“It was just the sex, wasn’t it? And movies. And eating. No real talking was involved,” she murmured, resting her head back against her seat, her hazel eyes dim.

That sounded about right. We’d talked very little in the months we’d seen each other. Madison had seemed intimidated by me, something I hadn’t bothered rectifying, as it had made our eating-fucking-sleeping arrangement supremely comfortable for me.

“If it makes you feel any better, my no-mingling policy extends to all humans, not just girlfriends,” I offered.

“That does not make me feel any better. I walked around thinking you thought I was stupid,” she accused.

“Not stupid.” I shook my head. “Not overtly brilliant, either, but definitely competent.”

Didn’t they say the truth would set you free? Why did I feel so fucking chained into this uncomfortable moment, then?

“Wow. You are like Mr. Darcy’s evil twin, but sans the charm.”

“So basically an asshole?” I groaned.

“Pretty much.”

I double-parked in front of her entrance. Pediatric Guy was slumped on the stairway. His kneecaps, ears, and Adam’s apple looked like they should be attached to a person at least twice his size. He was lanky in a half-formed-teenager way, his chest caving inward. He had glasses and an intelligent nose I highly suspected women like Madison found attractive. His cheek was propped against his knuckles as he read a wrinkled paperback like some kind of Neanderthal. An actual book with pages and everything. I bet he physically went to the supermarket for his shopping and got his own takeout instead of ordering Uber Eats. This was the kind of heathen she was associating herself with these days.

I bet he wrote her love letters and didn’t even mention her rack or ass. Prick.

She glanced at him, then at me, then at him again. What was his name? I remembered it was as generic as the rest of him. Brian? Justin? He looked like a Conrad. Something that was synonymous with douchebag.

“Ethan’s here,” she announced.

Ethan. I’d been close.

“I need to tell him about that stupid dinner. You still have my email, right? Send me the details.” She hopped outside without sparing me a look. I unloaded her suitcases like I was a goddamn bellboy. To save the remainder of my pride, I dumped them by her building without even glancing at her or her dudebro, not offering to help her take them upstairs. Let Dr. Douche do it himself.

I rounded my car and got back inside, watching her ass in that ridiculous A-line dress as she approached Ethan, flung her arms over his shoulders, and kissed his cheek. Cheek. Something not terrible happened in my chest when I realized that probably meant they hadn’t slept together. Yet.

I breathed through my nose, sending a little prayer to the universe that Ethan wouldn’t fuck my fake fiancée tonight, and looked down to retrieve my phone from my pocket.

There was a note stuck to the passenger seat. The same sticky white one with my family name engraved at the top from the Hamptons. She’d put it there when I wasn’t looking. Sneaky.

C,

You saved those jasmines because they are living things, not because I asked you to.

Also: We broke up because you’re a cheating cheater who cheats.

Also 2: What’s up with Julian?

PS:

Re: you smelling something unfamiliar. It might be a good time for your bimonthly STD check.

—M

CHAPTER SEVEN

MADDIE

June 3, 1999

Dear Maddie,

Fun fact of the day: The poppy has astonishingly flourished on battlefields, smashed by boots, tanks, and the first industrial war the world had ever seen. It is a token of remembrance in Britain.

Poppies are strong, stubborn, and impossible to break. Be a poppy. Always.

Love,

Mom. x

Objectively speaking, as far as mornings went, today’s was a particularly glorious one. The type Cat Stevens wrote songs about. I woke up at eight thirty without the help of my alarm. Layla had let Chase in at dawn, while I’d been fast asleep and she’d been bidding one of her many flings goodbye. I managed to bring my best friend up to speed about my little arrangement with Chase via text messages. Chase took Daisy on a lengthy walk. I was still dead to the world when he brought her back. I woke to him pushing the door open, cursing under his breath, complaining about Daisy not wining and dining his leg before humping it, pouring food into her dish, and scolding her for drinking vigorously from the toilet bowl. (“You’re really not winning any seduction points right now, Daze.”) I smiled as I stretched lazily in my bed, thinking about the inconvenience the journey to my neighborhood had caused him. When I opened my fridge to take some orange juice out, I found a note plastered to the door.

M,

Not everything alive is worth saving. My cousin-brother, Julian, is a prime example of that (don’t ask me what he is to me, it changes from day to day).