“Because I’m working,” I say as I type another email to be sent out before I go to bed. Normally I wouldn’t be talking with him this late while trying to work, but I need some help staying up. My head feels like it’s full of wet, heavy cotton, and my joints ache from hours of hunching over my laptop.
“Isn’t it, like, one a.m. there?”
“A quarter after, but thankfully I’m home, so I can work in my PJs.” And no bra or shoes. My small dining table is enough space, and I can munch on chips and drink herb tea to my heart’s content.
Bennie harrumphs. “For your real boss or That Bastard?”
“It’s for Lucas.”
“Uh-huh. The Bastard.”
I sigh, but don’t say anything. If my best friend wants to vent about the way Lucas and my relationship fell apart, I’m not going to get in the way. Nothing can stop him when he’s on the warpath anyway, and my brain can barely focus on writing the emails and following the conversation. I don’t have the energy for more. Less than five hours of sleep per night for over a week is hell.
“Why don’t you tell your manager you’re overworked? You’ve been up until at least one ever since The Bastard started bossing you around.”
“There is no way I’m telling Robbie.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because it’s payback from Lucas. He wants to see me fail because he thinks I set him up in Charlottesville. And I’m not giving him the satisfaction.”
“My God, how stupid is he? Does he not understand you were doing it to show him it was hopeless between the two of you?”
I purse my lips for a moment. “Well…I’m sure his pride was hurt.”
A loud snort. “Oh, his pride. Like he hasn’t stomped on yours over and over again. You should tell that fucker you can’t slave away to please him because you have a date. With a super-normal, super-nice guy named Jon.”
I suppress a second sigh. I told Bennie about Jon, and now my best friend’s decided I should marry him. I think Jon’s pretty great, too, but my feelings are on the platonic side. I just don’t think about him the way I should if I’m going to try for something more than friendship. But that’s not what Bennie wants to hear, and I’m too tired to argue. So instead, I say, “It’s only for a few weeks. Then I’ll be back to my normal schedule with Robbie. At least the work I’m doing is meaningful. I wish you could see the medical center, Bennie. It’s awesome, really modern and nice. Nobody’s turned away—it’s strictly to provide for people in need.”
If we’d had a hospital like that when we were growing up, our lives might’ve turned out differently. Bennie’s alcoholic dad could’ve gotten help for his addiction…and counseling for anger management. My mom could’ve gotten help to deal with her despair…and maybe she wouldn’t have ended up turning to alcohol and drugs to avoid facing the fact that she’d lived a life of lies.
“I’m proud of you for making a difference,” Bennie says. “It’s exactly the kind of work I imagined you doing after you finished teaching English in Japan.”
“Yeah, me too.”
My phone pings next to my laptop, and I check the screen. It’s a Google alert.
Beauty and the Beast. Budding Romance?
I bite back a pained gasp. I should get used to headlines like this, but I can’t. Every new link is like a fresh slice through my heart.
The latest article is about sightings of Lucas and Faye, who are now apparently dating in earnest. The photos include them dining at a fancy restaurant I don’t recognize and taking an afternoon walk in a park, their hands linked. Lucas is gorgeous as usual, with his dark air and tailored clothes, and Faye… She looks like his perfect match, beautiful and elegant and absolutely nothing like me. I’ll never be that cool and sophisticated, no matter what kind of clothes I put on.
Suddenly I feel inferior and small, like that time when Elle and her mother confronted Mom and me after Dad died. I can’t breathe through the hard knot in my chest. I press a hand against the spot and rub, hoping I can massage away the lump.
Bennie can sense something is wrong. “Ava, are you still cyberstalking that woman?”
I put the phone back on the table, facedown. “No.”
“Come on. I heard the ping, and you went quiet there…”
“It’s not stalking,” I say, my voice hoarse. “It’s Google.”
“You have to stop. Let it go.”
“I know, but…” I sigh. “Every time I try to hit the unsubscribe link, I can’t.”
“Tell me you’re hoping for a report of them falling into a ditch and breaking all four legs, and that’s why you keep it.”