some big speech about the depth of his feelings for me and I’ll fall for it.
But the rest of me knows that this doesn’t mean anything. Soon he’ll head off to New York or LA or wherever he’s going and he’ll be surrounded by people who have personal trainers and professional hair and makeup teams and he’ll forget all about the sad, lonely girl in Ohio whose hopes he trampled all over.
I know what believing in love did to my mom. It left her heartbroken, right before she died. And frankly, I wasted too much of my life watching a bunch of ridiculous movies that gave me some pretty unrealistic ideas about life to let myself end up like her.
There’s a tiny pang, a sharp inkling that I might be doing the wrong thing by ignoring Drew’s text, but no. I don’t want to deal with this. Now that the curtain is pulled back, now that I’m no longer wearing my heart-shaped, rose-colored glasses, I can’t believe in this anymore. I can’t believe that love or like or whatever this is will be enough.
And who knows? With my luck, Drew doesn’t even want to apologize or make out or ride off together into the metaphorical sunset. Maybe he wants some closure, to tell me in person that it’s never gonna happen. And that is, perhaps literally, the exact last thing I need right now.
I let out a loud, frustrated groan, and Chloe rolls over. Without opening her eyes, she croaks, “You tell Dolly Parton I’m not making her any donuts.”
It’s been a while since Chloe and I had a sleepover, so I’d forgotten about her habit of a) sleep talking and b) having vivid, nonsensical dreams.
I stand up and pull a blanket over Chloe. “I’ll tell Dolly to leave you alone.”
I switch off the lamp and head upstairs, thinking, just for a moment, about how I did almost this exact same thing with Drew last night.
But that was before I knew what love really did to people.
Chapter Twenty-three
When I wake up, the air smells like cinnamon and nutmeg, butter and bacon. Even from my bedroom, I can hear pans clank and the telltale gurgle of the coffeepot. A glance at the clock shows that it’s already 4 P.M.; apparently, I was exhausted from staying up half the night, or my brain was trying to avoid thinking about the shitshow of my life.
In the kitchen, I put my arms around Chloe. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”
She pretends to think. “Not frequently enough, actually. Anyway, I know that basically the entire day is gone, but I made you breakfast for dinner because I think you need it.”
“Wait a second.” I step back and look at her. “Aren’t you supposed to be working all day?”
She flips a pancake. “I called off. Tobin was happy to fill in for me, and Nick understood. I said it was a family emergency.”
“He probably thought something was wrong with your dad!”
She waves me off, unconcerned. “He knows you’re family, too.”
Maybe this is what my movie should be about, I think as I lean against the counter and Chloe hands me coffee in Uncle Don’s favorite TALK WOOKIEE TO ME mug. Maybe it should be about the power of female friendship, not an unbelievable love story. Because this I can count on; at least I know Chloe isn’t going anywhere.
“Oh, PS, your phone kept buzzing, and I crawled around on my hands and knees looking for it and finally found it under the TV cabinet.” She hands it to me with eyebrows raised.
I grab it, a little too quickly, and scroll through my texts. They’re all from the library, reminding me of the books that are due this week.
“Expecting something?”
“Nope.” I slide the phone into my pocket. “Certainly not.”
“Convincing. So,” she says, her eyes on the pancakes, “how are you feeling?”
I take another sip of coffee. “Like I’ve had way too much wine two nights in a row and I’m not twenty-one anymore.”
“No.” She looks up. “I mean, about . . . Drew. And the whole thing with your mom.”
I shrug. “It is what it is.”
She drops the spatula. “Whoa. You must really be feeling bad, because the writer I know would never use a terrible cliché like that.”
I sigh. “Give me a break.”
“No, I’m serious. What does that even mean? It is what it is? Like, of course it is what it is! No shit!”