Don’t worry. I’ll fuck it up at some point, I’m sure.

When Grier left, I walked over to my kitchen nook, took my phone out of my back pocket, and started going over every single client on my contact list. I decided to go for something laconic, firm, and polite. Thing was, I wasn’t much of a diplomat, so after much thinking, I came up with this:

Hi. It’s Bane. I’m writing to let you know that I’m hereby terminating our professional relationship. I’m officially retired and will not be making a comeback anytime soon. If you owe me money, consider it paid. If I owe you dick—I suggest you go look for it somewhere else.

So long and thanks for all the fish.—Bane.

I sent it to all forty-six women I had worked with at once, thinking in retrospect that the fish reference could probably have been omitted. All I knew was that I’d just killed the business that had helped me rise to power in this town, and that I was about to kill my dream next time I spoke to Darren.

Grier described what I felt toward Jesse as love. But I wasn’t so sure what actually existed between us, which made all this rash decision-making even crazier. If Jesse found out about my deal with Darren, she’d kill me. And I wouldn’t blame her. I needed to terminate it immediately and come clean if I wanted half a chance to make it right.

But do you want to make it right?

Along the years, I’d watched as plenty of idiots around me formed long-lasting relationships. Maybe I could, too. All I needed was to remind myself that I was not my father, that I was worthy, and that I deserved her. Even if the mere deal I’d struck to get to her in the first place suggested otherwise.

I texted Snowflake one more time before I dragged my ass back to bed.

Bane

Still can’t unsee that orange onesie. Send a pic w/o it.

She responded back with a faceless selfie of her tits pressed together inside her black My Bloody Valentine tank top, a smutty book open on her bent legs. I bit my fist.

Bane

Is that My Bloody Valentine? I hate them, too. Remove.

Snowflake

Is there something you don’t hate?

Bane

Yes. You.

Snowflake

Interesting. So you don’t hate me?

Bane

Not even close. Not even close to close. What’s the antonym of hate?

Snowflake

No way I’ll be the first one to say the word.

Bane

Sleep tight, Snowflake. Big day tomorrow.

I stared at my peeling ceiling for the remainder of that night, ignoring the chiming cell phone beside me as a stream of messages from clients started pouring in, from irate to panicked to mildly offended.

Maybe love wasn’t about feeling happy and whole.

Maybe love was about breaking so the person you cared for would feel a little more whole.

THINGS WERE TENSE AT THE dinner table that evening.

The only reason I’d decided to show up at all was because I was feeling increasingly normal and thought I could handle it. I tried not to think about how attached I’d suddenly become to my own life. How suddenly things, and people, and events around me had begun to matter. How Roman reshaped the way I looked at men—not completely, but enough for me not to be scared of them. How Gail had reminded me that good friends are worth having.

Earlier, she and I had raided Hot Topic like we were twelve again, then had ice cream, then sat by the ramp on the promenade and rated random guys on skateboards from one to ten based on hotness, even though they were all sixteen. It just felt so real, so simple, so normal, I even managed to shove away all the bad stuff. The flashback, Shadow’s blood work, and even Mrs. Belfort’s request. I left another message on Dr. Wiese’s answering machine and decided that tomorrow I would deal with Mrs. B’s kids and pay Wiese a visit after I finished my shift at Café Diem.

Hannah clocked out for the day, but left us some grilled asparagus and sautéed potatoes, along with her mouthwatering lemon-garlic chicken. I carved the chicken and served the food while Pam read something on her cell phone and Darren drummed his fingers on the table. Shadow was all but tap-dancing under the table. It’d been a while since I’d seen him like this. Back when I was still the old Jesse, I used to eat dinner at the table every evening and slip him food when no one was watching. It was our own little secret. We had a few of those. Making him happy again was the one thing that kept me positive about this whole scenario.

When I sat down, both pairs of eyes flicked to me.

I looked between them. “Anything interesting about myself I should know?”

“Nothing.” Pam snapped open her napkin theatrically, resting it on her thighs. Darren didn’t answer.