Three Novels- Check!

I finished my novel yesterday! Sadly, I'm too sick to really write anything right now.

Sadie has just decided that she is going to reject her offer of admission to Berkeley to move in with Brett in New York City, and apply to grad school closer to the city.

Sadie is sitting in front of her computer screen, willing herself to move. She needs to reject UC Berkeley’s offer of admission to the Charles and Louise Travers department of political science. This has always been what she wanted, long before the idea of Brett had even occurred to her. While one could argue that Berkeley can keep you warm at night because California is considerably warmer than Boston is a lot of the time, that obviously isn’t what that phrase means. Berkeley political science won’t marry you. Berkeley political science can’t love you back.

But if the choice was so obvious, why could Sadie not move her hand about two inches to reject the offer? Why hadn’t she told anybody? Why was she full of this feeling of dread, knowing that everything had somehow gone wrong?

Of course this isn’t an easy decision, she tells herself. But is it supposed to be this hard?

“I’ve made a huge mistake,” she says to herself.

“What?” Brett asks from the other room.

“Oh, I, uh, put in the wrong password.”

“Don’t you think that you’re being a little too critical of yourself?”

Sadie was trying to calm herself, but she felt that she was drowning. Drowning in her own mistakes. When did she become like this? Like someone who gives up their dreams for love? And not just any love, either; love that is completely unreliable and undependable. She couldn’t breathe anymore. It felt like everything in her life was slipping away as she tried to hold on to this one thing. But this love that she was holding onto was just as slippery. Maybe she could hold onto it for now, but the only thing that she could really count on Brett to do was to do what he always did whenever things stopped happening exactly the way that he wanted them to. Brett is like a kangaroo, or perhaps a shark; neither can move backwards. Neither does Brett. He doesn’t think about where he’s been, or anything that has happened in the past, because to him, it’s a waste of time. Sadie, on the other hand, is more like an owl, or that girl who is possessed in The Exorcist. She has an uncanny ability to turn her head all the way around to enable her to always dwell on the past. Brett simply steps over his mistakes, while Sadie stares at them until they are so far away that it is nearly impossible.

Maybe Berkeley won’t keep her warm at night. But it won’t wake up and tell her that it doesn’t love her anymore, either.

“I can’t do this,” she said out loud. Brett had moved into the kitchen, sensing that something was terribly wrong.

“Did the internet time out?”

“No, Brett. I can’t move to New York with you.” Sadie begins to shake and cry, cursing the world for never making anything easy, least of all love.

“Why not?” Brett is disturbed by this sudden outburst of emotion, and not quite sure how to comfort Sadie.

“How could I? Do you really think that you’re a safe bet? That you’re the kind of person that I can commit to? That I can move for?”

“I don’t know,” he says honestly.

“How can I throw everything else away on someone who doesn’t even know? On someone who may love me now, but can’t guarantee that they will even love me a week from now?”

“That isn’t fair. Can you say that you will love me forever?”

“Honestly, Brett? Yeah, I think that I will. But that isn’t something that you can understand. You don’t feel things the way that I do. I used to think that it was a curse, but after all of this, I would much rather be me than you. How can you be so indifferent to everything? How can you stand to never be happy or sad? How can you be happy to just exist like that?”

“How can I answer that? I don’t know what it’s like to be anything else. It’s just the way that I am.”

“Exactly!” Sadie shouts. “You have always been that way! And you always will be that way! I keep on thinking that I can change you, and maybe if I love you enough, you will love me the way that I deserve. But you can’t. You never will. And that’s okay, because it’s just the way that you are. But this is the way that I am. This isn’t going to work, and it isn’t our fault, and it’s all our fault, all at the same time.”

Brett stares at her as if she is a wild animal at the zoo; not quite sure what it will do next, but wanting to stay, just for the show. He manages to drop himself into a chair at the kitchen table after grabbing a bottle of beer from the fridge. He takes a long drink with his eyes closed, sets the bottle down quietly, and continues to look at her with a mixture of confusion, annoyance, and heartbreak.

“You’re fucking crazy, you know that?”

“Yeah, I do. And loving you has made me even crazier. I can’t believe some of the things that I did. Considering turning down Berkeley was one of those things.”

“You’re sure that’s what you want? I can give you everything.” Brett always was one for negotiating.

“You can give me a lot, Brett. But you obviously don’t know me at all if you think that what you can offer me is what I truly want. You could propose to me right now, we could get married at the Plaza in Manhattan, and we could honeymoon in Ibiza while I grate cheese off of your abs. You could tell me that you love me every day before you go off to work to make obscene amounts of money and rob the poor of everything that they have. Of course that sounds nice. I hear that Ibiza is lovely, and honestly, I have never even set foot in the Plaza, let alone even considered a life in which I could get married there. But Brett. Come on. When it comes down to choosing between making my own way through the world one seldom read academic paper at a time, or staying with someone who I can’t trust even loves me today, let alone will a year from now, you have to know which one that I am going to choose. I can’t choose you. My heart couldn’t take it. You have to understand that.”

“I don’t,” he exhales loudly. “But you never really made sense to me anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” Sadie says. “I’m sorry to have confused you and told you that I would move to New York with you and then backed out like this. I bet that we could have been together for a long time. It’s terrible to say this, but this is better for us both. I don’t think that you could be happy with me either.”

They say goodbye and make promises to each other to keep in touch, though neither of them really believes that they will. She walks out of the apartment, and the sun is shining brightly, warming her face and reminding her what it feels like to be alive. Sadie isn’t crying anymore. She never thought that she could feel this way, or show this much strength; she almost wants to smile. Brett was like a weight, holding her down and dragging her places that she just shouldn’t go. She almost feels as if she can do anything, and she wants to try. Sadie can’t wait to accept Berkeley’s offer of admission and move to California. Even though she is almost twenty two years old, it is almost as if her life is just beginning.

California, here we come. Right back where we started from.

She almost runs through the North End, garnering curious looks from passers by who are wondering what could have possibly happened to make her feel this happy. None of them get it right, because few can understand how something such as this could make someone so happy: it is freedom, and making your own choices, and finally feeling like yourself again.

She had stopped being Sadie for so long that she almost forgot what it was like; she was always Brett’s girlfriend, someone that she surely wouldn’t have liked if she had met her on the street. But now she remembers who she is, and knows how much she always hopes that it stays that way. Sadie isn’t needy or hysterical or wishy-washy. She isn’t a dog that you can kick, an owl that turns its head all of the way around, the fiery colour red, or a hearty minestrone soup that is filling and comforting.

She is Sadie Desman, and that is, and always will be, more than enough.

Oh it gets so lonely
When you're walking
And the streets are full of strangers
All the news of home you read
More about the war
And the bloody changes
Oh will you take me as l am?
Strung out on another man?
California, I'm coming home!

Hatas to the Left

Suddenly having everything that you want is startling. We don’t expect to get everything we want, and even so, we don’t choose wisely about what we think we need. Sadie has spent months thinking that all that she needs in life is to have Brett back; everything felt empty and without meaning, and Brett seemed like the solution to it all.

She longed for those nights that he would spend with her, with his arm around her in bed. She dreamed of those nights in where she would pick the movie and Brett would complain the obligatory amount about her selection, but always end up enjoying the movie anyway. Every movie that she saw since then would force her to wonder if he would have liked it, or how much he would have laughed at the jokes. Saturday mornings had never been the same since he had left; they used to eat breakfast at their favourite place and watch either Liverpool or Chelsea’s Premiership matches. She hated to admit it, but when they were together, she cheered for Chelsea just a little. But without Brett, Chelsea became a source of despondent anger and bile. She hated everything about Chelsea: their ugly blue kits that appeared to have built-in bras, their jerry curled striker Didier Drogba who represents everything that is wrong with the game (while playing it with annoying beauty) and the way that they inflate the market and ruin everything for all of the other teams. The two matches that Liverpool and Chelsea played against each other were, in Sadie’s mind, Brett vs. Sadie rounds two and three. To her, their relationship was played out in front of 50,000 screaming fans. Chelsea won the first tie with an ugly one-nil at Stamford Bridge, but vindication would be hers: Liverpool crushed Chelsea 3-1 at Anfield when it really mattered. She felt as if she had accomplished something, somehow. Sadie can’t hurt Brett, but football can. In her eyes, at least someone should do it.

In her memories, they always had the most interesting conversations. She loved watching football with him, and he could always match her wit, knowledge and passion when it came to the game. He always looked perfect and he always said the right thing. He was inhumanly good in bed. They never fought. They always agreed. He was on Team Pacey and Team Jacob and Team Bridge and Team Jennifer, just like she was. They were made for each other, in her memories, at least.

But now, when Sadie and Brett watch movies together, Sadie realizes that it wasn’t that he particularly liked her movie choices; there isn’t really anything that he dislikes. And unfortunately, what he seems to like is exclusively Will Ferrell movies. He seems to like them so much that he feels that it is appropriate to quote them all of the time, with very few original quotations or remarks. Does he have a personality, or is he a composite of Ron Burgundy, Ricky Bobby, Frank the Tank, and around the holidays, Buddy the Elf? Sadie would be hard-pressed to recall any of Brett’s original political commentary, since it mostly involves quoting Will Ferrell “George W. Bush” sketches. Asking if it is “a bear or a puma,” or saying “somebody call Dick Cheney” to the nearest person isn’t exactly astute, particularly since George Bush hadn’t been president for a year and a half, and it never made very much sense anyway. In addition to extremely poor taste, he can’t even offer a particularly interesting commentary, nor does he have any additional insights into the motivations of Joey Potter’s “blob of paint” disaster of a comment on Dawson’s Creek. But really, that one probably isn’t his fault. It was a calamity from start to finish.

Now that they’re back together, most of her Chelsea Football Club hate is gone, but not all of it. She always wonders to herself how Brett can like such a soulless team. She then concludes that he must see something in the team that he sees in himself. Unlike Sadie, who bleeds red (yes, I know, everyone bleeds red, but you get the point), Brett just doesn’t bleed Chelsea blue. He wouldn’t be there for his club if they weren’t in the Champions League owned by one of the richest men in the world who can afford to constantly break the bank to sign players, or if they weren’t constantly winning trophies. He is there for the glory and he is there because it is easy; like everything else, if being a Chelsea fan became difficult or not fun in any way, he would stop. Sadie also hopes (albeit in a more quiet way) that Chelsea will be relegated.

She is tired of accommodating him and taking in everything that he likes and making it something that she likes. She wants to hate his football team, his stupid taste in movies, and how he really isn’t how she remembers him at all.

But how could Brett have lived up to all of that? He is a real person, after all, and no one can stand up to the image that Sadie had built up. Can we really blame him for not being god-like? For not always looking airbrushed and for not always being witty and perfect and exactly how Sadie wants him to be?

This isn’t a problem with Brett; rather, this is Sadie’s advantage. When they were together she was so blinded by love that she could not see any of his faults. The time that she spent with Brett was so serene that nothing could bring her down. Loving Brett made her oblivious to everything that was dangerous about him, and this was her downfall. But not this time. She isn’t under some kind of spell; she isn’t falling for his illusions, or his carefully constructed perfection that he works so hard to maintain to the outside world.

Sadie can see him for what he truly is: beautiful on the outside, but entirely unremarkable on the inside. A hero to everyone around him, but scared and self-conscious when no one else is around. His swagger is based on nothing but other’s approval that he so desperately desires.

After Brett quotes Anchorman for what feels like the millionth time, Sadie can see it so clearly that it almost overwhelms her. She missed him, and denying this fact would be useless. But it wasn’t Brett specifically that she missed; it was her image of him. It was how he made her feel. It was what he represented to her. Christina Aguilera and Enrique Iglesias were so right when they said, "Nobody wants to be lonely." It was devastating for Sadie.

Why did she spend so many sleepless nights wishing that he would come back? How did she build him up to be so irreplaceable?

I can have another you by tomorrow, so don’t you ever for a second get to thinking you’re irreplaceable.

Hatas to the left. Know yo’ exits.

Will the top keep spinning?

Fernando wants to stay at Liverpool! But now he will probably be killed by the creep in the middle, aka Liverpool's new signing, aka the guy that scored against Germany for Serbia.

Also, I will officially be doing an independent research project next semester. I found an advisor! Right now, I'm thinking hooliganism, masculinity, and Serbian football clubs during the civil war in Yugoslavia.

At 45,000. Will finish in two days. I have no idea how, though. I took some of your suggestions for this, but sadly, I couldn't take Jill's amazing suggestion. You may recognize some parts of this...

“You came back to break up with me, didn’t you?” She almost whispers, she is so afraid.

He is unable to look her in the eye.

“Yes,” he says simply.

When Sadie will look back on these moments, which she will many times a day, every day, for years—she won’t remember every detail. She won’t really remember how it started, or how it ended, or much in between the two. But there are some things that she will remember forever, as if it had happened yesterday. The scars that Brett was able to inflict, only with his words, would never go away.

This is how she will remember it. Some parts may not have happened exactly this way, and a lot of things were said that she wouldn’t remember at all. But this is it, courtesy of Sadie’s memories. Just line after line, heartbreak after heartbreak.

“I just don’t see this going anywhere.”

“This isn’t fun for me either, but when this happens one person always has to hurt more.”

“I don’t know how long it’s been that I’ve felt this way. I don’t have an exact date, or anything.” Sadie would never forget how much she thought that he was an a-hole as he said this.

“No, you can keep the sea glass earrings that I made for you. Those gently-worn remnants are so beachy!”

“Yes, I am taking this seriously.”

“No, there isn’t someone else.”

“I don’t know if I loved you. I know that I don’t now. I said it because I felt like I should.”

“If it helps, it was fun.”

It didn’t. It didn’t help at all. Brett’s words felt like knives, and there was nothing that she could do to avoid them. She simply sat at his desk mostly in a stunned silence, unable to accept what was happening. She didn’t know how she could still be alive after hearing all of these things that literally hurt her soul. How had Brett so quickly gone from someone that she loved and trusted and counted on to an enemy that she was afraid of?

More than anything, she would remember the look in his eyes as he spoke; it was completely devoid of emotion, sympathy or love. Had they always been this way, so soulless and empty?

It felt like Brett had explained why he was breaking up with her a thousand times, but she still didn’t understand. Her mind was recognizing this concept as foreign, and as if it was fighting off infection, it was rejected. All that she knew was that the man that she loved was telling her that he didn’t want her. But really, isn’t that all that she had to know?

At this point, you are probably hoping for some kind of vindication for our heroine who has never acted like one. Perhaps Sadie will say something particularly biting as she leaves Brett for the last time, and hurt him the way that he has hurt her. She could have said “I hate you,” but it probably would have sounded overly bitter, in addition to obviously being an incredible lie. She loved him, she always had, and unrequited love was written all over her face. She could have compared him to all manner of things—each one would have been deserved—but she did nothing of the sort. Instead, she acted pathetic; she always had been, so why stop here?

“I hope that you enjoy the rest of your summer,” she said as she closed the door to his apartment for the last time. And really, she was truly hopeful that he would have a good summer. Even when he caused her blinding pain and made her feel like she was dying, she had never stopped wanting the best for him.

Sadie is stunned. As she exits into the street, she simply moves in the direction of the crowd. She doesn’t care where she is going. It doesn’t matter, does it? What is the point in going anywhere, if she feels as if she doesn’t even exist? Sadie can’t go inside; it can’t contain her pain. She doesn’t want to go home—the real world is waiting for her there—but even if she did, she can’t remember how to get there.

Her mind can only really hold one thought at a time, and it is this: You are alone. You are unlovable.

* * *

The summer rain began to fall, forcing revellers in Boston’s North End to seek shelter under the many awnings scattered along the busy, bustling street. Rain is rarely welcome on hot summer evenings such as these, but on this particular occasion, many felt an odd sense of relief. It had been cloudy for days, inviting the inevitable rainstorm that always accompanied such sombre skies. Everyone had seen it coming, and had been dreading it. The rain that had finally come had felt like a release, freeing them from the burden that they all knew was unavoidable.

One girl stood out amongst those huddling together in an effort to avoid the downpour; she seemed completely oblivious, in fact. She trudged along the now-empty street, mindlessly staring forward, as if in a dream. Her brown hair was soaked, and hanging limply at the sides of her hollow-looking face. The t-shirt that she wore clung to her body like a second skin, emphasizing every slow movement that she made as she moved forward. While the rain obscured her tears, the aura of tragedy that surrounded her was visible to all. The kind of pain that emanated off of her drenched and cold body could not be overlooked or ignored; it’s the kind of pain that even though those around may not directly feel it, they all know it, and can feel it vicariously.

Theories are tossed around the onlookers’ minds as to what could possibly be the source of such palpable anguish. “Someone must have died,” many postulate. “Perhaps she was fired,” others think to themselves. But some of them, those that have felt it, know exactly what this is. That empty look, that appearance of being completely lost that is as plain on her face as anything, can only come from one thing: unrequited love.

This is the end. This is the beginning. This is everything.

Arghsies.

Right now I am trying to write the first dip in breaking up for Sadie and Brett. It's really difficult for me for a number of reasons. It is really difficult for me to separate my own experiences from my characters, and to give them a scene that their relationship deserves. It is also really hard to think about my own break-up. I usually try not to, but when I write, I have to force myself to get depressed about it to get myself in the mind-set to write it all down. It isn't fun.

I haven't really written anything worthy of posting in that scene, but this happens just before. I guess that I am going to have to tell you that this is the past. It is pretty clear in my books, but it may not be here.

Jill suggested that I don't write a break-up between Sadie and Brett to make for an Inception-like mind-fuck. After all of the trouble that I am having now, I am kind of tempted.

Sadie jolted awake in the middle of the night and gasped at how worried she suddenly felt. She couldn’t remember any bad dream that could have caused such a feeling, and after several moments of reflection, she couldn’t recall anything that she had forgotten to do. She wasn’t sure what caused this feeling of malaise, which caused her to feel even worse. Something was wrong, she could feel it in her bones.

She decides that it must have been the heat that awoke her from a dead sleep. Her apartment, which is too old to be air-conditioned, feels more like a sauna than suitable living quarters. The heat wave had arrived the day after Brett had departed, driving everyone indoors and to their fans. Sweating through your t-shirt is obviously a disconcerting development, but is it enough to make you feel so worried and unsettled?

She wished for a moment that Brett had spent the night; having someone to share her worries with and to tell her that everything was okay would have calmed her. But Brett had been interning in New York City for about a week, and she wasn’t sure how long it would be until he returned to visit her, or until she could visit him in Manhattan. Perhaps it was his absence that had woken her, or the fact that he had hardly called or e-mailed. But he had obviously been very busy settling into the big city in his big brother’s apartment; otherwise he surely would have called. And they had been together for over a year, which is obviously much past that “having to talk to each other all of the time” stage. She obviously didn’t need to talk to him every day or anything needy like that. Obviously there were a lot of reasons for him to be ignoring her—but maybe putting it at “ignoring” is a little strong. “Overlook” fit better for Sadie. Because, obviously, he wasn’t doing it on purpose.

If so many things were so obvious to Sadie, then how come she couldn’t sleep? How come she couldn’t help but feel like everything was wrong? Why does Brett’s absence make her gasp for air and wake up in the middle of the night, but when they talk on the phone, he won’t even tell her that he misses her?
* * *
By the next weekend, Brett had returned to his Boston apartment and Sadie was the first to welcome him home. Even though he had only been gone for two weeks, took him in with all of her senses as if she would soon become senseless. He was wearing new clothes that she had never seen before, and his hair had been cut very short to help make the heat wave bearable; immediately, Sadie could see that he looked different. But it wasn’t just his clothes and his hair; it was everything about him. It was the look in his eyes. It was his stiffness at her touch. It was in the way that his eyes continually darted away as if looking for an exit.

Sadie notices all of these things, but she has no idea what is to come. She never was one of these people that always expect the worst.

They make vague plans to go out to eat or to a show or to walk around Boston Common, but it doesn’t really matter exactly what they thought that they were going to do; they aren’t going to do any of those things anyway.

This is when Sadie learns that you can never make plans with Brett; you can depend on him like you can depend on the rain in this heat wave.

It all started out innocently enough. Sadie asked Brett how he was enjoying the city, how Jake and Minka are spending their summer, and if the heat was nearly as crushing in New York as it was there. Apparently he likes New York, Jake and Minka are vacationing at his cottage in Nantucket that weekend, and yes, the heat is unbearable there as well as here. Brett answers all of Sadie’s questions, but the conversation continues to come to a halt until Sadie poses another question. She wonders about this also, but he is obviously very tired from his train ride.

We know what is going to happen. We have known all along. This is the beginning, the end, and everything in between.

“So when do you want me to come and visit? I was thinking that maybe I could take next weekend off and take the train,” Sadie suggests hopefully.

“I don’t know if there’s enough room in the apartment.”

“Really” Sadie asks sadly. “I thought that it was pretty big.”

“Well, there are only two rooms.”

“Uh, I could sleep in your room. Or is your family that prudish?”

“I don’t think that it’s a good idea.”

“Why not? Don’t you want me to visit you?”

His silence was more telling than words ever could have been. Something occurs to Sadie; it hits her like a bolt of lightning, and it has almost all of the same effects.

“You came back to break up with me, didn’t you?” She almost whispers, she is so afraid.



To explain the photo:
"Outside Comic-Con this weekend, Joshua Jackson staged his own "Pacey-Con" by reading Dawson's Creek fan-fic, posing for photos, and playing Paula Cole on a stereo. Sadly, he was filming a FunnyOrDie.com skit, not trying to make Van Der Beek jealous."

Is it just me, or would you totally attend this?

Martha Is Really Out Of Touch

I am writing at the airport, and apparently there is free wi-fi. I have written 43,030 words. So close.

Sadie’s head is spinning, but it certainly isn’t because everything is changing around her. No, everything feels eerily similar to the way that it always was. It’s strange, and it’s starting to feel as if the last seven months never happened. In case you have forgotten, Sadie was surely traumatized by her break-up with Brett. It took her months to get out of bed and move around the world as if she wasn’t a member of the case of Michael Jackson’s inimitable music video Thriller. It was even more pathetic, since she could do none of those sweet dance moves.

They don’t talk about it; Brett seems intent on pretending that they had never broken up. He doesn’t talk about anything that occurred while they were apart. Fucking WASPs, Sadie finds herself mumbling to herself more and more often.

Part of Sadie is deliriously happy that they are back together. She adores the nights that they spend together in his apartment, and how everything feels like it always did. She is happy to be back at his soccer games, cheering him on for everyone to notice. Her bed feels less empty with him in it, and she welcomes the sound of his snoring and talking during his sleep. She missed him, and having him back once again feels like an incredible stroke of luck.

But another part of her is extremely resentful and completely unwilling to forgive and forget. When someone hurts you the way that Brett did, things will guaranteed never be the same. Anyone would argue that things not being the same is the best thing for Sadie and Brett (Bredie? Sadette? Let me know which is better with a comment!). But is this really the change that they needed? Bitterness and unresolved anger could hardly be said to improve a relationship. Sadie feels cut off from everyone else, since all of her friends have made it clear how little they support her decision, and are wondering how she could be so blind. They don’t understand, she always tells herself. They have never felt the way that I feel, she says.

But even worse, Sadie has no guarantees that he will not break her heart again. In fact, she is almost sure of it. Brett is a person who embraces something quickly and without question before casting it off to the side once the shine has worn off. He really loved his tie-dye tees and tanks that really entertained him to make on a summer’s day; what’s not to love if not a craft that is wet, wild, and yes, a little messy, as well as beautiful to any human with eyes? Even adults (such as Brett) will appreciate that moment of anticipation just before the unraveling of rubber bands reveals their own vibrant creations. It's no wonder tie-dyeing never goes out of fashion (?). It's easy to forget how simple the technique is. It requires minimal equipment and supplies that are available at any supermarket or hardware store. Simply set out bowls of rubber bands, clothespins, and marbles and experiment with a variety of expressive patterns. Brett, along with the children at the summer camp who were supposed to be doing the craft before Brett took over, were all thrilled with the results! But like anything else, summer ended, winter started, and it got colder when Brett and his tie-dye parted ways. He forgot about how simple the technique was, and that moment of pure giddy joy before unraveling the rubber bands to reveal the vibrant creation. And, people made fun of him for wearing tie-dye. So much for never going out of fashion, eh Martha?

Brett, along with everyone else that is like him, cares too much about what others think. He is preoccupied with it, but in a way that attempts to hide it because he would never want to come across as such; he is way too nonchalant for that. When people asked him if he had just come from the ‘Nam demonstration and if he could score them some weed, he stopped wearing the tie-dye. When his friends hinted (or straight-up said it) that they thought that Sadie was a feminist Nazi who would cut his penis off in his sleep, he became a lot less enamored with her. She isn’t very good for his status or his reputation; Sadie knows this for sure.

But she’s hoping that this time, none of this will matter. Maybe Brett will realize that whatever his gormless friends have to say just doesn’t matter. Maybe he will realize how special she is and want to be with her forever. Maybe she will trust him and not always think that he is going to leave her and need constant validation that he loves her. Maybe. But probably not.

She is fine with him leaving the tie-dye to the Dead Heads, though.

A lot is unspoken between Sadie and Brett since they got back together, without even speaking about it. Sadie feels as if they are walking on a tightrope, and any light breeze or lapse in concentration and they could come crashing to the ground.

But if you were to ask her, of course she would say that she is happy; as happy as a clam at high tide, whatever the fuck that means.

Just Fiddlin' Around

I had to do my writing earlier than usual today, since tonight is Sam's bachelorette party. Didn't write the full 2,000, only wrote about 1,000. Will write 1,000 tomorrow, then will write the last 8,000 from Monday through Thursday, hopefully finishing on Thursday.


When it comes to pulling away, Brett is one of the best. One might say that he has been pulling away from Sadie since the day that they met, but this isn’t strictly true. He always kept his distance, to be sure, but he let himself get closer to her than he ever would have wanted. He learned pretty early on that the only person that he can depend on is himself; relying on others is not only a sign of weakness, but it is sure to go wrong. People leave. People disappoint you. People are always less than they can be. He doesn’t want anybody to depend on him, either. Many have learned this the hard way, and soon, there will be one more.

Brett doesn’t like to need, but with Sadie, he can’t help it. Sadie is a current, pulling him along and changing the tide. She has always needed him, the look in her eyes tells him so. He can see how uncomfortable she is with herself, and how she looks next to Brett. Everyone, including Brett, knows how good he seems on paper: rich, good looking, a varsity athlete, smart enough, and driven. Sadie is intimidated by all of this, but anyone who knows both of them knows that she shouldn’t be. Paper is symbolic of the first year of marriage, because it isn’t sturdy or durable. You can crumple up paper and throw it away (or hopefully recycle it), and it probably will mean little. Brett is similar. There is so much more to anyone than their attributes on the surface, and this is where Brett is exposed for what he is. This is where Sadie shines. She is his rock.

Should we go with a paper covers rock analogy? No? Okay.

Being with Brett is a source of deep insecurity for Sadie, but it also a source of pride. She doesn’t know exactly how she got him, but she did. She looks better to everyone for it; he has become something of a trophy for her, but a trophy that she loves, of course. But she has started to wear him and show him off like a badge.

But shit gets real for Brett when he realizes that he depends on Sadie for far too much. Yes, some of those things are a little innocuous: not knowing what to order on his pizza without Sadie’s help, having a near-nervous breakdown in the candy shoppe as he has to decide what Jelly Bellies to pick for his treat bag without Sadie’s suggestion, and his constant need to consult Sadie for her opinions on the latest episode of “America’s Next Top Model.”

But there are some other instances that were very real to him, and very eye opening (in an “I thought you were dead in a horror movie but you weren’t” kind of way). Like when he went to dinner at his parents’ house, and insisted that Sadie come along because he legitimately didn’t think that he could face his father alone after the revelations of his affair. Or when he was having a bad string of games after coming off of a slight injury, and Sadie’s pre-game pep talks as they drove to the game helped him end his scoring drought. He used to live with his parents, for fuck’s sake. And why should he need Sadie to help him play soccer, the sport that he has been playing since he could walk, and he has a scholarship to Harvard for?

Brett’s model of masculinity has mostly been his Dad, which is unfortunate, to say the least. Jerry Hall doesn’t need anybody, and he never has. Being a man is about solving your own problems and not relying on anybody to do it for you. Being a man is about stoicism in the face of adversity, tragedy, and anything else that comes your way. Being a man about is not being a woman, and certainly not relying on one. If his father knew what he had become—which he didn’t, since Brett had almost stopped talking to him completely—he would have likely made a joke to hide his complete disappointment. Jerry Hall only has sons, not daughters, and he would like to keep it that way.

Brett is starting to feel restless and emasculated, a terrible combination for a man like him. He is longing for his freedom and his independence, which he feels he is missing with Sadie. With Sadie, he has to be everything for her: her lover, her goddamned therapist, her protector. She loves him. He had suspected for a long time, but now he knows it to be true. He is supposed to love her back, but Brett is truly Jerry’s son. He doesn’t really know how to love anybody else, and even if he could, why would he? It’s unmanly, it’s messy, and it is just another thing that people need from you.

Brett doesn’t want to need anybody, and he doesn’t want to be needed.

Sadie looks beautiful under the glow of the shaded string lights. These bulbs covered in shades made from chartreuse and turquoise vellum holiday strands trace every slat of a porch trellis, and cast a festive glow on his outdoor porch, and in Sadie’s eyes. He looks at her curiously, trying to remember why they began dating in the first place. It’s sort of a pointless task, however, since he never really knew to begin with. He has never regretted dating Sadie; in fact, he has really grown to care for her and appreciate her. But when he said that he loved her, he wasn’t exactly sure if he meant it. He might love her, right? All of the signs are there. She just has a way about her; she really puts the “stink” in “distinctive,” if you know what I mean, but in an overall pleasing way. Nothing makes him feel as serene as when he and Sadie are together. But then he starts to wonder why the hell is he using the word “serene,” and decides to stop reading advice for teens written by Jacqueline Esmort. Most of the advice is on how to “just fiddle around” with floor-length sweater nightgowns with kittens on them, paired with ironic Crocs. Not particularly useful, but not entirely useless, either.

Sadie is beautiful in so many ways, but as he watches her read one of those books that make her sigh loudly so many times because she is inexplicably angry, he realizes something. He cares about her and he likes to spend time with her and really appreciates everything that she does for him, but a lot of his attachment to her ends there.

He doesn’t love her, so that’s it, isn’t it?

I Don't Want A Title

I am in London right now for Sam's bachelorette party tomorrow. What I just wrote completely devastated me. I know that it's really long, and I'm sorry, but I think that what I just wrote is really important.

Oh, and as a side note,

I write like
David Foster Wallace

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

Paul hasn’t heard from Sadie in a few days, and it is really worrying him. This would worry him at the best of times, since hardly a day has gone by since they met that they haven’t talked. But it is even more troubling for him, since he asked her to date exclusively, she told him that she had to think about it, and she hasn’t heard from him since. If you were to ask anyone, they would tell you that this is hardly promising.

When Sadie finally calls, his initial relief is quickly swept away by the sound of her voice. She sounded tired and sad, but mostly defeated. He may not know exactly what she is going to say, but he knows the bottom line: Sadie is going to say no. For whatever reason, she won’t commit to him the way that he committed to her months ago. Unrequited love stings, to be sure.

He remembers how he felt as he watched Monica burn the box of memories of their relationship as he moved away for college. It was sad to see such an incredibly cathartic and literal destruction of their love, but even more, he mourned the way that the nautical charm would be lost from her quarters. The nautical knob made from monkey’s fist knots was affixed to the lid of a pale blue box that contained the ticket stubs from the theatre that they went to on their first date (Coach Carter, the Channing Tatum classic), the mixed tape that Paul had made for her with songs that he felt defined their relationship (she questioned the inclusion of “There It Go! (The Whistle Song),” but she let it slide), a piece of toast that had an odd likeness to Paul (circa the time that D3: The Mighty Ducks was released) and hundreds of photographs of them together.

Paul and Monica had met on the first day of grade twelve in their advanced placement English class. Monica vehemently argued that Hamlet was truly mad in Shakespeare’s classic play of the same name (as if you would have confused it with any other Hamlet), and Paul immediately fell in love with her passion. In high school, he was definitely one of those insufferable future English major assholes who wore scarves, read l’Étranger by Albert Camus while stroking his pitiful teen ‘stache in such an obvious way so that everyone knew how deep he was, and he would have even smoked if his parents wouldn’t have gotten mad at him. Yes, he was that weird kid in your class. But when he found Monica, he stopped feeling so alone.

They fell madly in love the way that high school kids only can, in that “can’t breathe when I’m not with you, can’t sleep because you’re always on my mind, can I leave a message on your machine letting you know that you’re the bomb and you blew up on me?” kind of way. They had planned on staying together when he went to Boston College and she to Cornell in the fall, planning on taking those trains that poets seem to love whenever they could. But as he got closer to that day when he would move away and say goodbye to Providence for as long as he fucking could, he started having visions. Of course Paul isn’t psychic, but he has always had an uncanny ability to sense things before they come. In his mind, he knew exactly how the relationship would go: they would miss out on everything that can be so great about freshman year because they would be missing each other, until Thanksgiving, when they would inevitably break up. He knew that he would be the one to do it, and she would resent him for it for years for robbing her of everything in that year. He loved her, he really did, but he couldn’t bear the guilt that he could foresee that he would feel. But when he told her this, she was less than enthusiastic for his honestly and clairvoyant abilities. She burned their relationship down to the ground, and burned him from her memory. They hadn’t spoken since that day, and he had a strange feeling that she was still angry and would give him a piece of her mind, whilst hoping that he choked on it.

But since going to college, he had made a conscious effort to tone down the asshole. As anyone who has ever been a college freshman knows, once you get there, there are thousands of other d-bags who are even more convoluted and obtuse than you. People that write things such as “molecularity is what enables the potential interpermeation of bodies across and through their difference, such as occurs in the event of becoming-animal. Becoming-animal, like all becomings, is communicative and contagious, working according to a logic of infection, whereby human molecularity and animal molecularity collide in each others's zones of proximity. Like a cold virus, the particles of human and the particles of animal literally infect one another and mix together to form a new singularity, irreducible to either of the two parts.” You know, shit that makes no sense and contributes in no way to society. Paul knew right away that he just didn’t want to be like that, so he smartened up and stopped trying to be so pretentious.

Over time, Paul started to realize that he never truly loved Monica. When you love someone, you don’t let them go because there’s a chance that things will end. You stay with them because you have to, because you can’t bear the thought of them not being in your life. He was just too tortured to know this back then; agonizing love is just too fitting for a poet, he used to think. But Paul knows better, and he knows that it just isn’t what he wants.

He developed a sense of humour. He stopped taking himself so seriously. He stopped wearing those shitster scarves. And then, he met Sadie.

If you had asked him why he chose to sit beside Sadie at Au Bon Pain on that crisp and colourful fall day, he wouldn’t have known. But perhaps a part of him was drawn to her, drawn to her pain and her loneliness and the fact that he felt the exact same way sometimes. Perhaps he was just reading too much Sylvia Plath, though he isn’t quite sure. If he had to describe Sadie in one word, he knew what it was: shining. No, not in a “redrum” kind of way. She was bright and bouncy and colourful and everyone around her knew it. She knew it too, but at that moment she seemed to have forgotten it.

But Paul will always be an English major at heart, even years after he graduates and he takes on a job that will inevitably have nothing to do with his major. He is romantic, and not in that weird English department “reaction against the scientific rationalization of nature” bullshit that is completely counter to what everyone thinks of when they think of romance. Paul remembers the exact moment when he knew that he loved Sadie: when she cried as they watched Up together, when Mr. Fredrickson finds the message from his wife wishing that he would have his own adventure. Yeah, sure, everyone cries in that part that isn’t a sociopath or a robot. But for Paul, it was more than that: he knew that she was a mess since she cried in almost every movie, her passion for politics was more than most people could ever handle, and she was complicated beyond belief. He loved that. He loved how strong she was, how her face reddened slightly whenever a right-wing pundit’s name was mentioned, how she could feel other’s emotions in as real a way as they did, and how her fire burned so bright that it made him melt every time.

He has always been drawn to people who are wounded, from the time that he had an extremely old Fischer-Price doctor’s kit and would put plastic casts on people’s wrists and hammer their knees, checking for reflexes until they complained. He wanted to fix her, to be her hero, baby (but without the weird mole). He hated Brett with all of the silent loathing that he could muster for having made his work that much more difficult. He could always see it in her eyes the way that she missed him, but over time, it was less and less.

He thought that he had finally won her over. But after hearing her voice, he knows that he didn’t. He did everything that he could: he was patient, he was forgiving, and he was encouraging. None of it seemed to matter right now, and it was starting to have felt like a waste of time.

* * *

“Paul,” Sadie says as she touches his shoulder. For support, no doubt, but support for who? Sadie looks around his apartment, as if she knows that this is the last time that she will be there. She does it lovingly and carefully, with heavy tones of regret and longing.

“I know what you’re going to say,” Paul interjects.

“No, you couldn’t,” Sadie responds, sounding confused.

“Maybe I don’t know exactly what you’re about to say, but I know that you’re going to say that you can’t be with me. So, what reason will you use this time? That you need more time? That you’re a lesbian? That you got back together with Brett? That—” The look on Sadie’s face as she looks with shame to the ground says more than enough. “How?” he stammers, confused. “How could you possibly think that this is a good idea? After everything that he put you through?”

Rage is building up inside of him, and he sees himself as a volcano. He knows that he is going to erupt, but he is doing his best to minimize the number of casualties. Save yourselves, he wants to tell everyone around them. But he knows that he can’t be saved; he is a lost cause.

“His father died,” Sadie says quietly and slowly. She has to say everything slowly because tears are fighting to escape, but she doesn’t want to let them. She wants to be strong for once, and feel like she has made the right decision.

“Well from what I know about the man, it isn’t much of a loss.”

“It was his father, Paul,” Sadie is angry. “He may not have been a great guy, or even a good one, but he was his father. Show some respect.”

“I have no respect for him. He doesn’t deserve it. Maybe he would if he had ever done anything for you, instead of being a completely selfish bastard.”

Sadie had little to say in response. They both knew that it couldn’t have been more true.

“So, has he promised you something? Has he said that things will be different, that he will be different, and that everything will be perfect if you just take him back? “

“No,” Sadie says hesitatingly. She realizes how true his words are. “He hasn’t promised me anything.” She hates how those words sound as says them. She hates to sound so pathetic. Perhaps those promises were just unspoken, she thinks to herself. Why would he get back together with her if he didn’t think that things would be different?

“Well what did he do, then? Throw money at you?”

“That’s not fair. You know that I was never with him because of the money.”

“I’m having trouble figuring out why you ever were with him, Sadie. He doesn’t seem to have much to offer. And after you know all of that, after he treated you like he did, how could you even imagine going back to all of that? Is it fun? Do you get some masochistic pleasure from loving someone who will never love you?”

“I think that he does,” Sadie responds defensively.

“Oh, did he say that?”

“He does, in his own way.”

“In his own way,” Brett repeats, almost mocking her. “When it’s convenient for him? Without having to give up anything at all”

“This is my choice,” Sadie manages to say. Her face is now soaked with tears, and all that Paul wants to do is hug her and make her feel better again. But how do you hug someone who does this to you?

“Yeah, fine. Make your choice. But do you really think that it’s the right one? Do you really think that things will be different? Think of everything that was wrong in that year that you were together. Has he promised to change anything? Do you think that he even cares enough to change those things? Or is he just crawling back to the person who cares the most for him—foolishly, might I add—so that he can feel better that his Dad died?”

Sadie is silent for several moments; it’s no wonder, of course, since she has a lot to think about. She needs to think of a way to tell Paul this without hurting his feelings more than she needs to. She also needs a way to say what she has to say without sounding completely pathetic, like she knows that she already has. There is no way to say it, she concludes sadly. But she has to.

“I just love him. I hate him for everything that he did, yeah, but does that mean that I can’t love him too?”

Of course you can, Paul says to himself. He is experiencing those exact emotions.

“I wish that there were a way that I could do this where I don’t seem so wretched, because I really do care about you. You will never understand how you saved me,” Sadie wants to hold him one last time, and try to convey even one percent of how much he means to her.

“It doesn’t matter,” Paul says as he pulls away, knowing Sadie’s exact thoughts at that moment. “You chose him.”

“I didn’t really,” Sadie says sadly. “He chose me.” She adds in her mind, “And I went along with it.”

“I’m sorry,” is all that she has to say as she gets up. She doesn’t want to leave. She doesn’t want this to be her last memory of Paul, the man who healed her, and who showed her a different kind of love. A love that isn’t hungry from starvation, but a love that is always satisfied and knowing that there will always be more.

“I know,” Paul says. “But you are going to be so much sorrier when you realize what a mistake this is. I’m sorry for what you’re going to go through. Good luck. You’ll need it with that man.”

Sadie closes the door behind her, takes a few steps to the stairwell, and collapses. She has acted so weak in the past day that her body seems to have taken the cues. Her mind knows how right Paul is, but that has never mattered, has it? Love makes us do nonsensical and unwise things, it always has and always will.

She doesn’t know much, but she knows this for sure: this is never what she wanted.

The Beginning of the End

Sadie and Brett are lying in bed, exhausted and still a little smashed. Brett’s arm is around Sadie, and she can’t help but grin. This is where she is happiest; in her bed, with Brett. His strong arms make her feel protected, and the way that he runs his fingers up and down her arm makes her wish that every moment could be this way. She breathes in his scent, which she loves, and runs her fingers through his hair.

“I love you,” pops into her head. This isn’t unusual, of course; she has thought these very words about a million times. She wants to scream it so that everyone knows how in love she truly is. But until this night she has kept it inside, afraid of what saying it would mean.

Sadie feels as light as air; she knows that if she let herself, she could float away with all of the happiness that she has inside of her. Those post-exam/Liverpool eternal glory beers are making her head spin, but not in a sick and ready to vomit way. In a way that makes her feel electric, as excited as neon, but at the same time like everything is moving around her but she is staying so still, stretching the moments out and taking from them everything that she can.

She wants to tell him more than anything, but of course it’s indescribably terrifying. When you tell someone that you love them, you open yourself up to the possibility that they won’t love you. Of course, they could have always not loved you; but now you know for sure. At this point Sadie thinks that she almost doesn’t care, that the words have been held in for so long that they need to be said, no matter what. Love is supposed to be shared, and Sadie is tired of feeling it by herself.

Say it, she says to herself. Just say it. The world will keep on spinning.

“Brett,” she says to get his attention.

“Yes,” he responds, completely unaware that something significant is about to happen.

Sadie is silent for several seconds. Deciding to say “I love you” is incredibly exciting and intoxicating, but at the same time, it is incredibly difficult. Sadie wonders how it is possible that she could hardly hold the words in her mouth all of those times, but when she finally is allowing herself to say it, she just can’t. Let’s be clear, there is no turning back at this point. She isn’t reconsidering; the words just won’t seem to come out. Maybe her mouth knows something that her heart doesn’t.

“I think that I love you,” the words finally tumble out of her mouth.

At first, Brett doesn’t say anything. His mind was almost stopped moments before, but now it feels like it is moving at the speed of light. Is he trying to come up with a way to get out of this? Is he happy? Does he love her too?

“I love you too,” Brett finally says.

Sadie kisses him and Brett takes off her clothes, and Sadie should feel as if everything in the world is better than she had ever thought that it could be. But she doesn’t.

When she had told Brett that she loved him, those words truly meant something to her. But the way that Brett said it back didn’t give Sadie the impression that those words had any meaning to him at all. He didn’t even look at her. The words sounded hollow and emotionless; Sadie’s had been full of feeling and adoration.

Even though Brett has just declared his love for Sadie, she has never been surer that he doesn’t love her. And even worse, he doesn’t even care about her enough to tell her this. He is fine not loving her and lying to her about it, because it is easier for him. Brett had always put himself and his needs first; it wouldn’t have really occurred to him how much what he just did would hurt Sadie. It would hurt her for months as she replays this moment again and again. It also hurt her now, as she feels the disappointment wash over her. She wanted this, she got it, so why is it so unsatisfying? Is this all that there is?

Even though they just took a huge step forward, both of them are becoming more and more aware of this fact: that this is the beginning of the end.

There's Something That You Need To Know

I wrote this last night, and I figure that you all should see it. The time is approaching when I will have no choice but to go dark, so that you can enjoy my book more when you get to read it. But that time isn't now.

I will be writing more later, and probably posting another entry. Thanks for staying with me.


The harsh light of day streams in through the scarlet floral drapes, and all that Sadie can do is survey the damage. For months, Sadie felt as if all that she ever seemed to do was to pull herself out of the wreckage. Recently, she had started to rebuild. It all felt like it was for nothing.

Brett is still asleep. Sadie doesn’t dare wake him; she is sure that whatever he is dreaming about is far greater than the reality that he will have to face when he regains consciousness. It isn’t fair, she thinks to herself, that he gets these few extra moments unburdened by worry. But then again, the gravity of what had happened between them the night before would probably always be lost on him. In that moment of weakness, Brett had nothing to lose. Sadie feels as if she has lost everything.

If she had been honest with herself—and let’s face it, this is a rarity for Sadie—she would have always known that she would run back to Brett the moment that he asked her to. But this never really seemed like a possibility that she would have to entertain, since she had always thought that he would never want her back. Or in this case, need her back. Had she taken advantage of him, getting what she wanted when he was in a vulnerable state? Sadie feels wracked with guilt over this possibility, but we know better. Brett took advantage of her. He needed something, anything, to make him feel something other than grief over the death of his father. The heart attack had come without warning, and had completely shattered everything in his life. He is ready to graduate, he has a job lined up that was practically handed to him through his father’s contacts, and he was seeing so many women that he almost needed some kind of sex secretary to keep them all straight and prevent any embarrassing gaffes such as mixing up names or double booking (or double dipping, which is much more serious).

But none of these girls are Sadie, and none of them mean to him what she once did. Being with Sadie made him feel secure, and after his father had died, everything in his life felt shaky. He knew that even though he had broken up with her, she would be what he needed when he needed her the most. He didn’t really care about what it would do to her. We can blame him for this all we want, but it’s the truth. Death certainly doesn’t bring out the best in anybody, let alone Brett Hall.

Paul wasn’t just filling in for Brett until he came around, Sadie knows this for sure. She had liked him. She had liked him a lot. But what does it say about her that she ran back to Brett the second that he called? If it was as innocent as attending a funeral for a friend, why didn’t she tell Paul about it before she left?

She knows exactly why. Even though it seemed to many that she had never meant anything to Brett, she knows that she did. In this world, Brett Hall has never had much to depend on. And even though he probably doesn’t want to be with her right now—or ever—he knows that he can depend on her. Of course he would want her now, and when he phoned her, a part of her knew that all of this would happen. How could she tell Paul?

Paul. How the fucking hell could she do this to Paul? He had been so patient with her as she picked up the pieces of her life, but now it seemed as though all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put Sadie back together again. She felt like the past seven months had been a waste of time. Why did she bother trying to move on, when all of the work that she had done seemed to have been for nothing? Why did she bother letting Paul into her life? But then again, there’s something to be said about being predictable. She had done exactly what she had told him that she would do. She had told him that she wasn’t ready to move on. She had told him that she was selfish and couldn’t be for him what he would want her to be. She had predicted this like she had correctly predicted the World Cup final. But unlike the glory that came with foreseeing the outcome of the most important football match in the world, in this case, it felt so fucking disappointing to be so right.

Sadie doesn’t know what she is going to say to Paul. Even more, she doesn’t know what she is going to say to Brett. She wracks her brain, trying to think of some way to avoid dealing with this. For some reason, stealing the identity of a dead person and becoming an advertising agent in New York City doesn’t seem altogether plausible.

But as she dreams of what her apartment in New York will look like, Brett begins to stir. He opens his eyes like people always do in horror movies when you think that they’re dead. Sadie was unsure as to why he always felt the need to do this, but she chooses to let this go at the moment. She stares at him nervously, knowing all too well that anything he says could make or break her. She hates to give him this power, but it’s the only way that she has ever loved him.

But what happens is completely unexpected, for Sadie anyway. Brett simply gets up and puts on his housecoat, which seems to be embellished with blueberries. Any human with eyes could see that these blueberries, which were applied with corks that doubled as fabric stamps, added a touch of whimsy, color, and a hint of summer's bounty to Brett’s plain white robe. Sadie made a bet with herself that this embellishing technique could be used on light-colored kids' clothing and sneakers—or even a tote bag or note cards for herself! Brett comments that he thinks that he smells blueberry pancakes (what is it with this family and blueberries?) and encourages Sadie to join him for breakfast.

Perhaps Brett simply forgot, Sadie wonders to herself as she pours syrup on her pancakes. Perhaps it was all a dream, since Brett has mentioned nothing. But something is different, and so familiar at the same time. He touches Sadie’s arm as he talks to her. He invites her to his soccer game against Holy Cross that will be played next weekend. When she returns to her room, he follows her and takes off his blueberry-embellished robe.

Oh, Sadie realizes. They are back together, and she didn’t even notice.

Brett was always better at avoiding things; Sadie should have known this. He wants her back, but he doesn’t even think that he needs to ask. Brett doesn’t ask. Sadie has given in to him so many times that he now wonders, what’s the point in asking? He just takes. If Sadie had more respect for herself, she would have stopped him. There were so many points when she could have. But how do you say no, when you have dreamed about getting back together for so long?

She can’t live with him. She can’t live without him.

There are so many parts of Brett that make her feel high and dizzy and wonderful. But for every great part, there is a part that makes her hate herself. Right now, self-loathing and complete joy are found in equal measure. She just can’t decide which one will win out this time.

Don Draper, Tim Riggins, Johnny Depp, and Billy Idol: Drunk

Jon Hamm drinks PBR-- Jill, what do we think that says about him?

I took yesterday off, since my book has been driving me crazy. I am hopefully going to get to 37,000 words today, and 40,000 tomorrow. After that you can see the end, can't you?

For some time, a feeling has been building in Sadie; it started out slowly, just a doubt in the back of her mind that was always pushed aside. But it has been growing and growing, to the point where there is no space for it anymore. It can no longer be pushed aside. In fact, it is almost begging to be acknowledged and paid its due.

Summertime is once again approaching, and Sadie and Brett began dating on a Saturday night in August. Even then, Sadie was worried about Brett, and whether his feelings could ever match hers. We always knew that they didn’t; but we need to remember that there are a lot of things that we know that Sadie does not. She has always suspected them, but stopped short at believing them. That would have been too hard. But the evidence is mounting, and can't be ignored. Sadie has given him all of the time in the world to fall in love with her, but his feelings still seem lukewarm. How long can she really give him? If he doesn't love her yet, will he ever?

Over time, her feelings for Brett have only grown. She fell in love with him quickly, and hundreds of times more after that. Sadie would never say that she loves everything about him; people are far too complicated for that. He has faults, of course: He is withholding, emotionally and otherwise. She never really knows what he is thinking or how he feels, mostly because he hides it, or most often, he doesn’t know either. He isn’t very affectionate or loving. He never seems fully there, his mind is always somewhere else. She has never been even close to figuring him out. He is sort of like a younger Don Draper, but without the seedy history and he isn’t quite as mind-fuckingly hot and mysterious. But Sadie would never fancy herself as a Betty Draper; she isn’t nearly as accommodating.

But to Sadie Desman, none of these things could ever matter more than the way that he makes her feel. When they are apart, she hungers for him. He is always on her mind; from when she wakes up in the morning to when she goes to sleep at night, she is wondering about him and what he is thinking. When she stands beside him and the world can see that she is his girl, it makes her feel better about herself. Yes, everyone may be wondering how a girl like Sadie Desman could get a guy like Brett Hall. They may conclude that Sadie is incredibly funny or really good in bed or something. To have strangers attribute skills such as these to you without knowing anything about you is powerful, to say the least. Brett is sexy; his abs could cut you if you got too close to them, which Sadie does at every opportunity. Being with Brett makes her feel alive and wanted, and it is something that she will truly miss once she is alone.

Other than Brett, almost everything in Sadie’s life is falling into place. She is set to begin her honours project in political science with her radical political thought professor, and is planning on attending to grad school after graduation. She was considering the social and political thought department back at York in Toronto, but after a particularly disastrous visit in which a David Boreanaz-crazed man in a vampire cape (she is not sure whether he attends the school, or whether he simply shows up on campus from time to time) had forced her to read his essay entitled “Reflecting Dichotomies of Subjectivity: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and the Humanization of the Object.” He then tried to recruit her as a promoter of his Buffy the Vampire Slayer academic conference; as a fan of the show, Sadie was very disgruntled to see that postmodernism really can ruin everything. She refused to help him, and in a fit of rage, he sent her to the nearest museum and told her that it closed an hour later than it did, causing her to be locked in overnight alongside a Texan high school football player and a hot German. To make a long story short, Sadie ended up naked in a coffin while the German and Texan hid her clothes. It was quite the night, but will have to be a story saved for another day. But ever since then, Sadie had been having elaborate dreams where the German had sex with Count Dracula who bit him and killed him, all while the Texan (named Tim Higgins) watched. Needless to say, this image was off-putting.

But Brett is starting to take up far too much of her time. Not with his physical presence; she can hardly get enough of him. No, it is in her mind. All of the time that she has spent worrying that not only could he not care about her the way that she cares about him, but perhaps that he really doesn’t care about her at all. Just think of all of the Bon Jovi songs that she could have listened to with that extra time. Or all of the ironic Crocs that she could have thrown at George W. Bush effigies.

Sadie had recently taken to rolling up her pants for a masculine shabby chic look. Initially, as she was getting the hang of the style, it took her concentration away from Brett for a while. But soon, guidebooks for mastering the rolled cuff look—which were printed just weeks before the Huckleberry Finn Revival Festival, thank god—allowed Sadie to easily master the look, thus giving her more time to obsess over Brett. It was good and it was bad; she really could have used the distraction, but ultimately, she looked like she could avoid almost any flood while looking stylish at the same time.

Getting the roll right is harder than it looks, and the experts differ on technique. Some suggest rolling one inch of cuff three times for cotton canvas trousers, and a single two-inch cuff for dark jeans. For slightly looser pants, like chinos, it is advised that the cropped pants enthusiast creates a peg by pinching the fabric slightly at the front during the rolling process. Starting from the bottom, you flip once, making as small a fold as possible, then twist the front of the pants leg by about an inch, then roll twice more while holding the pinch tightly. The pleats should stay in place. There are several don’ts. No formal shoes. No rolled-up skinny jeans. No wool pants – the rolls won’t stay. No bootleg pants, which should be burned anyway. And since rolled pants are meant to look casual, nothing about the outfit should be dressy, at the risk of looking too studied. While you’re at it, stop trying so hard. Sadie was sure glad that she had this advice; who knew that it could be so complicated! Ultimately, Sadie decided that the best approach to any pants-rolling situation is to channel Johnny Depp for that moment and ask yourself, “How would Johnny Depp roll up the bottom of his pants?” Indeed, in life, one should always be asking themselves, “What would Johnny Depp as Jack Sparrow do?” The answer is usually “get drunk and make a poor sexual choice,” which Sadie is usually more than happy to do. She has always said that a poor sexual choice is better than no sexual choice.
One could also ask “What would Billy Idol do?”, and then do the exact opposite.

Like anybody who is starting to worry that they are losing everything that they love, Sadie is looking to defend it with everything that she has. When you think that someone may not love you enough, you start to try to make them. She becomes afraid to argue or disagree with him, and pays more attention to her appearance than usual. She has been making herself crazy, analyzing everything that Brett ever says or does, to try to figure out how much he cares for her. Asking him how he feels would be showing too much of her hand, which is something that she knows that she cannot do. Sadie—Brett’s Sadie, to be more precise—is a cultivated performance. Her practiced indifference, and pretending that she doesn’t love Brett with everything that she has— and more—has really begun to tire her out. She is starting to wear away at the edges, and is giving herself over to Brett more and more. He sees the difference. He sees how much she loves him, even though neither of them has said those three words yet.

For Brett, Sadie is like a pros and cons list. Right now, there are more pros to being with Sadie than without her. He can talk to her in ways that he has never been able to talk with anybody before. It makes him feel nice to have someone that cares for him so deeply. He cares for her as well, and has grown to really depend on her when shit gets real. She never asks anything like that in return, which makes things easy for Brett. The cons would start to pile up if she asked too much of him, or if she became too inconvenient, or if there were other things in his life—like school or soccer— that need his attention more than she does. When the cons outweigh the pros, he will surely get rid of her. Sadie is all too aware of this.

Sorry In Advance

Please listen to this song as you read this entry. You guys aren't going to like it. I'm sorry.


In the so beautiful it would make anyone sad guest bedroom of the Hall household, Sadie is fast asleep and dreaming. She has played the scenes of their break-up so many times in her head like a movie, each time a little different. When she is awake, in those brief moments that she can remember the dream before it fades into oblivion, she reasons that she will re-play the dream again and again until she gets the outcome that she wants. But then she forgets it, goes on with her day, but still haunted by those visions that plague her in the night.

This time, her dream blends into reality in a way that she isn’t sure where her dream ends and real life begins. But that’s the way that Sadie likes it.

Sadie thinks that she hears her door open quietly, and feet padding across the hardwood floor. Even since they had broken up, Sadie has never strayed over to his side of the bed; she feels weight on that side again, and everything feels more right, somehow. She feels his breath on her shoulder, and a hand that winds itself in hers.

“There are so many things that I wanted to say to him,” he says.

“I know,” she hears herself say in comfort.

“Of course he died before I could. That’s exactly like him.”

“It was.” Sadie turns to face him, and cups his face in her hands.

“I hate him.”

“Hate is a strong word.”

“I mean it.”

“I don’t think that you do.”

“He never did anything for us. He abandoned us in life, and he abandoned us in death.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Sadie says as she runs her hands through his hair. He closes his eyes, remembering the feeling. His mind is swirling, but it’s better that way because when it’s still the pain catches up. He is tired of this pain. He wants it to get bored and go away.

Sadie doesn’t know that anything will ever be okay ever again. But that’s what being someone else’s strength is, isn’t it? As she thinks this to herself, she starts to feel weaker and weaker. If she ever had any resolve at all, it has faded away. She knows that she will give over every part of herself to him, to build him back up again. It’s just what you do.

The distance between them is closing. She can almost taste the salt of his angry tears; the tears that he would forget by the next morning, the same tears that would stay burned in Sadie’s memory until the day that she died. This is like a dream, and in that dream she can hear the lock turning until she hears that sharp noise that tells her that the lock has been broken. He had always been closed, but now he is open; as open as a field of wild grass, as open as a dam with water rushing through to the expanse. Sadie is a falling leaf that lands on the surface, and is swept up by the tide. They are open together.

The distance is so small that now when they kiss, no one could ever know when it began or how. The pain is passing between them now, diffusing through until it is dull but still at the surface. Sadie readily accepts it as if it were her own, but let’s be clear; she isn’t a saint, she isn’t selfless, and she isn’t being so nice. She makes sure that he can feel some of the hurt that he inflected on her, while they were apart—but even more when they were together.

Sadie is overwhelmed by the feeling of having everything that she wants and everything that she hates, all at the same time. He couldn’t have felt the presence of her tears, since his were the first to fall. She cries because it is finally happening. She cries for his pain, and the burden that she is shouldering because she doesn’t know what else to do with it. But most of all, she cries for the strength that she had cultivated, and she cries as she watches it as it is washed away as if it had never existed at all.

He pushes his body into hers, pushing away all of the doubt that had built up in her heart, weighing it down. Her body remembers his, oh yes it does. Her body welcomes him like an old friend, without realizing that he is not a friend at all. If her body knew even one millionth of what her heart knew, it would have built up a wall with spikes and fire. But she gives in to him, just like she always did, and as it is starting to feel like, just like she always will.

They both drift off to sleep again, with their hearts a little lighter. They are dreaming again, but what they dream of is never the same.

“I love you,” Sadie thinks that she hears him say. But in a moment of lucidity, she realizes that this final part was all a dream.

“And I know you have a heavy heart, I can feel it when we kiss.
So many men stronger than me have thrown their backs out trying to lift it.
But me I'm not a gamble, you can count on me to split.
The love I sell you in the evening by the morning won't exist".

E-Mailing Your Story (To Me) Will Not Save You

Sadie and Brett, stepping up 2 the streets

So, things are pretty terrible in these parts. All of my time is taken up by either this novel or the gym or work, leaving me no time to do anything fun. I often have to stay up really really late after work to complete my writing. I'm kind of freaking out here.

But luckily, you guys have come to the rescue. I straight up plagiarized from some novels from last year. However, I'm sure that you will find the effect to be more than pleasing.

I am now at 32,000 words.

Unfortunately, for those of you who are not Esmondes, you will probably not find this very funny. In fact, I didn't even attend the funeral that a lot of this is based on, but it has lived on in our collective memories for years.


The Redington Funeral home in Friendship, Maine, was a bustle when the Halls arrived in their black limousine. Businessman clad in black suits congregated outside on their cell phones, apparently unable to leave their work behind for one day to attend the funeral of a colleague. How can anyone become so cold? How does the gravity of the situation—a man dead, leaving his family behind—not elicit any sympathy from them? As they made their way through the crowd, Susan nodded at several of them. The looks of both sympathy and judgement that they gave her must have been humiliating; did everyone know that Jeremy Hall was an adulterer? Or did they just know what kind of person Jerry was, and wonder what kind of person that Susan could have been to stay with him? Sadie would never know; all that she knew was that she wouldn’t wish this kind of pain on anyone, not even the person who had broken her heart.

Sadie was disappointed to see that nothing seemed to improve when the service had finally started. A portly and bald man stepped forward, cleared his throat, and delivered what would famously go down in history (to Sadie, at least) as the worst eulogy of all time.

“I don’t know how you all feel about this, maybe this will help, maybe it won’t,” an inauspicious beginning, if ever there was one. “But I find, when I have lost someone, that it really helps for me to think about that person and how they relate to building materials. Now, maybe it’s because I’m losing my house in a couple of weeks because the churching business just isn’t what it used to be, all of these kids hooting and hollering with their Twitter accounts and their iPhones, turning their backs on the Lord. No apps can replace the church, no way Jose!” He stops to clear his throat. “Now, as we all know, my boss,” he pauses, his finger pointing toward the ceiling. ”My boss...Jesus, would be considered the cornerstone of any building. He is absolutely necessary in the successful completion of any type of construction. Try to build a house without him, you’ll learn!” The man chuckles at what he seems to think passes as a joke before continuing. “When I think about Jeremy, I think, Jeremy was the type of person that... you know... you could... build a house on Jeremy, he was just so solid. Jeremy, was... a foundation stone. And in the kingdom of our Lord, as we have learned, his house has many mansions. And all of them, every single one, is built upon a foundation. A foundation, made up of people like our beloved Jeremy.”

Everyone is staring at this man transfixed in horror, hoping that perhaps he simply got off to a rocky start and would follow this up with something at least moderately relevant and inoffensive. Sadly, all hope that he would turn a corner and amaze them with his speech was lost after what followed.

“I think that we can all agree that Jeremy was a natural at home décor. For those of you lucky enough to have visited Jeremy’s home—which I did once, and I will tell the story, don’t worry—it is obvious that the man just had a gift. Now, I had seen his wife Susan in church every week, and she had been alone since Jeremy was away a lot. I was able to swing an invitation to their home, hoping to score some alone time with Susan, if you know what I mean—” he has to pause as the room is filled with shocks of horror. “—But when I walked in and saw Jeremy sitting in the living room, well, I backed off, as any man would. Susan was holding onto one of their dogs on the deck—Jeremy just loved those dogs, didn’t he! Am I right, folks?” No one nods in appreciation or agreement, but the man who never really introduced himself just ploughs on.

“It wasn’t just dogs that Jeremy loved—he loved all animals! This was really exhibited by his love of hunting. Every time he killed one that he was really proud of he had it stuffed and displayed it in their lovely home where he may have picked out a throw pillow or two. Those dead animals that he kept around the house were really well placed! I mean, it was like a safari! I know that all of you hunters out there have gotten some advice from Jerry about where best to display animal corpses around your own homes. Like I said, a gift!”

The room was thunderously silent. The man at the lectern had at last stopped speaking, but it was unclear whether he was finished, or incorporating some sort of dramatic pause, or perhaps he was waiting for applause? Finally, he spoke again, quickly and unceremoniously delivering the details of the interment, as well as the location of the reception following the service. Then he stepped away from the lectern, and quickly left the room.

Brett had grabbed her hand part way through the eulogy and was yet to let go; while his grip was incredibly tight, she much preferred hand pain to what she knew that Brett wanted to do to this strange man. Susan is weeping quietly beside Brett, and it probably isn’t because she will miss Jerry’s home decorating tips. Sadie thought it best to help Susan outside; she had seen her dehydrated, and it’s pretty gross.

However, as soon as they walk through the doors to the hall, a bright flash disorients them. Before their eyes re-adjust and they are once again granted their vision, they can hear the sounds of what Sadie makes out to be “Pose” by Justin Timberlake featuring Snoop Dogg, one of the duds off of his inimitable FutureSex/LoveSounds album. Upon listening closely, Sadie discerns that the song appears to be about Justin Timberlake and Snoop Dogg pretending to be photographers, so that they can convince women to take their clothes off.

Noticing the disgusted looks on their faces, what appears to be hair styled in the shape of Emilio Estevez circa is uncredited—yet still impressive—role in Mission: Impossible, says, “This should set the mood.” It was amazing how that hair cut had started to become animated. Amazing, and disturbing.

“Set the mood for what? Who are you, and why are you bastardizing my father’s funeral?” Jake Hall roared at the Emilio hairstyle. The hair turns around revealing a man.

“Jim Jimerson,” he extends his hand. “Funeral photographer.”

“We didn’t book a funeral photographer,” Brett says, seething with anger. “Do we fucking look like we want to remember this day?” Sadie surveyed the group, and quickly concluded that no, they did not. Unfortunately for Susan Hall, she was not one of those people who look good when they cry. Her face was bloated as if she had spent the previous night consuming only Bud (not light) and the morning consuming only various kinds of carbs. In addition to bloat-face, her entire face was beet red.

As Justin pleaded with them to “expose those things you want to show,” Jim Jimerson seemed to think that “those things that they wanted to show” was an oddly robotic shimmy accompanied by the Charleston. He also asked them to put on fake moustaches, and then asked Jake and Brett to rub their crotches on Susan’s head. To put things lightly, Jim Jimerson was messing with the bull, and would soon get the horns. Sadie decided to lead Jim out of the Redington Funeral Home, worried about his safety if he were to be left alone. Additionally, she was impressed with his technique, and didn’t want to burn any bridges with Jim Jimerson so that she could make use of his skills for her future wedding photos.

The Covenant Strikes Again

A creepy mother-son moment that is not re-created here

I need to go to bed. Here it is. Let me know what you think with a pleasant comment, otherwise it might get turned into a character who is in love with animals.

I'm sorry that it's so long. But you all need to read the last part. Also, please note that the first scene was half inspired by the Covenant, and the other half by "A Case of You" by Joni Mitchell. It is quoted extensively.


The Halls don’t really seem to understand the concept of “searching for the one.” Looking for true loves means believing in true love, and believing in true love means that you must be capable of feeling it. The Halls don’t distract themselves with fantasies of things that to them, just aren’t that important. You can be happy with any number of people in the world. Isn’t that enough?

Sadie has been around for a long time in the family, and they kind of assume that she will be around for a lot longer. Why wouldn’t she be? She is from a good enough family that she doesn’t embarrass them, but from a family that isn’t as well bred as theirs, so there’s no reason for her to not want to join. Her and Brett seem to get along very well, and they see the way that she looks at him. Even two jaded and bitter people like Jerry and Susan Hall can understand how stupid it would be for Brett to get rid of someone like that.

But Sadie doesn’t feel secure at all as a part of Brett’s life, which is why she is so surprised when she has a conversation about it with his mother while Brett and Jerry were off smoking cigars and talking about whatever men talk about (most likely their penises). In fact, she is pretty surprised that his mother has the capacity to hold a conversation that isn’t about the pansy coasters she had recently pressed using flowers from her precious garden. According to Susan, colourful flowers floating between squares of glass make beautiful and useful coasters. Susan believes in this cause so much that she even pressed the flowers herself. She used a variety of pressed flowers or leaves you like; a collection of coasters is even more charming if each one is unique. Sadie had to admit that Susan was right; the coasters were both beautiful and useful in that they prevented condensation from attacking their beautiful antique coffee table. But that didn’t mean that she had any desire to spend very much time talking about it.

It had taken Sadie some time to realize how much of the time the Halls were drunk; perhaps when you’re that rich it becomes “classy drunk,” as opposed to the completely trashy and un-classy forms that she was accustomed to. They didn’t get into fistfights or cry or tell unsavoury stories involving Gold Bond, pink cardigans, and near-death experiences like her friends usually did. No, it simply made them chatty. But chatty in a way that they would have never been without all of those bottles of expensive red wine. They would talk about things that on any normal night, they wouldn’t even admit to themselves.

For reasons that Sadie failed to understand—she would later conclude that it was just better that way—Brett’s mother was wearing a creamy pink robe with a floral print and a fur collar. She was also smoking a cigarette, and drinking what looked like whisky. Sadie wasn’t quite sure why her voice was so raspy and cracked, since she never raised it above what kindergarteners would call an “indoor voice.”

“Jerry was a year younger than you when we met… Did I ever tell you that?” Susan asks Sadie.

“No, you never mentioned that.”

“He was the most beautiful man that I’ve ever seen.”

Sadie waits patiently for Susan to continue, since there is very little that she can say that would be appropriate right now. Her mind feels cloudy from cocktail hour, which often stretches into four in the Hall household.

“When I look at Brett, I see his father in him. They look so similar.”

“Attractiveness certainly runs in the family.”

“A lot of things run in this family, Sadie.”

“Brett mentioned that his aunt has diabetes.”

“Do you really think that I started this conversation so that I could share with you this family’s medical history?”

“I don’t know, maybe you wanted me to start searching for signs of pre-diabetes?”

Susan just slides on through, ignoring Sadie’s idiocy. It’s a gift, really.

“I see a lot more of Jerry in Brett than just his appearance. I see the way that he is with you. It’s Jerry all over.”

“Brett says that he doesn’t want to be like his father,” Sadie says quietly. There are some moments when you know that you’re about to hear something that you probably shouldn’t, that you can never really repeat, and that will change your life. Sadie could feel it in her bones.

“That’s the same thing he said about his father. Every child says that, but becoming like your parents is almost inevitable. It’s something you learn one day, that your parents weren’t perfect, neither are you, and you will repeat their mistakes because no one lives the way that they think that they will. No one is as good as they think that they can be.”

“I don’t want to say anything that Brett has trusted me with, but I think that you’re wrong about Brett and his Dad.”

“Think what you want, and make your own choices. I know a lot more than you give me credit for. Our family doesn’t find out things about each other by asking and talking. We find out by watching. I have watched Brett since the day he was born. I see the way that he looks up to his father, and how his image of him is completely shattering. He’s becoming a man, and trying to become the kind of man that he can be proud of. But if I know one thing about Brett, which he inherited from his father like his brown eyes, it’s that he will always do what is easy. It’s easy to marry the first girl he meets, but it isn’t easy to stay faithful.”

Sadie’s eyes strayed, as she worried that perhaps Susan’s words were even truer than she knew.

“You think that I don’t know about that?”

“I don’t know what you know.”

Sadie is starting to be uncomfortable, and wishes that Susan would have continued to talk about the coasters. Or perhaps, in an even better world, that she could get up and leave. She has always found Susan Hall to be disquieting; she thought that it was because of the quiet desperation that she hasn’t seen since a Tennessee Williams play. But now, she knows: she can see through people as if they’re ghosts. She knows their devils and deeds. She knows more about Sadie than she had ever thought was possible, and Sadie doesn’t like it at all. She feels as if she is lying naked in the sitting room, being eyed suspiciously by all of the tasteless dead animals that had been stuffed, probably in an effort to announce that the Hall family cares little about the welfare of animals.

“I see the way that you look at him. I know that you love him, and you’re afraid to tell him. Loving men like this is one of the hardest things that you can do. You need to know that one day, Brett will become Jerry. They are the same, and Brett is becoming more like his father every day. You really need to think about whether or not this is what you want.”
Susan gestured around the room, indicating to what Sadie hoped was not their large taxidermy collection. No, of course she was referring to her life. Does Sadie want her life? She sat in silence. She just didn’t know.

“Go to him. Stay with him if you can. But be prepared to bleed.”

* * *

“Didn’t you get my RSVP? I’m not coming to your pity party.”

“Fiona, stop being such an a-hole. It isn’t a pity party.”

“If you start playing ‘It’s My Party, and I’ll Cry If I Want To,’ I am definitely leaving.”

“I think that you are completely mischaracterizing what I just said. Isn’t it reasonable that I can’t be with Paul right now because I’m still not over Brett?”

“I get what you’re feeling—that you don’t want to jump into another serious relationship right away—but I’m really annoyed by everything else. It’s one thing for you to tell Paul that you want to take things slow, and continue on with the casual pace of your relationship, and let him decide if he can deal with it instead of the more serious relationship that he would prefer.”

“But wouldn’t it be completely unfair to go into this relationship knowing that I’m not ready? Isn’t it fair to warn him that I’m still not over everything that happened and that my paralyzing fear that something similar will happen again will probably completely cripple anything that goes on between us? I know that I’m better off without Brett— it isn’t that I am still waiting for us to get back together. But where’s the line? The line that divides one relationship and the next? How do I know that I can move on? I don’t know if I feel ready.”

“There will never be a right time. You will never feel ready. But you’ve been stuck inside your head for way too long, convincing yourself of how messed up you are, and not even considering that everyone has baggage of some sort or another. If you haven't discovered it already, Paul probably has baggage too. It's up to him to choose whether or not he wants to handle yours, and vice versa. And since he already knows at least a little about yours, and has pursued your relationship anyways, that's a pretty good sign that he'll continue to let you go at the pace you need, even if it hurts him. A different guy might not take what you’re offering.”

“Of course Paul has baggage, but his is probably in the luggage compartment or something. I carry mine around.”

“Well maybe you should stop.”

“If it were that easy, I would have a long time ago.”

“But Sadie, it is! Paul was right—misery has become your best friend. You don’t know what you would do without it. Well, maybe you just have to cast it off and see how it goes. Date Paul. If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out. But you can’t say that you didn’t warn him. In fact, if your warning him didn’t send him off, I don’t know what will.”

“I think that I was being fair. I’m not ashamed.”

“It’s not how I would have said it.”

“Well it’s a good thing that you’re not me, then.”

“So what are you going to do? I think that you know already.”

Sadie did, and for the first time in so long, she felt good. Why not, she thought to herself. Well, she could think of a billion reasons why she could say no to Paul. But she couldn’t think of one that could balance out how much she wanted to say yes.
“I guess that I’m going to date Paul.”

The words were hardly out of her mouth when her phone rang. While the number came up as unlisted, she knew exactly who it was. That number was recorded in her brain, no matter how many times she had willed it to leave her. Her fingers remembered it, and it had taken everything she had for several months to stop them.

She wants to tell Fiona who it is. She wants to present several theories as to why he is calling, and decided whether to answer the phone based on the options. But her mind and her mouth seem to have stopped working, and all that she can do is what she has been conditioned to do. She answers.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Sadie? It’s Brett.” She may not have known from his voice; it was hollow and completely un-Brett-like.

“Hi, Brett. How are you?”

“I’m good. The weather has been pleasant, hasn’t it?”

“It’s been raining.”

“Right. How’s school?”

“What is it, Brett?”

“Oh, uh… So… MyDadDiedYesterdayAndINeedYoutoComeToTheFuneral.”