“Luce,” Kai says, lowering the camera when he sees the stricken look on my face. “It’s not, I wasn’t—”
If my heart wasn’t just ripped out of my body, I might laugh, because it’s the most clichéd excuse of all time: This isn’t what it looks like. But it’s exactly what it looks like; Kai knows I hate the cameras, and he still decided to record the single most devastating moment of my life. He decided to exploit my pain. So much for love, or even like, and for standing by each other.
“I think it’s exactly what it looks like,” I tell him in a shaky voice, not caring that Jack and Lottie and Phil are within earshot. “I think you recorded me saying good-bye to my most beloved friend so you could use it to pump up your ratings. Everybody likes a tearjerker, right?”
“No,” he says, setting the camera aside and reaching for my hand, but I yank it away from him. “No. It’s not like that.”
I do laugh this time, and it’s a dry, devastated sound that sends Kai reaching for me again. “You’re a storyteller,” I say, shrugging off his attempt to touch me. “And what am I but a good story, right?”
“Lucy,” Kai says, his tone pleading. “Let me explain.”
“You don’t need to. You were never the moron, Kai. It was me, all along, for letting you in. For believing that you cared about me, about something more than your little program.”
He takes a step back like I’ve slapped him, but he doesn’t storm out. Instead, he raises his hands in apology. “I do care about you. I care about you more than anything. I’ll delete the footage if that’s what you need. What can I do, Lucy? Just tell me what you want and I’ll do it.”
I want a time machine so that I can stay in Columbus instead of going to San Diego. I want to take all the hours I wasted with Kai and spend them with Zuri instead. But I can’t, and the crushing heartbreak almost brings me to my knees.
So Kai can’t give me what I want, but maybe he can give me the next best thing.
“I want you to stay away from me,” I tell him, the words choked with tears. “And I never want to see you again.”
Unable to bear another second inside the health center, I stride away from the surgical suite and out of the building to find that Sam, wonderful, loyal Sam, is still parked outside.
“Oh, Luce,” she whispers when she sees my tear-streaked face. “I am so, so sorry.”
She wraps her arms around me as I climb into the passenger seat, pulling me close. It’s exactly the comfort I needed from Kai, and I cry harder as I lean into her touch.
“What can I do?” she asks, her voice breaking. “How can I help?”
I pull away from her to press a tissue to my face. “Can you just take me home?”
The next day, I do something I’ve never done in my entire career: I call out from work.
“Take all the time you need,” Phil says when he answers my phone call. He assures me that Keeva, still housed with Ozzie’s troop, is doing okay—she keeps peering through the mesh, as if waiting for Zuri to return, but she shared a night nest with Tria and little Piper, and none of the troop members are causing her trouble. And whatever my boss thought of the harsh words I exchanged with Kai, he doesn’t even broach the subject.
I spend an entire day holed up in my bedroom, crying beneath an enamored-looking Jack and Rose. Nona brings in trays of tiramisu and red velvet cake, but I only get through half a slice before I think of a lifetime without Zuri and collapse into sobs. Elle and Sam come over in the evening and sit silently on either side of me while I wipe my tears and watch an episode of The Little Couple, and even Trudy slips a sympathy card under my bedroom door. It has a basketful of basset hound puppies on the front, and the inside reads, “I’m paws-itively sorry for your loss,” and it’s the nicest thing she’s ever done for me.
But nothing makes the pain better. Nothing can fill the hole in my heart that belongs to Zuri. And no amount of baked goods can make me forget the raw sting of betrayal I felt when I found Kai pointing his camera at me like I was a particularly interesting insect instead of the woman he proclaimed to be falling in love with. His first instinct wasn’t concern for me but an impulse to document my devastation for viewers across the world to watch while they eat dinner or fold laundry. And even though I wish it didn’t hurt, even though I wish I’d never let myself get close enough to him to care, I can’t ignore that it wounds me worse than any snare ever could.
On my third day off work, when I’ve entered the smelling-like-old-socks-but-not-caring part of the grieving process, Nona knocks on my bedroom door.
“Luce?” she asks, peeking inside my room. “I know you said no more baked goods, but your sister came to see you. She brought fairy bread, and she really wants to help cheer you up.”
“Half sister,” I correct my grandmother, too depressed to bite my tongue. “And tell her I said thank you, but I don’t want to see anyone.”
But before Nona can respond, Dynamite lumbers into my bedroom and Mia trots in after him, a Tupperware container in one arm and a backpack in the other.
“Now’s not a good time, Mia,” I say, trying to keep my voice gentle, but it’s hard, because I have a throbbing headache from crying for three days straight. “I don’t want company, okay?”
She doesn’t hear me, because Dynamite, spotting an untouched slice of cake on a plate next to me, lets out an enthusiastic bark and lunges onto the bed, his hundred-and-seventy-pound bulk landing on my chest and knocking the air from my lungs.
“Get out!” I yell, coughing as Dynamite nudges the plate with his nose and swallows the cake in one quick bite. “Please just get out!”
“What’s going on?” Karina asks, appearing in the doorway beside Nona. She glances from me to Dynamite to Mia, who stares openmouthed at me like I swore at her.
“I’m sorry,” Mia says, dropping the Tupperware on my bed. “Mom said you were sad about Zuri, and I wanted to bring you your favorite food.” She smooths the front of her Girl Scout vest and bites her lip. “I was really sad when my dog Pinecone died last year, so I know how you feel. But Mom read me a poem about the Rainbow Bridge that animals cross when they die, and it made me feel better. Do you want me to read it to you?”
Karina reaches out to smooth Mia’s hair, and it’s such a loving, easy gesture that it makes me want to scream. Because my heart is broken, and my temple’s throbbing, and where was she to smooth my hair and read me poems when I was Mia’s age? None of this—Zuri’s death, Kai’s betrayal, Karina’s abandonment—is Mia’s fault, but I want her gone anyway.
“Pinecone was a dog, Mia,” I say, surprised by the venom in my tone. “I’m sorry he died, but Zuri was a gorilla. A critically endangered gorilla. She was much more than just a pet, so you have no idea how I feel. And I hate to break it to you, but there’s no Rainbow Bridge, and your mom doesn’t know jack shit about anything. She’s a liar who doesn’t keep her promises, and it’s only a matter of time until she ditches you like she ditched me.”
Mia’s eyes fill with tears, and I instantly wish I could take my cruel words back. But I can’t, and she drops her backpack and flies out of my bedroom, a barking Dynamite hurrying after her. Nona goes after the pair, calling for Mia, but Karina stays put, standing in the doorway of my bedroom with one hand on the knob.
“I’m sorry, Lucy,” she says, her voice cracking on my name. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Then she leaves, closing the door behind her, and I’m regretful and I’m furious, but at least I’m alone.