resolve to break. But even as she complains and overshares, I’ve been laughing.
I once thought I wouldn’t last in the same room with her until lunchtime without screaming, but now time’s passing too quickly. “Your end date is a month away now. So soon.”
“The temp agency is already sending me through new roles to look at. They think I’ll say yes to anything. I usually do, but I’m tired. I hope we think of my dream job before then.”
I ask the following, even though I know what the answer will be. “Would you consider working for the Parlonis?”
She gives me a Look. “Wow, you really despise me, huh. Do you know what they made Teddy do yesterday at lunchtime? They got McDonald’s and he had to plate it up like a five-star restaurant.” She searches in her phone.
“Look at this nonsense.”
He’s cut the Big Macs into tiny wedges. They’re laid down sideways beside a Jenga-style stack of fries, a nugget, and an artistic squiggle of Sweet and Sour Sauce. I can’t exactly tell Mel that I have already seen this photo, while Teddy was lying on my couch with his head on a cushion. A cushion that was on my lap.
Since my false-alarm meltdown last Friday, Teddy has stopped trying to keep himself out of my cottage. There’s been no threshold-lingering; instead, he’s been soaking up my hospitality and I mean that literally. He’s been soaking in my bathtub, singing “Wonderwall” through the unlocked door. Melanie would have a nosebleed if she knew. I really don’t know how it’s happened, so I wouldn’t be able to explain it.
He hasn’t made me feel like shit for my meltdown, and he’s come with me on each nightly security round. He washes the dishes and he knows every single subplot and backstory of Heaven Sent. It feels like Teddy’s been sent to me. I know that thinking like that won’t help.
I steer us back to work.
“As one of your last projects, I was hoping for your help planning the Christmas party. I was thinking of doing a vintage prom theme this year. Imagine all the ladies in pretty dresses.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Melanie enthuses. “Parties are kind of my thing. I love organizing. I love inviting people, I love seeing them have a good time. I live for that.” Out comes her notebook and she begins scribbling. “Food. Decorations. Playlist. Invites. Food. What I’m going to wear. Oh my God, I can do my hair in a beehive. Eyeliner. Food.”
