Page 64 of The Goode Girls of Maple Lane
Aggie’s tremendous company while the sting of betrayal is sharpest, generous with her sloppy kisses and patient with my many smothering hugs, but sometimes even the world’s best dog can’t provide all the necessary support. So when Hannah arrives at my door two days after Everett’s dinner, looking frazzled but beautiful with an impressive tangle of auburn hair escaping its ponytail elastic, a chic wool coat hanging open over a rumpled hoodie and leggings, a faded duffel bag slipping off a shoulder, a sneaker shoelace undone, and her familiar bold red lipstick as on point as ever, I throw my arms around her and dissolve into tears.
“I can’t believe you came,” I sob into her shoulder.
“You showed up for me two years ago.”
“You were heartbroken.”
“And you’re not?”
I cry harder at that. Of course I’m heartbroken. I’ve spent the last two days picturing futures without Everett and hating every single one, but at least he didn’t ditch town with another girl. We might be able to salvage something out of this mess. Then again, I have no experience rebuilding trust once it’s broken. I didn’t stay friends with anyone I dated or had sex with once things ended. In fact, I did my damnedest to avoid all of those men completely.
As I release my hold before I leak snot and tears all over Hannah’s shoulder, we head into my apartment, where Aggie’s sitting a few feet beyond the threshold, patiently waiting while wagging her tail, like she knew we needed a moment before she got her turn to say hi.
“The famous Agatha Goode.” Hannah drops her bag while she crouches and gives Aggie a vigorous pet. “You have no idea how elated I am to finally meet you, TikTok influencer and canine companion who brought my best friend back from dark and lonely times.”
I choke out a soggy laugh. “You make me sound like a brooding recluse.”
She raises an amused brow. “Yes, and that’sgenerous.”
I concede her point with another breath of laughter while looking around my crowded apartment. It’s filled with Aggie’s things, and with signs of the friendships I’ve made. The robo-ball.Jane Eyre. A pair of googly eyes over my bathroom doorknob. A pink and maroon T-shirt draped over the rim of my laundry basket, having not quite made its way inside. Customized tea and dog biscuitson the counter. The wagon with its dismantled decorations tucked in nooks and crannies. Group and couple photos pinned up on my fridge, surrounding what used to be a lone photo of Marmie. A super-cozy sweater I don’t want to give back, even though I know I should. But a year ago, this space contained a dressed-up futon, an empty kitchen, and little else.
Dark and lonely times, indeed.
Over tea and baked goods, I fill Hannah in on everything we didn’t cover by text or phone before she said she’d be here as soon as she could book a flight. Aggie brings us three balls, her monkey, and a rubber bone before settling between us on the futon with her head on Hannah’s lap, her backside on my lap, and a limp paw draped over the shaggy Highland cow puppet we got at the fall market, now so matted from months of playing, its cow-like shape is only distinguishable by the horns and tail I keep sewing back on.
“So, the promotion was Everett’s goal all along?” Hannah asks when I finish.
“I think so, but I don’t know for sure.” I tip my head back and send a despairing sigh toward the ceiling, feeling like I should have a better answer to this question. “Encouraging me to pursue sponsorships could mean anything, but he got relentless about them, and about account growth, branding, and all the rest, when we started making the sponsored TikToks in January. The job opening wasn’t confirmed until early February, more than a month later, but he mentioned the possibility on our first date back in mid-November, so he saw it coming.”
Hannah nods, considering, while she strokes Aggie’s ears.
“You think he’ll tell you the truth if you ask him directly?” she asks.
It’s my turn to nod. This, at least, I can answer with confidence.
“I do. He’s been cagey before, like when his ex came over, but as soon as he knew I was freaking out about her, he told me everything. He didn’t even lie about liking the CDs I thought he inherited from his grandmother, and that was when he was trying to make a good impression.”
Hannah smiles at this. She’s solidly alt-rock, and has been laughing about Neil Diamond and John Denver for months, especially once I told her I was kind of getting into them.
“Sounds like you have to talk to him,” she says.
“I know.”
“And soon.”
“I know that, too.”
“But...”
I roll my head toward her as I rally the strength to say this out loud. To make it real.
“But if he confirms the promotionwashis goal all along, I don’t think I can stay with him.” More tears well up but I blink them away before they fall. “If he’d told me he wanted to put the Goode Girls account in his portfolio, I doubt I’d have minded. I wanted him to get the job. We could’ve made choices together, found workable compromises. But he didn’t tell me. Instead, he manipulated me. He used my financial difficulties and lack of certainty as openings for his ambition. He shattered the trust I gave him. I can’t see a way to come back from that.”
Hannah watches me with eyes full of sympathy as she continues stroking Aggie’s ears.
“So the longer you wait to talk to him...” she starts.
“The longer I put off the breakup,” I finish for her.
