“My god, I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Anyway, my parents were pretty prominent people, and so afterward, people kept calling, dropping by my house and my office unannounced to check on me, sending me things, and I just couldn’t take it anymore. The reminders. The pity. So I took a leave of absence from work. And then one day I wandered in here to get away from it all. And then I kept coming. I didn’t really think about it, but I guess it was a good distraction. It was easier than being out there, anyway.” He waves his hand toward the door. “Guess that sounds a little crazy.”
“No,” I say. “It doesn’t. Not to me.”
He looks up, surprised. “Really?”
“Yeah,” I say.
He nods. “Cool.” He turns back to his computer, and I turn back to my desk, tears in my eyes for the second time that day.
OVER THE NEXT few weeks, Madison is even more relentless in her calls, texts, and random unannounced visits at the library and my house. I try to ignore her, but she’s pretty much impossible. Finally, one day she’s waiting on my front porch when I get home. I park my bike behind the fence and walk up to the front steps, stopping at the bottom.
“Please just go away,” I say, pulling my keys out of my bag.
“Not until you hear me out.”
I cross my arms and look at her.
She takes a deep breath. “When I first saw you at the gas station a few months ago, I was shocked. It brought back so many memories—so many feelings that I tried to forget over the years—especially guilt about that god-awful, stupid bet and what it did to you.
“And then, when you said you needed a job, yes, I wanted to help, I wanted to do anything I could for you, to make up for what I had done. And god, when I found out about your condition and how you’d been spending your life—that Donovan had been telling the truth—I felt even worse. So yeah, maybe it was a little pity project, or whatever you want to call it, just to selfishly lessen my remorse.”
At this, I roll my eyes and scoff. She holds up her hand. “I admit that,” she says. “But, Jube, the more I got to know you, the more I liked you. And then, I was so excited just to have a friend in my life. You have no idea how hard it’s been since Donovan and I split up. They say when things like that happen, you find out who your real friends are, and it’s true. Turns out, most people in my life were just there because they thought Donovan and I were some golden couple, or because he was some bigwig at the bank, and when we got divorced I was so alone. And then, there you were. And you needed me. But it turns out, I needed you, too. More than you know.”
I stare at her, taking this in. And I realize I always just assumed Madison had a million friends, like she did in high school. It never occurred to me she could ever be just as lonely as I was. As I am.
I bite my lip, wanting to stay angry—knowing I should be angry—but when she looks at me, I know I’ll forgive her. That I already have. Besides, Mr. Walcott always said beggars can’t be choosers, and really, she’s the only friend I’ve got left.
“Jesus, Madison,” I say, dropping my arms. “Can you get off my porch?”
She looks at me with sadness. “Yeah,” she says, her shoulders sagging. She starts down the steps.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” I say. “I need you to move so I can unlock the door and let you in.”
“Really?” she asks, her head popping up.
“Yes,” I say. “Really.”
“Oh my gosh! I wish I could hug you.”
“Let’s not get carried away,” I say. “We just made up. And since I’m your only friend, you probably shouldn’t chance putting me in the hospital.”
Later, when we’re settled on the couch catching up over cups of coffee, Rufus lying contentedly at my feet, I fill her in on Eric. “Oh, Jube,” she says. “That sucks.”
And I sadly laugh at how succinctly that sums it up. Then I ask her the question that I’ve been mulling over ever since Eric left my house.
“Do you sometimes wish you had never met Donovan?”
She looks at me, thinking. “Sometimes, yeah,” she says. She takes a sip from her mug. Swallows. “And then I look at Sammy and Hannah and Molly and that’s when meeting Donovan becomes the best thing that ever happened to me.”
I nod. “But what if you didn’t have kids? What if you and Donovan had gotten married and then he cheated and you had nothing to show for it?”
“What are you asking? If love is worth the risk?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.” And then: “Yeah, I guess that is what I’m asking.”
She lets out a long breath, chuckling a little on the exhale. “Listen, love can be a real shit-show,” she says. “Especially my love life. Had I known that Donovan and I were going to end up the way we did, would I have still gone through with it? I don’t know. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? We never know. Loving people, trusting people. It’s always a risk. And there’s ever only one way to find out if it’s worth it.”
I sit back, taking this in. And then out of nowhere, I think of Michael. And what he said in the library—how life is easier when you hole yourself up away from the world, away from the pain. How I did that for nine years. And then when I finally came out of hiding, I met Eric. And even though it hurt—even though it still hurts, every second of every day—would I really rather have never met him? In those nine years alone, I never experienced even an ounce of the pure joy, the exhilaration I felt in those few moments with Eric.
And I wonder, if I hole myself back up, protect myself from the world and the people in it—what other moments will I be missing?
And that’s when I know that Madison’s right. You have to take risks.
ON SUNDAY, I wake up, let Rufus out, and eat a poached egg on toast, cut into tiny bite-size pieces—though my agoraphobia seems better, I still have a profound fear of choking to death. Then I go stand at the door to my mother’s room. I stare at it, as if taking mental pictures of the scalloped bedspread, the knockoff perfume jars on the dresser, the full jewelry boxes—and then I begin.