Page 72 of It's a Love Story

My finger hesitates for a second before I hit send and turn off my phone.

I drive to Venice Beach and order a plate of potato skins that I don’t eat. I try to reconcile the passage of so little time. It was eight days ago that I sat here with Dan and agreed with him about the quiet things being the things that move us. It was five days ago that he put his hand on my mouth for the first time. I will not deny the thing thatTrue Storyhelped me know: permanent, beautiful love is alive and well in the world. But it is not for me. I was better off before I felt it. A week later, I’m right where I started, still in danger of losing my job but also freshly heartbroken.

I start to drive home and am relieved when I remember that it’s Sunday and Clem will be at Grifters until eleven tonight. The last time we talked, I was telling her about love sex. I need to catch her up on my recent cycle of humiliation and rage, and I just don’t have the energy for it tonight. The best thing about Clem is also the worst thing: she knows all my truths. And I think she believed in this thing with Dan too.

I see her car on the street before I notice her on the porch swing. I slow my steps because I know there’s no hiding from Clem. The ocean of sadness in me is rising, and if I let it out, it could drown us both. But when she stands and opens her arms to me, I fall into them. The part of me that’s tired of being angry and tired of lying needs Clem more than anything.

“Why aren’t you at work?” I ask.

“I called in sick. I had a bad feeling when you ignored my text.”

“I don’t deserve you,” I say into Clem’s shoulder. Clem, who’s not leaving. Clem, who’s happy to laugh and cry whenever I need her to. I sat with Clem while she mourned her marriage. I brought her tacos and cranberry seltzer, an odd but frequent request. But that felt like a wound worth tending to; this feels pathetic. It was only a week.

“Bad?” she asks.

“Yes.” I hug her again and start to cry. I am tired from so many things.

“Maybe we should sit out here for a bit? I’ll get you something to eat.”

She goes into the kitchen. I sit under the bougainvillea and listen to the cars drive by. There’s a bit of sunlight hitting the street, and I watch the stripe of it roll over cars as they pass. I close my eyes and imagine the sound of the cars is just the confusion rolling around in my head.

Clem comes out, sits next to me, and hands me a hot mug of soup.

“Soup?” I ask. It’s August, not exactly soup weather.

“I don’t know, I just thought I should bring you something, and spaghetti seemed cumbersome. Take a sip, it’s tomato.”

I rest the soup on my raised knees and give her a sad smile. “Thank you.”

“So you lost the perfect guy and the perfect movie?”

“You’re great at this,” I say.

“Drink your soup.”

I take a sip, and it tastes like comfort, warm and thick. “Jack laughed at me and said no. He also reminded me that I’m not compelling.”

“Compelling?”

“Yep. Also, not attractive. But it was the compelling thing that took me down.”

“Because you believe it.”

“It doesn’t matter if I believe it if it’s true. They kept me in the background on TV. When it was my voice they needed, they knew the song wouldn’t be a hit if I was attached to it. They knew before I did.”

“This isn’t aboutPop Rocks,”Clem says.

I take another sip of my soup. It’s the only thing I’ve eaten today, and my stomach wakes up and rumbles.

“I know,” I say.

Clem turns to me. “I’m going to say it out loud. Okay?”

I nod.

“You ruined your mom’s life by not being compelling enough to love. That’s it, right? That’s the whole story you’re stuck on.”

I don’t say anything.

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