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“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that everyone has always taken care of everything for you. My mom. Your mom. Peter. Me.” I knew I was being too mean. I knew I was going too far, but I couldn’t stop myself. “It must be nice to be able to call Mommy and Daddy every time something goes wrong in your life-to have them there to pay off anyone who might ever get in your way.”

She picked up one of the turkeys, threw it at me, and walked out. Joe got up and tried to follow her, but she slammed the door too fast.

It was the truth about how I’d been feeling. It was the anger and the resentment that had been building up for a long time, but saying it out loud to Janie made me feel awful and ugly. I watched her for a while, standing at the end of the driveway, yelling into her cell phone. I didn’t understand how it was possible to love someone so much and still be so hurt by them, to feel like they’d taken something from you, encroached on the life you could have had.

In my head there was this other Van, whose mother had waited tables to put herself through school. That Van grew up in an attic apartment in Mount Vernon, with those old-style heaters that smell like melting crayons. The floors creaked and the bathroom faucet leaked, but the rent was cheap and they were happy. Her mom graduated and became an art teacher and had summers free and they went on road trips and lived like gypsies for two months every year, visiting places like Maine and Nova Scotia, singing along to Boston in the car, and eating in crazy little dive restaurants along the way. That Van went to the U of R and met Peter, and he never met Janie, and they had this sweet, simple wedding and lived happily ever after.

Of course, that Van probably had to drop out of school when her mom got cancer. That Van was probably drowning in medical bills and funeral costs. And maybe Peter wouldn’t have done such a great job of being her rock. He was kind of a wimp when it really came down to it. And that Van wouldn’t have Joe.

I stopped watching Janie out the window and went up to bed. Joe followed me and curled up next to me, nuzzling up to my neck. I buried my head in his fur and cried.

P
eter didn’t ring the doorbell. I guess I forgot to lock the door after Janie when she stormed out, and he let himself in. Joe growled long and low when Peter walked into the room.

“That is a big dog,” he said. His voice sounded shaky.

“Technically,” I said, “he’s still a puppy.”

Peter walked toward me slowly, like he was preparing himself to turn tail and run if he needed to. He eased himself down to sit on the end of my bed. Joe sat up next to me and stared at him.

“I don’t want you on my bed,” I said, pulling myself up to sitting.

Peter stood up quickly. He looked around and held his hands up in front of him like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“Janie’s waiting in the car.” He reached down and grabbed the corner of my comforter and played with the frayed ends. “Diane really did it. Didn’t she?”

“Yeah.”

“I tried to tell Janie, but she just-you know how she is. She doesn’t see what she doesn’t want to.”

“Then you better be careful, Pete. Don’t take advantage of that.”

He sat down on the end of the bed again. He looked defeated. I didn’t make him get up.

“I know,” he said, looking into his palms.

“Well, if you know, you have no excuse.”

He sat at my feet like he was about to read me a bedtime story.

“Who’s the guy?” He looked at my face, but he didn’t look me in the eye.

“Alex.”

“Who is he?”

“Joe’s vet.”

“That explains the clothes,” Pete sneered. “Diane said he looked like a lumberjack.”

“Hey, watch it,” I said, sharply. “You are two commands away from getting your balls ripped off,” I said, pointing at Joe. “Remember that.”

His eyes widened and he stared at me for so long. I tried to think of something to say to break the silence, but I couldn’t. He looked like he might not say anything again. Joe lost interest and flopped down on the bed with a big sigh.

Finally, I said, “I fucked it all up anyway.”

“You’ll get him back.”

“You don’t know that. I lied to him about the party. I told him I was sick.”

“Why?”

“Because, I didn’t want him to know about all of this. I didn’t want him to know about you, or Diane’s payoff money-all the chaos. I wanted a chance to start over. And I thought it would be easier to just put him on hold until today was over and you and Jane would start your new life and I could move on with mine.”

“So tell him that,” Peter said. He looked as uncomfortable as I felt. “What kind of guy would let you go just because you told a little white lie?”

“What kind of guy would let me go because I don’t have good breeding and a trust fund?”

“Van.”

“Well, I came into some money recently, so the joke’s on you.” I tried to laugh like it was all wordplay, but we both knew it wasn’t.

“How long was he going to be around anyway, Van?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve never kept a guy around for more than a month, maybe two. No sense crying over spilled milk.” He had his lawyer face on. His jaw was set.

“I’m sure it’ll be easier the next time around, since I’m not in love with you anymore.”

He looked at me for a long time. I stopped looking back. He leaned in and put his hand on my cheek. It was so thin and cold.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

I pushed his hand away from my face, but kept holding it. His eyes were shiny.

“I know,” I said.

“I wish I were”-he looked around like he was searching for the right word-“stronger.” He rubbed his palm over the back of my hand.

I grabbed his fingers and we looked at each other. He had tears running down his cheeks, and his eyes were red. I felt like it was the first time I was really seeing Peter. In my head, he had always been the larger-than-life movie star guy who rescued me from total embarrassment on my first day of school. That image of him was so ingrained in my mind that I’d failed to notice that he was a real person, that he was imperfect like me and everyone else. He wasn’t a hero. He was a coward. He didn’t have the courage to stand up for himself or for what he wanted in life and it made him hurt the people he loved. I felt an overwhelming sadness for the time I’d wasted on him, for the commitment Janie had made to him, and for him, because it couldn’t feel good to have failed yourself, your wife, and your friend. I desperately wanted him to be better than he was and come through for himself and for Janie.

“Your wife’s in the car,” I said. I was crying too.

He nodded, and looked away, dropping my hand.

“Bye, Van,” he said, standing up.

“Bye.”

He started to walk away, but then turned back to me. “Van, make sure this vet guy knows how you feel.”

“If I’d told you, would it have made any difference?”

“Probably not,” he said, turning away from me again.

“You knew anyway.”

“I did.” His back slumped and he looked at the floor. “I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath. “Bye, Van.”

“Take care of her, Pete.”

“Yeah.” He dragged his feet on the carpet as he walked out.

Joe started to follow him, but I called him back. He lay down next to me and rested his head on my chest. I wiped my eyes on my sleeve and watched Joe’s eyes close into little slits, and then I fell asleep too.

W
hen I woke up about an hour later, Joe was still asleep, snoring away with his head just under my chin. His eyes were squeezed shut and his brow was furrowed. He whimpered softly, and let out high-pitched little woofs.

I lay there, thinking about Peter saying I should let Alex know how I felt. I wondered if this time it might actually make a difference. The portable phone was on the bed by my foot, but I didn’t want to move. I stared at it, thinking that if I could make it move with my brainpower, I’d call Alex. Of course, it didn’t budge. I kicked it with my foot, and it slid out of my reach.

“Hey Joey,” I said softly.

He kept his head down, but his ears twitched when I talked.

“Hey Joey, get the phone for me.”

He opened his eyes, pushed his nose into mine, and licked my face.

“Maybe it wasn’t meant to be,” I said, messing up the fur on the top of his head. I hated the way my voice sounded when I said it. I didn’t believe in “meant to be.” I believed in doing things, in fixing things, in changing things. I used to, at least, when I had my mom to back me up. I hadn’t realized how much it had helped to have someone to tell me how amazing I was. Even though I knew she was completely biased; sometimes, when she said it, I actually believed her.

I kicked the comforter up with my foot until the phone slid close enough for me to reach. I needed a pep talk. I needed someone to back me up. I pulled the Sweet’N Low packet with Agnes’s number out of my pocket. It seemed kind of strange to me that I actually wanted to talk to Aunt Agony, but I did. She hadn’t turned out to be who I’d thought she was.

She answered on the first ring.

“Agnes Clarke speaking.” She spoke clearly, overenunciating every consonant.

“Hi, Agnes. It’s Van.”

“Van, honey, are you feeling any better?” she asked, sweetly. It was comforting to have someone be so concerned for me.

“You’re not going to believe what happened.” I told Agnes about finding Janie in my closet and about Diane and the money, Janie in the driveway, and Peter in my bedroom.

“Oh, lady,” she said, her breath rushing against the receiver as she talked, “they’ve put too much on you. It wasn’t fair.” She sighed. “Did you call your lumberjack?”

“He’s a vet. Diane told Pete he was a lumberjack. Why does everyone think that?”

“Well,” Agnes said, like she was considering it very carefully. “He was carrying a tree.”

“True,” I said, laughing.

“Call him.”

“I don’t think he wants to talk to me.”

“Call him, lady. And call me back to tell me about it when you’re done.” She hung up before I could argue with her.

I stared at the buttons on my phone until the line clicked over to a dial tone. I thought about not calling him and just letting the whole thing fade away. It was one night, a walk with Joe, a few games of Go Fish, and some coffee cake at Louis’s house. I’d had other little flings. It didn’t have to mean anything. I could get another vet. I could buy a different house. I could probably even find another date if I tried hard enough. Maybe I could roll bandages at the Red Cross or spoon out mashed potatoes at a soup kitchen. Maybe I’d meet someone new and it would completely change my life.

But in all the years I’d known Peter, I’d never felt like there was anyone better. Alex was, and that was worth putting myself out there, even though I was nervous. I dialed his number, pressing the buttons on the phone with shaky fingers. I could feel my heartbeat in my ears while I waited for Alex to pick up; it thumped louder with every ring. By the fourth ring, I was a big ball of nerves. I was about to hang up, when I heard his voice.

“Hey.” It was his cell phone, so he must have known it was me before he picked up. And he still picked up.

I heard dogs barking in the background. “Are you at work?” I rubbed Joe’s nose and watched his eyes close up into little lines.

“Home.”

“Hey, so you got a tree.” I tried to act casual, like nothing had happened, but I could tell my voice sounded forced.

“Yeah, I did,” he said. I could tell he wasn’t smiling.

“Do you need help setting it up?”

“My dad’s coming over tomorrow.”

“Oh. Well, I could maybe-”

“Van, look- ”

“Alex, I’m really sorry. What happened is- I’m really sorry. I should have just told you the truth.” I stopped petting Joe. He opened his eyes and nudged my hand.

“I don’t think I can do this,” he said, softly.

“Didn’t we have a good time the other night?” My voice was high and squeaky. I felt pathetic. Joe licked my hand until I started petting him again.

He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m just not- I’m just not ready for this. I’ve been down this road before and I can’t do it again.”

I wanted to tell him I wasn’t a road, but I didn’t say anything. I just listened to the sound of my breath making static in the phone.

He sighed. “Hey, your hand’s okay, right? Did you bandage it?”

My hand was naked, raw, and red. “I took care of it.”

“Good. I’ve gotta go. You take care, Van.”

He hung up before I could say anything else.

W
hen Agnes found out that I was in the market for a house, she insisted on taking me to look at properties. “It’ll get your mind off your lumberjack.”

We spent the better part of Tuesday visiting a string of houses in her neighborhood and out of my price range. All the magazine-perfect Berber carpeting and fussy window treatments made me long for Louis’s house with the mismatched paint and ugly shag. Even if I could afford one of the places we saw, none of them were houses I would ever feel comfortable in. They were “no feet on the furniture, no dogs in the living room” kinds of houses.

“Do you want me to call a different Realtor?” Agnes said when we got in her car after we saw the last house on the list. “I can set up something for tomorrow.”

“You know what? I have a property I’m going to check on first,” I said, trying to sound official, hoping Louis would still sell to me. It wasn’t a pretty house, but I could easily afford it, and it felt like a home. Although, I worried that the homey feeling was more about Louis and Alex than it was about the house.

“Well, call me if you want a second set of eyes,” she said.