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JENN
After another weekof missing Austin so much it hurts, sending out fifty-eight job applications, and finishing every half-done knitting project in my basket, I open the door to Milo and Millie, faces as solemn as the American Gothic painting—only with a baby monitor instead of a pitchfork.
“This is an intervention,” Millie says.
“Why? I’m fine!” I gesture proudly around at my apartment, so spic-and-span that it practically twinkles. There’s no blanket nest, no Cheeto dust on the couch, and no half-empty wine bottles. “See? Spotless. I’m not even day-drinking!”
“Oh, I know,” she says, barging past me. “I’d prefer it if you were.”
Milo gives me a severe look on the way in. “We’ve been doing wellness checks, listening outside the door. The Beach Boys are a cry for help.”
“They’re on my cleaning playlist,” I say, defensive.
“Fine, but after a breakup?” Milo asks, one eyebrow raised. “Where’s the Taylor Swift? The Joni Mitchell. Hmm?”
“And I can smell the bleach from halfway down the hall,” Millie adds, accusingly. “Actual Mr. Clean doesn’t have an apartment this clean.”
“I’m channeling my feelings into productivity,” I protest. “I’m coping. Upbeat music, deep cleaning. You should see my closet.”
“What happened to the self-pity cake?” Millie asks.
I consider this, glancing to the kitchen. “I could definitely do a baking project. I’ve always wanted to try making a Swiss meringue buttercream, and—”
“No. No more projects,” Millie says, waving her hands. “You need to feel this, babe. Not push it away with frantic activity.”
I feel an ache.
“If I stop…” I say, pausing to will the tears back into my eyes. “If I even slow down, I’ll have to feel the heartbreak, and it will crush me like that wave in2012. Which is an underrated John Cusack movie, FYI.”
“Okay,” Milo says, trying to keep up. “So, this flurry of projects is… The big ark lifeboats that everyone climbs onto in the end of the movie to distract from the impending end of humanity?”
My lower lip quivers a little, but I hold firm. “Yes. It won’t hold me up forever—I know. But for right now? It’s all I’ve got.”
Millie sighs and gives me a supportive hug.
“I know this is probably an obvious question,” Milo says, “But have you tried talking? Or has he?”
I nod. “I’ve left a bunch of messages. But he didn’t even call me back when… When I emailed my resignation from Vital.”
“You quit?” Millie screeches.
“Well, yeah.” I stare down at my lap, the tears threatening again. “On top of everything, it’s so unfair to put Austin the position of firing me. He has every right to, though. I lied about my professional qualifications. I need to be honest about that now, even if I… wasn’t.”
“And he didn’t reach out?” Milo shakes his head, looking sad for me. “Not even a polite email?”
“He’s iced me out.” I pick up a rag from the coffee table and wipe the corner off again. “And the thing is? I understand. If our roles were reversed, and I found out… I don’t know… That he’d never played baseball in his life, I would probably have doubts too!”
“Because you’re such a sports fan?” Milo asks dubiously.
“Because he’d lied and he wasn’t the person I thought he was.” I reply. “But understanding doesn’t make it hurt any less. This was it, guys,” I whisper, tears welling again.
“It?” Milo asked, confused.
“The one,” Millie explains to him.
I nod, feeling that wretched ache in my whole body. “Every time I’ve ended a relationship because I believed there was more? It was because I was holding out hope that I could find something like this. A man like him.” I let out a hollow laugh, realizing the irony. “And this proves I was right all along not to settle—hewasout there. But I screwed it up.”
“Shit,” Milo offers.
