By now I was really tired. I was mentally drained, and even more confused as these thoughts and a hundred thousand more went swiftly spiraling through my head, faster than the speed of sound. Even more alarming was the fact that I had been bragging to almost the entire east coast about my trip to see Graham. I had made him my Superman, immortal and invincible. Now, I had to make him mortal. Fallible. And even worse—unavailable.

Woe is me. That was my plan. Woe is me, poor me, who believed that he could, and trusted that he would. Woe is me. I had to make myself the victim. I had to make myself the universally sympathetic, embittered woman, jaded, angry, and broken. For in my family, there was honor in heartache at the hands of a man. There was camaraderie in emotional ruin.

Thankfully for my sake, this flight was a connection from Dallas that got me into BWI a little after 7 a.m., which meant I would get to my apartment shortly after 8 a.m. and have a good five hours alone before I had to face the world. Five hours that I desperately needed to work through my lie.

When the plane landed, I hopped into a cab and headed down Interstate 95. Past Camden Yards, making a right on Pratt Street, then a left up St. Paul Street, until I finally reached my apartment building. A tall white brick building. It wasn’t the Ritz Carlton, but it was comfortable. And it was mine.

The sign on the elevator read “Out of Service,” so I grabbed my bag and headed up two flights of stairs to my apartment, my cozy hideaway overlooking St. Paul Street.

I slid my key into the lock, turning it ever so gently. I was truly exhausted and couldn’t wait to run the bathwater and begin scrubbing away the scent of pain, peaches, and strawberries.

“Meoowww! Meoowww!”

Greeting me at the door was my best friend in the whole wide world, Muggly, a black shorthaired alley cat with yellow eyes. A gift from William on my twenty-fifth birthday, Muggly was found in the pipes at one of his construction sites. And ever since she’s been a trusted friend, confidante, and companion. And even more important, a snuggle buddy.

“Hi, Muggly.”

“Meoowww.”

By the look in Muggly’s eyes, she knew that my trip was a bust. I couldn’t lie to her. She knew me oh too well. I immediately flopped on the couch and started crying. And when I cry, Muggly cries. After almost an hour of our whines and tears it was time to focus on the here and now. It was up to me to concentrate, look at my life for what it was, and focus on what mattered most: a good excuse for why I’m home on Thanksgiving.

“Okay, Muggly, we have to come up with something good. Any ideas?”