Chapter 4

Diana was all breezy confidence, playing the tough one, one of the guys.

Patrick's face eased. He looked at the screen on his phone with a longing, worshipful glance, then turned to me and said impatiently, "Luna, you heard everything Diana said?"

"Forget the in-person apology, but the public one on social media, that has to happen."

"Tonight, you stay home and think hard about what you did."

"I'm heading out."

In the end Patrick still took the jewelry I'd packed up, my jewelry, planning to sell it secondhand for cash.

At the door he stopped and looked back.

"Luna, throw your tantrum, but know when to stop."

"You've stripped the place bare. It doesn't even feel lived in anymore."

"Go get everything back."

"Be good."

"Diana's my friend. You're my wife."

It was rare for Patrick to say something that nice.

Too bad my heart was already numb, dead as cold ash. Not a ripple.

I watched his back disappear, and then I cleared out everything in the apartment I could, went to the landlord to cancel the lease, and changed the locks.

Then I shouldered my little backpack and got on the train home.

The next morning the train pulled into Ridgeport, my hometown.

I reached for my phone and found it dead.

No way to call my family ahead of time. I hesitated, then decided to just go straight home.

Heart in my throat, I knocked. It was my father who opened the door.

The moment he saw me, he clearly froze, then turned and walked away.

I thought my parents still couldn't forgive me for the way I'd dug my heels in back then, staying in the desert to marry Patrick. Tears spilled down my cheeks.

I'd lost the home I had with Patrick. Was I about to lose my parents' home too?

I couldn't blame anyone. This was what I deserved.

Swallowing the sting in my chest, I turned to leave, ready to go find somewhere, anywhere, to stay.

Then my mother came out with my father.

"Luna?"

Her voice shook. She came right up to me, touched my face with her hands to make sure I was really there, and then she just pulled me into her arms.

"You're back? You're back, that's all that matters. You're back."

Home was warm.

My bedroom had been kept exactly the way I'd left it, and the table was covered with every dish I loved.

My father was a man of few words, but he kept piling food into my bowl.

My mother couldn't stop looking at me, saying "You've lost weight," "You look worn out." She wanted to ask how things had been in the desert but was afraid I wouldn't want to hear it, afraid to open her mouth.

Watching how carefully my parents moved around me, my nose stung.

How stupid had I been back then, to think Patrick was better than my own family, more worth it?

I told them myself. "Patrick and I broke up. I'm not going back."

"Good. Good."

My mother cried, overcome, and my father lifted his bowl to hide his face, but when he set it down I saw how red his eyes were.

"You've been on the train all night, you must be exhausted. Go rest in your room."

After we ate, my parents flat-out refused to let me do any chores.

So I went back to my bedroom, remembered my phone was dead, dug out the charger, and plugged it in.

The second it powered on, Patrick's call came through.

I frowned. This number needed to go.

I swiped to answer.

"Luna, I got drunk last night and I feel awful. Make a pot of ginger rice porridge and bring it over."

"Oh, and Diana says the pickles you make are good. Bring a bowl of those too."

"Hurry up."

"Don't keep us waiting."

Patrick ordered me around like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Calmly, I said, "I'm not cooking for you anymore. We've broken up. There's nothing between us."

"Luna, I really feel terrible. Can you not pick this moment to fight with me?"

Listening to him complain, I hung up on him this time, pulled out the SIM card, and snapped it in two.

...

The desert.

The hotel room where Diana was staying.

Patrick stared at the dead phone for a moment.

Then he shot to his feet and raced home like a madman.