Page 133 of Joey

“I’m trying to give him the benefit of the doubt,” Joey says. “Seeing as how he’s the one who’s been dealing with the reality of this situation for as long as I can remember.”

“Hmm,” I say. “Can’t you just go over to his house?”

“The building?” Joey says. “I guess. But believe me, if Johnny doesn’t what to talk to me, I won’t be able to get up to see him.”

And that’s the end of that.

No one brings up Maisy.

We spend the day watching TV, and fucking around on socials. Adding posts and pressing little hearts and like buttons. Which is stupid now. We made all those fake memories and never even got to show them off.

No one ever got to see us the way we planned.

No one even cared.

Sunday is the same. And I start to worry. Because the manic excitement of last week is fading fast.

I’m going to lose them. I can feel it.

Huck and Wald both slept downstairs last night. Joey holds me in bed as we sleep. But it’s an embrace of fear. Or comfort. Or something in between. My fear, his need for comfort. I dunno.

But if something isn’t done, if a plan isn’t made, if victory cannot be imagined—then we’re lost. We’re over before we even get started.

So on Monday I decide I’m not ready for this to be over.

I found something here with these men and I’m not going to let it slip away without a fight. I’m a survivor. I don’t give up, I go on.

I put on that same outfit I wore last week and I drive my ass over to Bright Berry Beach Cosmetics. And who do you think is behind that reception desk today?

Yes! That same nice lady who greeted me one week ago.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hello,” she smiles. Then she squints her eyes a little. “You look familiar. Have you been here before?”

“Last week,” I say. “I came in looking for a job.”

“Oh, did you get hired, dear?”

“Sooooorta,” I say. “But today I’m here to see Mila Sanchez.”

She’s still smiling. But her lips are a little puckered now. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No. But… can you please tell her that Brooke Alder is here to see her? And I’m Joey Boston’s fiancée.”

She glances at my ring and smiles brightly—no more puckered lips. Almost three carats, baby, that’s right. I didn’t want it. I didn’t ask for it. But this fucker does the trick. “Have a seat and I’ll give her a buzz.”

“Thank you,” I say sweetly, and then take a seat at one of the tables by the window.

I watch her. And she watches me. She nods at the phone conversation, then hangs up and says, “Miss Alder?”

“Yes,” I say, springing to my feet.

“Take this pass and go up to the top floor. Someone will meet you at the elevator when you arrive.”

“Thank you,” I say.

The pass gets me access to the right button in the elevator. And right when the doors open, as promised, someone is waiting for me.