The Museum of Heartbreak - Meg Leder Page 0,56

I couldn’t leave him there, so I sucked in my breath and walked inside, wrinkling my nose at the smell of cigarette smoke (even though it was nonsmoking) and alcohol (even though it didn’t have a liquor license) and fish sticks (those, at least, were on the menu).

“Miles?” I asked.

He glanced up, his eyes red and face puffy.

“How long have you been here?”

“Since Oscar shamed me so hard I couldn’t stay another second at a place where people knew my name.”

“What are you doing here now?”

He poked at his fries. “Sad eating. Grace won’t answer my calls. But I wouldn’t blame her if she never talked to me again.”

I sat down across from him, thought about putting my bag on the floor, then thought better of it and held it in my lap instead. “Yeah, today was kind of ugly.”

“I’m not usually that mean.” He shook his head, then grimaced. “At least not to people I love. I don’t know what came over me.”

I chewed on my lip, thinking of the ugly Santa that Eph gave me, wondering if I could say what I wanted to say. “I think you really, really wanted Starbucks Guy to work. I think maybe heartbreak made you a little bit mean.”

I looked over, hoping I hadn’t overstepped.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” He looked wistful. “I kept imagining how we’d be the perfect couple—we’re the right height for each other, and I’ve seen him read poetry books on break, which is so cool, and his laugh is perfect and deep, and even his handwriting is great. I give up.” He dropped his head to the table and I worried about what he might pick up from the surface.

“No, no!” I said, pushing his shoulder until he lifted his head and looked at me, thank God. “You can’t give up. He’s totally out there—you’re going to meet your dream guy, and it will all fall into place.”

“I don’t know, Pen. I’m starting to think that Grace might be right. Life’s no fairy tale.”

I fell back against the chair, thinking of the Wonder Wheel and thrift-store kisses and family dinners with Cherisse, then remembered this place could very well have scabies and balanced on the edge of my seat again.

Miles picked up a nearly empty bottle of ketchup and squeezed it so hard it splattered ketchup over the fries and the table, making a sad, sputtering fart noise.

Without thinking, I said, “Exsqueeze me,” and then mentally cursed Eph.

Miles smiled a little, though, so maybe it was worth it. He offered me a fry, and I shook my head.

“Do you hate me too?” he asked.

“Why would I hate you?”

“Because I was being, as Oscar made a point of telling me later, the most unlikeable version of myself.”

“He said that to you?” I asked, secretly impressed with Oscar’s moxie.

Miles nodded.

“Well, maybe it wasn’t your finest moment”—I felt suddenly self-conscious—“but I’m really glad to have you as a friend. Just because someone isn’t at their best doesn’t mean you write them off forever.” As soon the words left my lips, I thought of seeing Audrey the day Keats and I cut, how neither of us knew how to even wave at each other like real people anymore. I thought about last night, how when I heard there was a new David Lynch movie coming out, I picked up the phone to call Eph before I remembered, a sky full of regret, that I still wanted to shove him over.

It was lonely being mad at people.

“Did you really mean that about Kieran, what you said about him being boring?”

Miles sighed heavily.

“No. He’s not who I’d have picked for Grace—like, he’s so quiet all the time, and he’s super into all this weird online gaming stuff. But he makes her really happy. Ugh, I shouldn’t have said that. I was so out of line. She’s just so smug about it sometimes. Like she knows everything there is to know about dating and I’m some sorry person.” He dropped his head in his hands.

“She’s just worried about you,” I started to say, then sucked in my breath, thinking of Audrey. I didn’t want to think about Audrey. “Give Grace a little time to cool off. You guys have a lot of history. That won’t go away. You may need to grovel for the next five years, but she’ll forgive you.”

“You think?”

“I hope.”

“I’m glad you were born, Pen,” Miles said quietly.

“The feeling is mutual,” I said, meaning it. “But I can’t sit here for one