Page 18 of I Know How This Ends

fucking up your entire life.”

“Wow.” Jules blinks. “That wasn’t what we rehearsed.”

I stare at them as if I don’t know what they mean, when I know exactly—to the microdata—what they mean. “What do you mean?”

“The Criteria.” Eve gestures at the coffee table, where my little notepads are still sitting. “The lists. The dissection and

analysis. All the Red Flags. The copy-and-paste dates. How hard you’ve become. You never used to be like this, Maggie. Never. I mean, you were always a little analytical and judgy—”

“But in a good way,” Jules interjects. “In a clear-sighted way.”

“Absolutely.” Eve nods fervently. “Weirdly spot on, every time. But now it’s turned into something else. You’ve become a little...

mean. Not to us!” Her eyes widen at my expression. “Never to us! But to... others.”

“Men,” Jules confirms chirpily. “So no judgment here.”

“And it’s breaking our hearts,” Eve interjects. “Seeing you close yourself up. We hoped it was just a phase, but you’re getting

worse.”

“Which makes sense ,” Jules says quickly. “Of course it does.”

“But we need to say something now, because you’re becoming bitter when you used to be so much fun .”

My throat clenches. “I’m not fun?”

“That’s not what I meant.” Eve quickly back-pedals. “You’re fun! Sure you’re fun. But... you used to be light. Funny. Joyful.

Slightly acerbic, but in a playful way. In a kind way. And now you’re... not.”

“Fucking hell, Eve,” Jules mutters. “Grab a spade and keep digging.”

“And this guy?” Eve leans forward. “This last one?”

“Henry,” I admit reluctantly.

“Too short ? When have you ever cared about height ? You lusted after James Turner in Year Ten, and he was the size of a bollard. Waiter? So? Totally respectable job. The world

needs waiters. Maybe he enjoys it. No spare time? You’ll find time, if you like each other. Lives in Bath? What does that even mean ? It’s twelve minutes on the train and it’s a lovely place to visit.”

“Historical.” Jules nods faintly. “Full of places to sit in water.”

“As for the child...” I feel Eve wince slightly, and I instinctively put my hand on her knee. “Where did you even get the

idea that you are ‘no good with children’? Jules is no good with children. Jules is bloody horrible with children.”

“Unquestionably,” she grins. “Little underdeveloped humans, the lot of them.”

“But why on earth do you think you are?”

There’s a silence while I blink in confusion. It’s just a fact that I’ve accepted about myself— I’m no good with children— like the blue eyes I inherited from my grandfather, or a chin so pointed it looks like a lethal weapon.

“Aaron,” I say slowly, suddenly realizing. “Aaron told me I was no good with children. Every time we saw his friends’ kids,

he’d say, ‘Don’t leave them with Margot! She won’t know what to say!’ Then he’d laugh and pinch my cheek. And every time I

brought up the topic of starting a family, he’d say, ‘Do you really think that’s for you, Margot? Do you think you’re cut out for it ? Let’s put a pin in it for now, while you really think about what that means .’”

“I fucking knew it,” Jules bellows, abruptly standing up. “I knew it was that asshole, getting in your head again. Jesus Christ.” With wild eyes, she looks around the empty room. “And there’s

nothing left to smash .”

She picks up the TV remote control and lobs it hard onto the sofa to no effect.

Eve watches it bounce onto the floor and turns back to me.

“You need to let Aaron go,” she says softly. “Not just the life you had together. That’s just the detritus , Margot . You need to let go of everything he’s put inside you . Or, more importantly, taken away.”

My cheeks suddenly feel hot, and my eyes sting.

They’re right: they always are.

There’s no point burning my belongings, moving city, quitting my job, starting a new one, changing my entire life, if Aaron

is still inside my head: undoing me, piece by piece. Still telling me who I am and who I am not. Still deciding my fate for

me. Still breaking me apart in every way possible.

“Did you like Henry?” This, surprisingly, is from Jules. “Forget the Criteria. Did you like him, as a human? A man, yes. But that’s not his fault.”

I stare at them both, my chest hurting. “Yes.”

Because I did. It wasn’t love at first sight—or seventeenth sight—and it wasn’t fireworks. It wasn’t chemistry that set my

organs on fire. It wasn’t like a romance novel, colors suddenly saturating, and it wasn’t lust, the kind where you can’t stop

looking at them, touching them, staring at your phone in the hope that they call.

But I did, absolutely, like him.

I’ve had the other kind of love, and look what happened to me.

“Then maybe give him a shot.” Eve firmly hands me my mobile and nudges me toward the bedroom. “And if it goes wrong, we will

be here.”

“With wine.” Jules nods in approval, holding up the glass. “And snacks. Where are your snacks, by the way? Did you burn them too? I haven’t had dinner yet.”

“But...” I stare at my phone, suddenly terrified. “What do I say?”

Eve smiles patiently, and I feel like one of her five-year-olds: just needing a little prod in the right direction, without

even knowing I’ve been prodded.

“Well, Margot. Here’s an idea.” She puts a soft hand on my face and kisses my cheek. “You could always try telling him the

truth.”