I’ve compiled an embarrassing amount of recycling after finishing the last of my apartment clear-out. It took me four whole days, but I’ll never get off track again, maybe. It’s when I’m gathering all the old mail—some realtor flyers from those delusional enough to send them to us and menus from restaurants that seem heartbreakingly desperate—that I spot the letters Cliff left, and my stomach flips.
I pick the first one up and recognize Rhonda’s handwriting immediately.
Honey,
First, I’m sorry about the way things happened on your last day. When I heard the mutterings you’d been spying on us, I was so miffed. I had some big secrets you were seeing and that wasn’t okay. But one thing I’m good at is forgiveness and understanding desperate situations. That’s why I want you to know one thing: I was always proud of Carl, never ashamed. I just didn’t think the world would understand, so I did what a mom does, I protected him.
You were proving yourself to be a true friend during your last month, and I appreciate all the things you did to help me keep up with the office and the time you spent helping plan parties. My loneliness hurts me and even scares me at times. But it was worse knowing you saw that.
I have mixed feelings about what you’ve done. It’s complicated, but when I think of you, I remember that day in the bathroom. I remember you talking to me before Caitlin’s party, and I remember you inviting me to teach crochet.
You’re a kind person, Jolene.
We never know what somebody is going through and I’m no different. I never saw you, Armin, or even Caitlin how I should’ve.
Something I’ve been pondering since the day in the bathroom is: acceptance. I’m never going to have the life I thought I’d be living at my age, and the hardest thing I must face is that I might never see my son again. I might never see the person he was before he got sick.
But I can still have a life worth living. I can still hope my son heals. I can accept what has happened, but I don’t have to accept what will be. I’ve included my home phone number. I hope you reach out to this lonely lady when you’re ready.
More importantly, I hope you find your place in life. I know you can ;) (that means winking).
Rhonda
My throat squeezes, but I’m also smiling.
The next letter is from Armin.
Hey Jolene,
The first thing I should say is: sorry. I was a shit for getting mad at you after forcing you into my scheme and blaming you for selling the lie too well. I was not the ride-or-die cubicle mate turned fake fiancé I should’ve been, and for that I’ll never forgive myself.
The second thing I should say is: thank you. You warned me that my job was on fragile ground, helped me, and called me on my bullshit. I hope you got to see your own bullshit that way. I mean that sincerely and kindly . . .
We put my mom in hospice a few days ago. Her cancer is too far gone, so we’re just making her comfortable now. All the doctors were surprised she held on this long. I truly believe she did because of the joy meeting you and planning something with your mom gave her. I came clean. About everything. And you were right. She said that she was still proud of me and would always love me.
Also, you’ll be happy to hear that I told Gregory to shove it. He told me I couldn’t take more PTO to be with my mom due to the staffing shortages as they enact layoffs. Motherfucker really tried it. I walked out. I’m interviewing for a better job at VCV Games (been searching since the day we made our deal). It’s a bit of a pay cut, but there’s room to grow. I wasn’t happy at Supershops for a while. But you were right, I should have told people what was going on with my mom. Rhonda was really supportive when she found out. She was the only one to send flowers to the hospital, and she even stopped by with muffins.
If you ever want to grab a latifeh or whatever as ex-fiancés and real friends, let me know. Message me on Instagram. I promise I’ll answer this time.
Armin
I put the page down as tears well. I blink and they fall. They fall for all the good in the world that found me—the goodness in people I got to see. I was lucky, and I took too long to realize it.
But there’s a tinge at the back of my mind that presses.
It’s curiosity. A wondering.
I’ve had only two therapy sessions so far and still haven’t quite worked through all the mess that’s woven so deep inside of me, so maybe it’s natural I still wonder about Caitlin: if she’s posted some bullshit from the office, gotten that document lead promotion, went for eggs with Kyle . . . if she’s okay—any of it will help.
I pull out my phone, open Instagram. And Caitlin hasn’t posted shit. And a tightness builds up. It’s like I need to see some proof she still exists.
But watching people without them wanting me to doesn’t work. I know what I really need.
I hit block and close the app. It feels like a tidy ending for her and me after everything.
I exhale and gather the colleague letters back into their envelope and toss them into a box that is destined for my parents’ house. The envelope lands right on top of the yearbook. The realization is like a rush. I need to close another door.
I pick up the yearbook and take it to my bed. I haven’t opened it in years. I’m not even sure why I took it with me when I moved out of my parents’ house. But when I flip it open, it automatically falls on the only page I ever looked at. The faded picture beneath the words “In Memoriam” stares back.
And I speak.
“I’m so sorry I’ve kept you in a box. That was messed up of me.” The tears tumble as my voice shatters. “But what else did we expect? Your death was too awful. Where was I supposed to put the pain? Where was it supposed to go once it filled me up?” I take a heavy breath. “I should’ve said goodbye. I’m so sorry I never could. But I can’t keep holding on to you like this forever.”
A heaving sob pulls and twists from the deepest part of me. I stroke my hand over her face, but it’s just a picture.
“Goodbye.” I close the book, crumble into my mattress, and finally, I let the pain flow out of me.
I let it drown me.
Hours later, I peel myself up, fragile but standing. I’m finally taking the flyers down to the basement recycling center, when Miley’s mom comes marching up the stairs in a rush. She’s typing on her phone and barely registers me, standing there in my partially marinated sweats. I was planning on showering after going to the dumpster room.
We don’t even make eye contact as she approaches the doorway, and that should be that. It really should.
Which is why I’m so confused when I step closer and the words that come out of my mouth are “How was Miley’s birthday?”
She stills as her head turns to me. “Sorry, what?”
A legitimate question. None of my business. Except I think of Miley’s shoulders dropping. I think of her alone on her birthday, and I just want to make sure she got a cake or something.
I lighten my tone. “Miley was super excited to be turning thirteen. Did you guys do anything fun?”
She looks directly at me. “Yes, I got her a—I’m getting her a toy she wanted.”
Maybe it’s because it’s too vague an answer, or maybe it’s because I still don’t know how to keep to myself—a recorded fact—but I say, “Glad her day was special. She’s such an awesome kid or I, guess, teenager.”
But the tears form in my eyes. I try to blink them away and choke down whatever kind of sob presses my throat. I’m freaking crying at a neighbor in the hallway. I should’ve stayed in—I’m still too fragile.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
Her smile is pure discomfort, but something behind her eyes shifts and she says, “No, it’s true. She is.” She then passes me, making a show of stepping around me more than required—which, fair.
Maybe what I said will make no difference, but maybe when Miley comes home, her mom will greet her. If they see each other just a bit today, then it has to be worth it.
As I’m moving the last of the boxes into my mom’s car, I finally spot Miley on the stoop. I’d been avoiding her and mostly leaving the house when she’s in school. Terrible.
She doesn’t look up, even when I’m close enough to cast a shadow over her. I deserve that. But I hold out the little package for her anyway and say, “Happy birthday.”
“What’s this?” Her voice is distant and closed.
“A present slash apology slash goodbye.”
She eyes it suspiciously before tearing into the paper. “Why are you apologizing to me?”
“I . . . just haven’t been the greatest friend lately.”
She stops unwrapping and her face juts upward. “Jolene, I thought we weren’t friends?”
“Well, we could be.”
“Aren’t adults who are friends with kids kind of weird?”
I shrug as she pulls the last of the wrapping paper away from the T-shirt. It’s from the movie we saw.
“But thanks. I love it.”
“I’m really glad we did that,” I say.
“Calm down, Jolene. I just used you to get me in.” But her cheeks are flushed all the same.
I crouch closer. “And I never apologized for storming off that day, for avoiding you after. I’m sorry about that.”
“Thanks.” Her face scrunches. “But what’s the goodbye about?”
“I’m going to have to move away today. I won’t be around anymore.”
A surprisingly impossible thing to say. Miley’s face droops instantly. “Where are you moving?”
“I have to stay with my parents for a bit.” An easier thing to say. Moving home doesn’t seem so scary. It simply feels like going home. But Miley’s face stays low. “But, I mean, we can keep in touch.”
She flips the T-shirt in her lap. “Yeah, yeah. People always say that kind of thing.”
I crouch lower, so I’m eye level with her. “Well, I mean it. I’ll give you my number. I have to go do some things now. But I’ll see you around before I leave? Sorry your present was weeks late.”
Miley swipes her hair back and I notice it’s less knotted than usual. I think she even got a trim. “It’s okay.” She shrugs. “My birthday celebration with my mom is tonight too.”
My chest lifts like a helium balloon. “Fun!”
Her eyes round out as she looks at me. “You were always my easiest mark when I was looking for someone to talk to. And when you didn’t want to talk, you were at least funny to watch.” She stares at her worn Toms insecurely.
“Miley . . .” There’s so much I want to say, so much I need her to remember about herself before she starts to doubt. “I know things can be hard at your age. But I’m proud of you for coming out here every day and trying to connect with the world. You honestly are so cool to me.”
She shakes her head. “Um, yeah, the adults that are friends with kids are freaks.”
I let out a chuckle. “I guess that’s true.”
I shift the box in my arms and start to walk to the car again, when she calls out, “Jolene, wait.” Miley turns to run into our building. “I forgot! I have something for you.”
I put the box down on the cracked pathway and wait as I stare at the various types of weeds that poke through. Finally, she comes trotting back with a plain brown letter-sized envelope. “Your boyfriend gave me this a few weeks ago. He said he forgot to give it to you, but you’d already said goodbye.”
I stiffen instinctively. Cliff’s already gone. Every time I’ve exited the apartment, I’ve been doing a double take at cars that look like his, at people walking dogs. Checking behind me at the grocery store.
A rush swells in my chest as I reach for the envelope, but Miley pulls it back. “I didn’t even open it, but the way you’re looking at it like it’s a bomb, I’m thinking not snooping was a huge mistake.”
She hands it over and I peek inside. Of course it’s not a note. It’s just the desk crap he tried to give me when he came over. For the best, of course. A clean break is honestly the best way.
I drop it into my box. “I’ll catch you around, Miley.”
She blinks up at me and gives a rushed but sincere smile. “Bye, Jolene.”