I swallow audibly in the silence of the room and lower my gaze to the small fish tank that is a new addition.

“Last spring things sort of fell apart for me. I was dating this guy, and I know that at twenty it’s naive to think you’ve met the love of your life, because really, there’s so much more of your life to live. And this world is so big. And there are so many people on it that if a soul mate truly does exist, it’s nearly impossible to say you’ll ever meet them, because how can you meet everyone on the planet? Unless you believe in fate or something like that, where if you’re destined to be together, you won’t have to go looking for them because your own destiny will make your paths cross. But again, you meet so many people it’s impossible to say when you meet that person if they’re really the one.” I let out a frustrated breath and shake my head slightly to clear the onslaught of long winded theoretical questions.

“Sorry, I start thinking with my philosophical mind about this stuff lately, and it leads me to so many questions and possible answers that my head swims. It’s irrelevant.” I brush my hand in the air again, clearing my invisible words and confessions, and the gesture makes my heart throb as his face appears in my mind.

It subsides slightly as I focus on a new pain. “My dad,” I swallow again as tears begin to swim in my eyes that watch my fingers pull at a loose thread on the cuff of my shirt, “he died.” I press my lips together and blink several times in an attempt to keep the tears at bay.

I cling to the shards of anger her initial question sparked that still resonate within me, relying on them to dull the pain multiplying by the second. “In a few short weeks I lost them both. And then my mom started hanging out with my parents’ lawyer! Their lawyer,” I repeat, tilting my head back against the couch and looking at the far wall. “How can you love someone for over thirty years and then pretend as though they never existed? I just feel so …” My eyes rove over the room, searching for the right words. After a moment I look to Kitty, who’s still looking back at me.

“I can’t tell you what emotion you’re feeling.”

“Betrayed.” The word flies from my mouth before her last one settles, shocking me at my own admission. “I feel betrayed,” I confirm.

“By whom?”

“All of them,” I admit quietly.

Thankfully, Kitty seems to understand without saying anything that this is a big step for me. Telling her about Max, my dad, and my mom—all three sides of my Bermuda Triangle. We sit in silence for a few minutes, neither of us seems to be in a hurry to continue the discussion, and I briefly wonder if she had any idea what kind of monsters I have hidden when this all began.

“Any of those events would be really difficult to adjust to. Having all three of them occur so quickly I’m sure was quite devastating.”

For some reason the empathy in her words, the same one laced within her voice, along with the softness in her eyes, makes tears flood my vision again. This time I can’t prevent them from sliding down my cheeks.

“I know other people experience things so much worse than what I am. I feel so selfish for not being able to just face this.”

“Harper, loss is never easy. And you’re experiencing the loss of three people that you love.” I note that she doesn’t say loved, as in I used to love them, because she apparently realizes that I very much still do.

“What happened?” She leaves the question open, and my mind spins with responses. What happened when? What happened that led Max and I to breaking up? What happened that caused my father’s death? What happened after my father’s death? I can tell by the curious expression on her face that she’s waiting for me to choose my own interpretation of her question, and rather than play into her games, I remove all of the pieces from the board with one fell swoop and replace them all with a safer topic.

“I’m going to New York for Thanksgiving with my friend, Fitz. I’m sorry for the late notice, but I won’t be able to attend our appointment next week.”

“New York! That will be fun! What part are you going to be visiting?”

My mind races to recall if Fitz has ever told me where in New York he grew up as I rub the sleeve of my shirt across my cheeks. “I’m not sure,” I admit, furrowing my eyebrows as I continue to recount his childhood. I know he lived in upstate New York, but I know so little about the area to know how specific or broad that term is.

“Is that safe?” My thoughts clear and I look up to Kitty again and see the concern on her face. “Sometimes it’s easy to lapse into activities that aren’t typical for us when we’re dealing with pain so that we don’t have to face it.”

“Fitz?” I ask. “No.” I laugh once at the thought. “Fitz is my friend. My only friend really. At least here. He and I work together. I’m his lab assistant.”

“Relationships in the office can be—”

“He’s gay.”

Kitty stops talking and looks at me for a moment and I nod. “We’re only friends. Really, I’d be perfectly fine staying here and watching the parade on my laptop, and watching movies all day with some takeout, but he seems pretty set on me going.”

Kitty still appears to be working to redirect her thoughts to this new piece of information. Thankfully it buys me a decent amount of time, and we’re able to discuss little more about any of my feelings before our time ends.

“… Life was meant to be lived. Curiosity must be kept alive. One must never, for whatever reason, turn his back on life.”

–Eleanor Roosevelt

A persistent buzzing makes me groan and open my eyes. It’s dark and cold, making coherent thoughts difficult. The noise continues and I sit up, my heart thundering as I finally realize it’s my doorbell. I reach for my phone and see that it’s not even 4 a.m., and consider my options.

The sound is relentless, and reminds me of a cat howling, rather than an actual doorbell. It so rarely gets used, the sound isn’t familiar at all. I keep my phone tightly gripped in my hand with 9-1-1 already entered on the keypad, ready to press send as I creep to the front door.

The buzzing stops before I reach the small linoleum entryway, and I feel slightly relieved, wondering if it’s a boyfriend or girlfriend of another tenant. I turn and release a deep breath, smiling at myself for being afraid. My smile disappears with the loud bang of a fist against my door that makes me leap in the air.

“I know you’re home, Harper!”

Although I recognize the voice, I still look through the peep hole because this makes absolutely no sense. Fitz is standing on the cement slab, nearly hidden behind a scarf and hat that he has pulled so low it’s covering his eyebrows. I swing open the door with a scowl.

“What are you doing?”

“Come on, California, we’ve got to get going.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“No, of course not. Who drinks at this hour?”

“Are you high?”

“High on life, baby.”

“It’s three-thirty, Fitz!”

His cheeks lift with a smile his scarf hides. “I know. We’re wasting daylight! Let’s go! Let’s go!” His voice is so loud it sounds like he’s yelling through a bull horn.

“My neighbors are going to shoot you. Get in here!” I grip his jacket in my fist as I hiss the words and tug him into my apartment.

Fitz unwraps his scarf, revealing his smile. “Dress in layers. The car will be warm, but you need to have some things you can pile on,” he instructs, ignoring my warning as he follows me inside, still talking at a too-loud volume that has me closing my bedroom door in his face to gain some brief moments of silence.

I don’t bother showering, or even brushing my hair. Accomplishing the simple task of brushing my teeth is a chore. I pack the last of my bath products that I intended to use this morning into my bag and pull on a pair of jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and sweatshirt. I tie my Converse shoes and grab the rest of my snow gear and suitcase and head out to where Fitz is inspecting my fridge.