Page 25 of PS: I Hate You

I ignore the familiar knocking pattern and swipe my phone off. Then I stare at the ceiling of my condo and try to remember how old Florence is.

My grandmother and mother are both terrified of aging and regularly lie about the years they were born. Still, I know Cecilia was twenty-two when she had me, and I think Florence once mentioned being pregnant when she was twenty while she was lamenting my inability to find a boyfriend in high school.

Florence is forty-two years older than me.

If I live as long as she does, that means I’ll have to live forty-two years without Josh.

Probably more.

I know these aren’t healthy thoughts to be having. They certainly aren’t comforting. But my brain continues to cycle through different ways to define the time stretching out in front of me without my brother.

Forty-two years.

Unless my life ends early. Like his did.

The knock repeats itself, this time followed by a demanding shout.

“Maddie, let me in!”

I roll over onto my stomach, smashing my face into the plush carpet, wondering if I just need gravity to force the tears out of my ducts. There’s a part of me that wonders if my grief is worse because I can’t physically expel it from my body with heart-wrenching sobs and flooded eyes.

Even after the Motel Mistake, as I’ve dubbed it in my brain, I still haven’t cried.

Sure, I curled up in a miserable ball on the bottom of the slightlysandy bathtub and begged Josh to reach a hand through the veil and drag me into the afterlife with him.

But I didn’t cry.

I did come up with creative new ways to curse my brother for insisting I spend more time around his best friend when drinking was involved. Turns out drunk Maddie easily forgives and forgets how Dom dropped me like a hot potato.

“Maddie!” The muffled voice holds a scolding note. “Don’t even try to pretend you’re not home. I can smell your cinnamon candle through the door!”

With a groan, I push myself up to my knees and contemplate crossing the distance to the entrance of my condo. I wouldn’t need to travel far. My place is small, and normally I consider the compact condo cozy. I’ve filled my living space with a cushy green couch, a massive coffee table, and lots of meditation pillows. Not that I meditate. Spending too much time in my own mind seems like a bad idea, especially lately. The pillows are for extra comfort when sitting on the floor.

No, it isn’t the square footage that keeps my limbs from moving forward.

I’m just not sure I’m ready to face the other side of that door. Not sure I’m ready to let them in.

There’s an audible huff and another hard tap of knuckles. “I’m not above using my spare key! You better not make me go all the way back to my place to get it just because you’re in reclusive sloth mode.”

He won’t go away.

With a grunt, I heave myself to my feet and maneuver around the butcher block island that designates where both my kitchen and entryway start. There’s no point in glancing through the peephole. I know who’s on the other side.

When I swing the door wide, I come face-to-face with my ex-boyfriend—and current best friend—Jeremy Hassan.

Jeremy is the most handsome man I have ever encountered in mylife. And I am including every single picture of every single celebrity in that designation. Jeremy is hotter. It’s an undeniable fact. He is tall, golden-skinned, with heavy-lidded dark eyes that gaze into your soul like you’re his salvation. It was unfathomable to me that this deity come to earth would want to go out withme.

And I’m not saying that I think I am a horrendous troll destined to live alone under a bridge. Most days—now that I live a country away from Cecilia and Florence’s nitpicking—I like my face. Sometimes my hair does what I want it to. And I look adorable in a sweater.

Which is good because the majority of the items in my closet are sweaters.

Still, I amnoton Jeremy’s level.

But we did it. Two years ago we went out. Then we kept going out. Formonths. I took pictures as proof, just to make sure.

But the most mind-blowing part of the situation? The moment I realized I wasn’t into him that way.

How doesthatwork?