I feel like a cat backed into a corner.

  "Please?" he asks.

  I give a noncommittal turn of my head because more than anything right now I need to get out of the steaming hot restaurant, away from the prying eyes, and find some cold water and fresh air.

  "Toodles."

  When I get outside, Katya is leaning against the newspaper box. "I didn't think you'd stay." She shrugs. "I had to try."

  My shoulders round against the cold and I pull my/her hat back on. "Did he tell you?"

  "Tell me what?" she asks.

  "To make sure I showed up."

  She's quiet a minute, studying me carefully, and then links her arm in mine. "Let's go get you breakfast and we can talk about it."

  "I'm not hungry." The last twenty-four hours have been one long tantrum. My emotions snowball away from me in the adult version of me pounding my fists on the ground while kicking and screaming.

  "Coffee at least."

  "Fine. But not our usual place."

  "Oh come on, we can taunt Bash with furtive glances and sly eyes."

  "No."

  "You're no fun." I'm afraid she's not joking this time.

  "That's what they keep telling me," I say in a flat tone.

  "Who?" she asks, confused.

  "Me."

  "You keep telling yourself that you're no fun?"

  Hearing her echo my words makes me sound a few feet off center as my grandfather used to say.

  "I'm not letting you out of my sight until you talk to me." She flexes her arm, still linked in mine, and I know I won't be able to get out from her yoga grip.

  If I were four years old I'd jump up and down, throw things, and shout leavemealone! Instead, I say a sharp, "Fine," and follow her to Starbucks.

  She orders us both enough caffeine to outtalk Bash, and a crumbly-topped slice of blueberry bread for me. "All the sugar in that thing will soak up the poison. Now, what's going on?"

  I fidget with clammy hands, breaking the coffee stirrer into slivers.

  "Navy, I heard you on the phone last night."

  "You shouldn't listen to people's calls."

  "You were yelling. Slurring, really, but loudly."

  I want to yell right now, but there's a hunk of the blueberry sweet bread in my mouth.

  When I take another bite she says, "It might help you let go if you talk about it.

  I take another bite.

  "Navy, I say this from the most loving place, but all that stuff that happened with Zach, that was a long, long time ago now. You need to move on."

  She doesn't know the whole story. And I can't possibly tell her.

  I take a sip of coffee and a dinosaur groans in my stomach. Honest to God. "Listen, it got complicated with Carrick. What you heard last night was me trying to let go. Having him here in the city doesn't make it easy. I don't know what he wants from me, but you're right, it's time for me to move on."

  She nods. Concern softens her features "Right now, the better question is are you alright?"

  I shake my head as another wave of nausea slides over me. "No. No, I'm not." I say, rushing for the ladies room.

  I pound on the door and a stern, "Just a minute," comes in reply. I don't have just a minute. I try to hold back, to keep it in for just a minute, but coffee, bits of blueberry bread, and so much yuck lands in the nearest trash receptacle, mostly.

  Kat rushes over to me with napkins and water.

  Where I expect relief from my hangover, the nausea doubles, and it's all I can do to get outside and sip the fresh air.

  "Can't go back," I say, struggling to keep myself upright. My vision blurs and my head pounds like the many pairs of boots passing on the sidewalk.

  "No, you can't relive the past," Kat says softly, as though picking up where our conversation left off.

  Through the malaise of the moment, I'm trying to explain that I can't go back into Starbucks, ever. Embarrassment is an unwelcome, but frequent guest in my life. After this incident, I'll probably be blacklisted for life. I want to shout, I'm not that hungover, I swear, but it's as though a heavy, itchy, woolen blanket descends over me.

  "Let's get you home," Kat says, hailing a cab.

  The cab ride is a blur. The trip up the elevator is a distorted reflection of me slouching against the wall, my skin a vague shade of Halloween witch green. The walk to my room is almost already a cloudy memory except when I say, "Toodles? Who says toodles?" I try to laugh, but only throw up again.

  Chapter 19

  Uncovering

  After three days in bed, cramps replace nausea, and as luck would have it, I get my period. And a migraine. I didn't even have the pleasure of my usual run of pms puppy fever. I call in sick and worry I'll be replaced before I'm better. After another day in bed with a heat pack, I've sweated out, puked, and wasted away all the weight I gained while dining with Bash—he was so busy talking he'd hardly noticed when I'd take seconds and thirds, especially of the brownies. I'm craving them now but don't trust my stomach just yet. Also, I don't recommend this method for weight loss, FYI.

  But the new sense of lightness may be because I purged some of the anger I felt at Mimi and Carrick. Some of it.

  I manage to keep my eyes open long enough to catch up on my email and log onto UBoss to tell them I'm alive in case everyone worried I was lying in a puddle of my own misery for the last few days, which I more or less was.

  Even if this program isn't exactly what I was looking for, the least I can do is support the other women, ones who, in such a short time, I think of as sisters, or at least distant cousins. These are women who'd understand why I can't shake Kat's comment about how I'm no fun. I don't disagree, but the comment is a persistent, obnoxious echo, which has certainly contributed to my aching head. They'd understand why following my heart is a bad idea. But I'm sapped of the energy to explain.

  Kat pokes her head in. "You're awake. Want anything from the store?"

  "Dirty brownies?"

  "Let's start with toast,"' she says and pads back down the hall.

  I can't be that upset with her because if anyone deserves sisterhood status, it's Kat. She's kept a full glass of water or ginger ale by my side, sanitized the bathroom more than once, and made sure I was still breathing when I wasn't moaning in agony.

  I balance on my elbows and skim the module for this week of the UBoss program titled uncovering. The PDF outlining what to expect states For most people, one of their deepest desires is to be seen, to be acknowledged, and for their experience and existence to be recognized. However, so many of us hide. We hide behind careers, relationships, stuff, weight, and stories we tell ourselves.

  I read on. We hide because we simultaneously want to be seen, but are afraid of being judged.

  Truth.

  The tasks I missed so far this week were Tell someone you like something about them: it can't be part of their attire, but rather their personality.

  Accept a compliment with a smile and thank you instead of something dismissive like, "What? This old thing, it's been in my closet for years."

  Speak up for someone who's been skipped in line, who isn't acknowledged in class, or who otherwise isn't using their voice to advocate for themselves. In other words, do for others what you'd like done for yourself.

  The last one is Hold your chin high, make an entrance when you enter a room, and dazzle everyone with your smile.

  I read the stories of trepidation and transformation in the chat group, suddenly feeling like I'm missing out. I told myself I was done with UBoss and although I have no intention of following my heart, maybe I could try to follow Mimi's week two module and support my accountability partners DaisyDuke31, MelodyMiles, and ShellsXOX.

  As I write an explanation of my recent absence, they're already excited to see my avatar lit up writing comments like

  Glad to have you back!

  Where ya been?

  We missed you!

  Why haven't you been blogging?

  I share everything except the encounter with Carrick.

  They insist I write up a blog post about my experience with the Man-bun-barista.

  I reply It's not funny, he's a criminal.

  ShellsXOX comments If eating those meals he made was wrong, I don't want to be right.

  I go to my email to copy and paste some of the recipes Bash shared with me, finding loads of emails from blog readers wondering where I've been.

  I didn't realize anyone had noticed.

  I add a note under my zero stars review of the Man-bun-barista explaining that I've been sick. I title the post The Last Supper, include photos, and click publish. I take a few minutes answering emails and approving comments, before thinking about the uncovering tasks from this week.

  After browsing my attempts at food photography, courtesy of Bash's spectacular dishes, my stomach rumbles. I take inventory. Hmm. On the saltines to brownies scale, I think I'm back to neutral. Something other than saltines seems like it might be safe. Best to test the waters before I dive in with a dirty brownie or two.

  On wobbly legs, I stumble out of my sick cave to find Kat in the kitchen on her phone. "Hooray! You've returned to the land of the living."

  "Thank you for taking such good care of me."

  "Of course."

  "You're a really good friend and human."

  "I'm a unicorn, Navy. It's time you get that right."

  The flat line of my lips turns into a smile.

  "You need someone like me to tell you that ratty old T-shirt doesn't do your complexion any favors."

  I look down to see I'm wearing an oversized, perfectly worn in cotton T-shirt from high school. On the front is the school mascot, an image of Poseidon wielding his trident. Across the back, as though burning into my skin are the letters K-E-N-N-E-L-Y. As a member of the football team, Carrick had to wear it on game days for other teams from our school in a show solidarity.

  "What this—?" I stop myself, recalling the uncovering task. My smile probably looks like the emoji with the squiggly lips, but I say, "Thank you."

  Kat gives me a sideways glance and says, "Great blog post, by the way. I've been dying to make these brownies," she says, checking the cupboard for the necessary ingredients.

  "If we're out of sugar, you know where to go," I say from behind the fridge door, wondering what there is to eat, and being sure not to put my back to her lest I reveal the last name emblazoned on the back of the T-shirt.

  "Are you hungry?" Kat asks.

  "Starved. All we have are old take out containers and condiments."

  I wait for her to joke about crazy-roni, but she's quiet.

  "That came for you the other day." She's points at a bouquet of white tulips and a paper bag next to it.

  Some of the women in the UBoss group sent themselves flowers for completing last week's tasks, but we don't have each other's addresses, so I rule out a special delivery from one of them. I recall the symbolism of white tulips from a poem I read in high school: forgiveness.

  I open the paper bag and find a few cans of tomato soup and a card with a sketch of a grilled cheese sandwich.

  The note inside says I'd have included the bread, cheese, and butter, but thought it might go bad before you had a chance to make a grilled cheese. Get well soon. --C

  When I'm done reading, in a soft voice Kat says, "I can be silly and loud. I also interfere and I'm sorry if that upsets you, but it's been brave of you to get out there, live more, and have fun. That you've done the dare surprised me in a good way. Then I noticed you'd been doing nice things for yourself lately, the red lipstick for instance, and that you were trying to have more fun, like going to the movies even if by yourself."

  I pray she doesn't know about the naked dance party.

  "Then I heard you on the phone the other night and saw your interaction with Carrick. I know there's more you're not telling me. I'm not going to pry. It's your business and I respect you, as pushy as I can be sometimes. But once again, I'm putting it out there, if you need someone to talk to I'm here for you."

  I set the note down and then drop into the chair with a frown I can't disguise.

  "In college, you smiled and laughed more and it's like with each passing year you get sadder and sadder."

  "I don't know what to do with my life."

  "Live it," she says simply.

  But it's not that easy for me. There are so many what ifs. Too many, but I can't let them get in the way of telling my best friend the truth, at least part of it. I draw a deep breath and say, "I joined a program called UBoss facilitated by this woman named Mimi Boss."

  Kat slaps her hand on the table. "No way. Mimi Boss?"

  I nod.

  "She's one of my private yoga clients. I know her program."

  "You do?"

  "Yeah, it's fabulous—she actually really helped me figure out my yoga business when I started out. If you recall I have a PhD and, um, don't use it. We traded yoga classes for life coaching. I'm only sorry I never thought to suggest her to you."

  "You did life coaching?" I ask surprised. "It's always seemed like you know exactly how to live."

  Katya squawks a laugh. "You're not serious. Oh my dear, Navy. I'm motivated and extroverted and impetuous, impatient... but being an adult? Ha. I'm still growing up and if I'm honest, I have a long way to go."

  "I was afraid to tell you about it because having fun and being comfortable with yourself comes so easily to you."

  "You think it's been easy for me to become the chief executive officer of my life?"

  "You know how to have fun and as you reminded me the other day, I'm no fun." Tears brim in my eyes.

  "That's not what I meant, but I'm sorry because I see how hearing that might have stung." She rubs my shoulder and then pulls me into a hug.

  Through the tears dampening her fleece I say, "Your comment was an echo of the truth. That's what's so hard about it."

  Kat squeezes harder. "You do know how to have fun. You just don't always make it easy for yourself. You sometimes get in your own way, overthinking and analyzing things."

  "This community of women has really helped me," I say, pulling away and fussing with the hem of the T-shirt.

  "I'm really glad you found UBoss. For people like us who're driven, but not exactly sure where we're going, it can be tremendously helpful to have a guide and a community."

  "Yeah, but Mimi told me to follow my heart."

  Kat smiles. "Always."

  I shake my head. "No."

  Her hand flies to her hip and her eyebrow arches threateningly. "How's not following it been working out for you?"

  I don't answer. "I thought you were going to make brownies."

  "Yep. My heart reliably leads me to chocolate. And yours… a can of tomato soup," she says, pulling out a bowl. "I suggest you test the waters before diving into a sea of chocolate bliss."

  I read the card again, remembering the silly sketches I'd find around the Kennely household. Carrick would leave goofy and oddly endearing doodles of family members doing things like hanging from one another's arms like a barrel of monkeys, their faces floating on a bouquet of balloons, several of them floating away, eating dirt—that was when their dad was voted into office.

  I recall one he left for me with the moon sparkling on the water—the two of us standing on our heads in the sand.

  "How did he know where we live?"

  Kat stills her rummaging in the cabinets. "After the cab ride home, I had your phone—you almost left it on the backseat."

  "He called."

  "A bunch of times."

  "Did you talk to him?"

  "I texted that you weren't feeling well."

  I spot my cell phone on the counter and see he called three times in the last two days. I go to the text thread next. There are twice that number of texts. "I don't want anything to do with Carrick. Please, Kat, don’t, just don't," I say, shaking my head.

  "Are you sure? Because that T-shirt doesn't look like it belonged to his sister." I study her placid expression. I see neither malice nor the intent to hurt me, but somehow my chest still aches.

  "Is there anything else you should tell me?" I ask, but before she can answer, my phone rings in my hand.

  I face the screen to her. "It's him. Is he going to be calling every day?"

  "Did it occur to you that he cares?"

  I doubt that.

  "Answer," she insists, but before I can click decline, she's pressed the green button on the screen.

  I huff out an irritated, "Hello."

  Chapter 20

  Carrick

  The sound of her voice, even if she's upset, brings me relief. The knots in my chest loosen. I've spent too long living in regret at not having the chance to tell her the truth—that is, if she'll give me the chance. I don't blame her for not wanting to see my sorry face ever again.

  "Are you feeling better?" I ask, knowing her answer probably won't be delicate.

  "I was. Not anymore now that you've called. What do you want?"

  Ouch. "Did you make the soup?" I hear several beeps and then a hum.

  "I'm microwaving it now. Thanks, by the way, but you didn't have to." Her voice softens and then hardens again. "I can take care of myself."

  I wouldn't expect anything less, but the edge tells me that was born out of necessity to protect herself, not only because she's a strong, independent woman. I don't want to think that I played a part in any of the tears she's ever shed. I'm reluctant to think I was that important, but there's no denying that I hurt her. It's followed me around the world and made me think about what I'd done; how I'd hurt someone I cared about.

  "How'd you know I wasn't feeling well?"

  "After leaving the Urban Table—Kat was right, they do have the best Challah in town, though I doubt you want to hear that at the moment—I saw you getting into a cab. You looked under the weather. I'm sorry if it was from being in my presence." I let out a self-deprecating laugh, trying to keep the conversation light and hoping to get her to laugh too. "I'll never forget that time everyone got mono—all my brothers, Claire—the whole house was contaminated. You came over with an entire case of soup, several loaves of bread, and the entire block of cheese from the deli. The only thing I could stomach was tomato soup and grilled cheese."