Page 37

“You got it,” Isabel said, a few feet down.

Mira held on to the edge for dear life, got her other leg down, and flailed until that foot caught a rung, too. She took one hand off the edge and gripped the ladder, then did the same with her other hand.

“Looks good,” Isabel said. “That was the hardest part. You can come down now.”

Mira glanced at the open hatch. “Should I…”

“I’ll get it later.”

Mira moved one foot down, and then another. She looked down—there was Isabel, and beyond her, the floor of the apartment hallway very far away. Mira’s terror spiked.

“Don’t look down if you’re nervous,” Isabel said. “I’m right here.”

Mira breathed in, then out. No need to look down. Isabel was right there. She took it one rung at a time as Isabel descended below her, the rungs wobbling from their weight.

She heard Isabel get off the ladder. If Mira fell now, she’d fall right onto Isabel, and Isabel would catch her— The thought made her so woozy she almost slipped. She held on. A few more rungs, and then she was on solid ground again, her legs wobbly.

At least she hadn’t embarrassed herself too badly. She gave Isabel a shaky smile. “Thank you.”

Isabel nodded, clearly preoccupied. She went up again to close the hatch. Mira stole a glimpse of her ascending, rugged and graceful at once, before unlocking the door and going back inside.

She took a few more breaths to settle her nerves, then started making tea in Isabel’s beautiful glass teapot, the one Alexa had given her. Isabel had been using it more often these days. It was the perfect size for two. Isabel could drink her tea in her room if she wanted to be alone.

But when Isabel returned, she didn’t retreat into her room. She lingered in the living room, standing with her hands in her pockets, as though she couldn’t make up her mind. That was rare for her. A strange silence filled the apartment, less comfortable than what Mira had grown used to.

Isabel said, finally, “Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer.”

“You can always ask.” After a moment, Mira added, “If I don’t want to answer, I’ll let you know.”

Isabel hesitated, drawing out the silence. “Why’d you start dating Dylan in the first place?”

Was that what Isabel was so preoccupied with? It was unlikely. “Are you asking because of your sister?”

“It’s not that.” She looked at the floor. “When you were talking about him earlier… I was just wondering what you saw in him, if there was anything.”

Mira had been asking herself that, too. The question was so tangled up in her self-blame that she didn’t know if she could answer for her own sake, let alone for Isabel’s.

But she wanted to try, if only for herself. Maybe Isabel wouldn’t understand. But for all her rough edges, she’d never secretly pitied or condemned Mira for her choices. Isabel was a straightforward person, and that wasn’t how she operated. Mira understood that now.

And this was a night for sharing messy secrets. It was just the two of them—and the grief and guilt that haunted Isabel, and the shame and doubt that haunted Mira, and this strange silence between them.

“You can ask,” Mira said. She sighed. Where to even start? “I met him at a party in my third year of grad school. It was mostly, you know, ‘cool’ grad students and artists and literary people in a loft somewhere. He saw me and started talking to me.” Dylan had gotten too close, asking her questions that were too personal. She still remembered the heady, frightening realization:He’s acting like this because he wants me.“I’d read his novel. And I didn’t think much of it. But everyone else had loved it, and I thought…”

Isabel nodded solemnly. Mira had to go on. The truth was lodged in her like a thorn, and she had to pull it out. “I thought that if a real writer like him was interested in me, it meant that I mattered. That I was this beautiful, sparkling, clever girl at a party and he wasn’t hopelessly out of my league. And that he thought I was attractive because of what I had to say, about my research, about books, about whatever else we talked about. Not just because he saw how vulnerable I was.”

She clutched the table behind her and took a shaky breath. She was at home, and she was safe, and she would never, ever have to go back to him. “I wasn’t stupid. I knew that was part of it. And I knew I would never be allowed to be as clever, or as important, or as much of a person as he was. I just didn’t know how bad it would get. I couldn’t have known.”

Isabel shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

The kettle turned off. Mira poured hot water into the teapot, still on edge from all she’d said. Isabel remained silent, which Mira was grateful for. Right now, she didn’t need Isabel telling her she hadn’t deserved it, or that she’d been too good for him. She already knew. That wasn’t what was at stake.

Somehow, the fact that she’d wanted Dylan was the hardest thing to face. It meant admitting that she’d ever wanted anything at all. To have someone see her as both smart and beautiful. To be taken care of, to matter, to be loved.

She wasn’t ready to date again. She needed to be single for a good, long time. But some stubborn, reckless part of her couldn’t stop wanting. She had more than enough reason to be cynical. But shestillyearned for someone who would sweep her off her feet and take her seriously at the same time. Someone who would laugh with her, cook with her, talk about books with her, share easy, quiet nights with her. Someone like?—

Isabel said, “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Her voice was so strained that Mira turned around. Isabel was stiff, her face unreadable. Which meant she was hiding something immense.