“Yeah.” He sounded shy. He’d never sounded shy about anything with her.
“You realize she’s a white girl, right?”
He took a drink of his black coffee. “Yeah, and I’m in love with her.”
Not once, in the year they’d dated, had he said he was in love with Hannah. And, strangely, she wasn’t hurt by the fact that he was in love with someone else and could say the words. She wasn’t jealous that she’d never heard them from him, because they would have been a lie. He’d liked certain things about her a lot—mostly the way she looked and how good the sex was. But he’d never truly seen her.
He’d wanted her to become more reserved and proper and go to law school so that they could be a black power couple.
And now he was in love with a white girl. A senator’s daughter who’d been kicked out of the United Kingdom after blowing off her third day of study abroad.
Amazing. All there was to do was laugh. And laugh harder. Noah stared at her as though she was afflicted or speaking in tongues. She fought to catch her breath so that she could explain, but tears were starting to leak out.
“It’s just so funny.” She wiped her eyes, probably rubbing runny mascara all over. “I spent my whole life wanting to be as white as possible—so I could be like the rest of my family. And then you dumped me because I couldn’t just put on a dashiki, wear my natural hair, throw up a fist, and embrace my blackness, and now you’re—”
“That’s not quite fair—”
“And now you’re with the Beckiest Becky to ever Becky!” The barista was definitely staring at them now, but she couldn’t stop.
“I’m in love with her.”
Holy shit. He was totally telling the truth.
Even though she wasn’t jealous, she had questions. “You’re the guy she was trying to make jealous with the fiancé?”
“They broke up.”
“I know. This is just too good.”
“After the engagement party.” He smirked the smirk of a man who was now getting laid properly.
“But you worked for her father—”
“Not anymore.” He shook his head and a muscle in his cheek twitched, changing the whole mood of the conversation. “He fired me after he found out. Apparently, he’s a secret racist.”
“At least he was racist enough to keep you out of the inner circle heading to jail right now.” She hadn’t wanted Noah to go to jail, not even when she’d thought he was a total shithead.
“You’re not mad?”
Not at all. If someone had told her that she’d be able to see Noah with new eyes on today of all days, she would have laughed until she literally died. But now, with him looking kind of rumpled and vulnerable and in love? This was not the man who had torn her heart out and told her that she would never find anyone to take the broken bits of it for his own. She could feel empathy for this Noah who had no job and was up to his ears in love with the last person she would expect.
“Yeah, you’re really in love with her.” She paused, biting her lip. Wondering if he would nail her for how pathetic the next statement sounded. “And you were never in love with me.”
“I loved you.” She doubted that and was about to tell him so when he continued. “But I wasn’t really ready to be in love with anyone.”
She didn’t try to interrupt him again, didn’t try to make a snide remark or cut him down. Something in her gut told him that she needed to hear what he had to say.
“I was in love with the idea of what you could be. But I was really in love with the idea of what we could be together. I was an asshole.”
Hearing him say that was unbelievably vindicating.
“I’m sorry I hurt you.” He sounded truly sincere.
“You didn’t just hurt me.” Tears pricked her eyes, and she was too tired to fight them. One crawled down her face. “You told me that no one would ever want to marry me. And I believed you.”
He looked down, and she could see the shame crawling over his body. She looked at him with tears running down her face until he looked up at her so he could see what he’d done.
“I’m sorry.”
They sat there in silence. She wiped her face with a scratchy napkin and drank her free coffee because—free coffee.
“Do you still believe me?”
She thought it over again, along with the conversation she’d had with Sasha yesterday and the way she’d felt around Jack when he hadn’t been purposefully being an ass. “No.”
“That’s good.” Even when he was apologizing, he managed to sound pretentious.
That was the precise moment she realized she had never been in love with him—she’d just tried to please him. And that led to the realization that she was really, truly in love with Jack because it hadn’t been that hard to please him. Even through all of his lies, she’d felt his approval for her—for who she really was—not any of the try-hard shit she’d pulled with Noah and all the guys before.
“You’re thinking really hard.”
“I was never in love with you.”
That made Noah blink. Twice. “Harsh, but fair.”
“It’s sort of my brand.” She shrugged and then looked him in the eye. “You’re really kind of odious. I would have hated being married to you.”
He smiled. “You would have been the worst thing that ever happened to me.”
And then they both laughed and finished their coffees as though they hadn’t individually blown their lives apart.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
WHEN HANNAH OPENED HER door to Sean Nolan with a toolbox in hand, she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Maybe he was here to avenge his son’s honor and the wrench was the weapon with which he was the most comfortable.
Then he said, “I’m not here to try to get you to forgive my idiot son, but you shouldn’t be paying more on your water bill because you—rightly—broke up with him.”
“Pay what on my what?”
“You got a leaky bathroom faucet, right?”
“Yeah.” As apologies went, Jack sending his dad over to fix things at her place was clever. Mostly because she was still having homicidal ideations toward Jack. She really felt as though she should resist, even though the drip was keeping her up even more than missing Jack and being out of a job.
“I’ll get it fixed in thirty minutes.” She opened the door wider and gestured for him to enter.
“I’ll get you a beer.” Jack’s dad had just happened to show up while Hannah was binging on Lovesick. To his credit, he didn’t seem too freaked out by the premise of the show—a guy gets chlamydia and has to tell all of his ex-lovers about it. Sean Nolan just shrugged and stuck his head under the sink.
True to his word, he fixed the faucet and left without once trying to convince her to give Jack another chance.
* * *
—
HANNAH’S SUSPICIONS ABOUT JACK’S intentions became deeper when Jack’s sister, Bridget, called her and offered to write up an agreement for her and Sasha that would help them form their business.
“How did you know Sasha and I were starting a business?”
“Do you want to start an S corp or an LLC?” Bridget completely ignored her question. “The paperwork is a little bit different for the type of company, and I can explain the differences if you want—”
“I thought you were a prosecutor.” Was Bridget even qualified to do this? Could it put her job in jeopardy?
“I ran a clinic for small businesses during law school, and this is easy-peasy.”
So she was definitely qualified, but she and Sasha had just planned to hit up her father’s attorney for help when the time came—meaning when they had enough money to pay him. “How much do we owe you?”
“This is my pro bono service for the year.”
“You don’t have to do this.” She wondered
if Jack had even told his sister anything about the breakup. “Jack and I aren’t together anymore.”
“I know.” Bridget sighed. “My brother is a total idiot, and I’m not supposed to tell you otherwise. Not that I would. But you’re cool and fun, and I hope we can be friends even if my brother is now dead to you.”
“You got it.”
“Good. Look at the descriptions of the types of companies I’m going to send to you in a little explainer and get back to me as soon as you can.”
Bridget hung up before she could thank her again.
* * *
—
HANNAH WAS READY TO forgive Jack by the time his mother called and offered her and Sasha their first real job.
When she quoted the amount of money the museum was going to pay them to plan the opening of a new exhibit for children, Hannah was ready to forgive Jack a lot.
“Ms. Simpson, you really don’t have to do this.” Hannah didn’t know why she was hesitating at this point. Clearly, Jack was systematically fixing her life in order to get her to forgive him, but there was just too much water under the bridge for them to pretend that they hadn’t based their entire relationship on lies. The fact that he was dragging his mother into this made her feel a little yucky. She’d lied to Jack, too. “I’m sure there are much more experienced firms you could go with.”
“Oh, I know.” Jack’s mom paused. “But your old firm is astonishingly expensive. And now that you’re not there, very stodgy. Plus, I like you.”
Hannah didn’t think they were that much cheaper than Annalise and company, but she definitely agreed with the stodgy part. And Giselle was so clueless about children that she’d probably have them eating finger sandwiches—not even peanut butter and jelly ones. She wasn’t even going to touch how Jack’s mom liked her.
Still, she hesitated. Shouldn’t she be cutting all ties with Jack? And even if she didn’t cut all ties, it was about time she actually talked to Jack. His sending his family to make amends for her losing her job wasn’t going to get either of them closure. In the end, though, she wasn’t about to say no to this opportunity.
“Thank you. And thank Jack for me, will you?”
“Oh, I’m not supposed to say anything on Jack’s behalf, but I suppose I should apologize.” Hannah had the feeling that Jack’s mother’s apologies were rare, so she listened closely. “His father and I didn’t do a great job when we got divorced making sure our kids knew that the divorce wasn’t about them—and that we thought it was the best thing for them. I’m afraid that Jack felt abandoned by me and—indirectly, mind you—messed up his relationship with you because of that.”
“You raised a good man, even if you weren’t there at the finish line.” Hannah knew it had to be hard for the older woman to admit that maybe she’d done something as huge as parenting wrong. “He was the perfect boyfriend when he wasn’t trying to be bad, and I lied to him, too.”
“Although you might have started out lying, I knew you were the right girl for him the night he brought you to Artie’s exhibit.”
“How did you know that?” Hannah snort-laughed. “Was me nearly flying into a jealous rage your first clue?”
“No, the fact that you didn’t require him to be the perfect boyfriend.” Hannah could almost see the other woman shaking off her wistfulness. “Anyhow, you’ll plan the event. It will be smashing. You’ll forgive my son, and I’ll try to be at least a little bit grandmotherly with your children.”
She hung up before Hannah could dispute the existence of future grandchildren, and Hannah called Sasha with the good news.
* * *
—
HANNAH PUT OFF READING his e-mail for as long as she possibly could. By the end, she’d forgiven Jack and was waiting for him to call. However long it took.
To: Hannah Mayfield
From: Jack Nolan
I’m sorry. I didn’t turn the article in to Irv, and I won’t—no matter what. But I’m sending it to you because when I did try to write it, it made me realize what a mistake it would have been. I’ll do anything to make it up to you.
Xoxo,
Jack
It wasn’t elegant or smooth. His words lacked the charm that he’d displayed the night they’d met, but she kind of melted at his clumsy apology. And she didn’t hesitate at all in opening the attachment.
HOW TO LOSE A GIRL IN TWO WEEKS: AN APOLOGIA
by Jack Nolan
I am a fuck-up. Chances are that if you, like me, are a cis-gendered, heterosexual man, you are also a fuck-up. Before I met the girl of my dreams almost a month ago, I thought I had it all figured out. I was the perfect boyfriend, and my girlfriends kept dumping me because of something wrong with them. You probably think that you’re the perfect boyfriend, too. You would be wrong. Very, very wrong.
(I need to interrupt this important message to let you know that all my ex-girlfriends left me because I am a fuck-up, but I digress.)
And, yeah, I saw my friends committing all variety of pedestrian fuck-ups and thought I was better because I knew how to communicate reasonably well, I tried to listen once in a while, and I knew how to plan a date well. But what I didn’t know was how to show up and be vulnerable. And my failure to do so means that I’ll probably die alone, pining for the aforementioned girl of my dreams.
I should back up and explain. Either because of my gigantic balls or my unfathomable hubris, I agreed to try out each and every one of the knuckleheaded stunts my friends have been pulling on the fine and upstanding bachelorettes of Chicago on an unsuspecting girl. All in the hopes of teaching my brethren to act right.
Now, I didn’t just go on Tinder and swipe until I found a lady who caught my fancy. No, I had to compound my future screwup by trying all this shit on the only woman I could see myself spending the rest of my life with. The one who took one look at me and realized that I wasn’t nearly the good guy I thought I was. The one who would bust my balls from Lincoln Park to the edge of eternity and leave me without a hint of regret. I thought that I could clean it all up afterward, once the truth came out.
Well, dear readers, pride goeth before the fall. And I fell hard. Everything I did to sabotage our burgeoning love affair, she took in stride. I mansplained, and she put her hand over my junk to silence me. (A seriously underrated voodoo trick if you need to shut up your significant other. Only with consent, please!) I introduced her to my mom, thinking that she’d run screaming if she thought I was a mama’s boy. Nah, she rolled with it, and I ended up being the odd man out.
I introduced her to my hard-drinking dad and lunatic siblings, thinking that would scare her away. It didn’t—she was more at home in the house I grew up in than I was. She belongs there as much as I do.
I showed up late to an event that was important to her, looking like shit, and she just cleaned me up and introduced me to every important person in her work life. She looked at me like she trusted me—even though I’d pulled an asshole move—and I fell in love with her right then.
I didn’t want to lie to her anymore, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the truth. You see, my boss threatened my job if I didn’t finish this article. And my job was the only thing I had that made me feel like I was the man I was supposed to be. Without my job, I’d just be a smartass with mommy issues and a short but savage list of failed relationships. I’d put my career second for one too many women, and I wasn’t about to do it again. And it was all because I hadn’t been able to get my head out of my ass and see what I’d been doing since I asked Maggie Doonan to the freshman dance—I’d been trying to make my mom love me enough to stay with my dad.
And with my dream girl, the Duchess of my heart, none of that worked. Nothing I did to make her dump me made her dump me. And none of the sparkly dates or the killer moves in the sack were enough to make her forgive me for lying to her and using her to further my career.
/> So, for what it’s worth, here’s my advice:
If you want to lose a girl, tell her a lot of lies.
And then, double down on the lies.
Realize you’re in love with her too late to make the lies okay.
Humiliate her in front of her ex-boyfriend, her nemesis, and her boss.
ACTUALLY, DON’T DO ANY OF THIS SHIT, YOU FUCKING LUNATIC!!!
Here’s what I hope you do: I hope you learn from the mistakes in your past. Maybe get some therapy to work on all the issues you’ve been taking out on the women you’ve been dating. The next time you meet a girl you like, LISTEN TO HER. (Don’t mansplain. It gives us all a bad name.) And then do the things she says she likes, and don’t do the stuff she doesn’t. Be honest, but not in an “I’m just being honest with you so that I can make myself feel better about being an asshole” way. Be really honest about the things you’ve been talking about in therapy.
Most importantly, if a woman takes your heart out of your chest and holds it in her hands, be extra good to her. She really deserves it, and it will fuck you up royally if you do something she won’t forgive you for.
CHAPTER THIRTY
HANNAH AND SASHA’S FIRST event wasn’t the opening of the children’s gallery at the MCA; it was an event that Hannah had anticipated planning for herself for more than a year. But she hadn’t ever expected to be an employee. She’d always expected to be the bride.
Madison Chapin and Noah Long were to be married—on a shoestring budget because Madison was no longer speaking to her felonious parents. And since she hadn’t wanted to give up the twenties theme, even though she’d given up her original fiancé, they were having the reception at the speakeasy where Hannah and Jack first met. They were going out of business and happy to have the rental fee for the night before the new tenants came in.
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