The Museum of Heartbreak - Meg Leder Page 0,71

both, to put on Twin Peaks Season One, to grab Sno-Caps, to let him rest his head on my shoulder, to tell him his parents would be okay.

I texted him again. We need 2 talk.

This time the response was immediate: No.

My hands shaking, I dialed his number again. No answer.

With a cry of frustration I hung up, shoving the phone back in my purse, and walked back to Central Park West.

I watched couples walk together, bundled against the cold, the earliest of small Christmas lights twinkling above them, parents swinging a toddler back and forth, a crowd of smokers on the museum steps, the sound of the gala streaming out every time the door opened.

My feet were anchored to the sidewalk, but my breath started to hitch, faster and faster, snagging on itself, fingers tingling from the cold outside, sweat beading on my insides.

I couldn’t stay here. I didn’t want to see my parents. Eph didn’t want to see me.

My fingers tapped on the phone, shaky and imprecise. I had to keep deleting and rewriting, trying to get it right.

hi grace, u around?

I waited, teeth chattering.

Kieran surprised me w another visit! Out w Miles and O!!!! I think it’s a date! :) Come meet us?

Gravity failed me, no solid ground under my feet. I didn’t want to be around my friends just now, but I knew I didn’t want to be alone.

Ten minutes later I was on a ridiculously crowded C train, some dude’s backpack pushing into my shoulder, a woman leaning against my hand as I held the pole.

I counted the stops until Keats’s and excused my way to the exit, the street not the fresh breath I wanted but instead something petty and wet, the snow turning into sleety rain.

The four blocks to his brownstone felt extra long, and the tip of my nose was ice cold, eyes watering from the wind. I wanted warmth; I wanted assurance; I wanted to not remember how much I’d hurt Eph.

I rang the doorbell and stood under the yellow glow of his porch light.

Nothing.

I rang it again, keeping my finger on the button seconds longer, the shrillness echoing, until I heard feet pounding down steps, saw a shadowy figure pause in the window, heard the chain unlatch, the dead bolt click open.

Keats stood in the doorway. His face was flushed and his hair was a mess, his shirt untucked.

“Penelope?”

Not Scout.

“Can I come in?” I said, hugging myself in the cold.

He glanced behind him up the steps. “You know, now isn’t the best time . . .”

My teeth started chattering again, and I tightened my shoulders against the cold. “Something really bad happened with Eph’s parents, and I don’t want to be alone. . . .”

I felt my eyes starting to tear up, and I stepped forward, but he blocked the door.

“Penelope . . .”

Again, not Scout.

“What’s going on?” I asked, right as a female voice sang from somewhere in the house: “Keatsy, I’m getting lonely . . .”

Behind Keats, at the top of the steps, was none other than the worst person in the world: Cherisse.

She was wearing some silky piece of navy blue lingerie, a strap hanging over her shoulder, her hair tangled around her face, smile drowsy and content, until she saw me.

Both of us froze in place, Cherisse muttering, “Oh shit.”

Even though I should have been surprised, the moment felt inevitable and perfect in a way, everything clicking into place.

Keats grimaced. “I can explain.” He gestured to Cherisse to wait a minute and stepped outside with me, pulling the door closed behind him.

“Damn, it’s cold out here,” he said, smiling weakly.

I imagined my arms breaking off, legs snapping, all of me turning into pieces in front of him.

“See, I’ve known Cherisse forever, and something changed this year, and it’s kind of really fucking intense. I wasn’t sure if it was going anywhere, so I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure . . .”

“Wait a minute. She’s Jena?” I said, realizing I already knew the answer, that as much as I’d hated that Wonder Wheel story, it had come from someplace real.

“What?” He shifted from leg to leg.

Something cracked in me, and I mentally surveyed my limbs, not convinced they were all still attached.

“Why did you invite me to the party if there was already someone else? Why did you even like me?” I hated the way my voice sounded pathetic, all of Audrey’s suspicions coming to fruition.

“What party?”

“Your party, the costume party.”

He looked confused. “I