“That’s the opposite of what I’m saying,” Mere deadpans. “You have people in your life who already love you. People who spent a thousand dollars on a plane ticket on Christmas Eve, by the way,” she snaps. Because Meredith—Meredith loves me enough to stick around, even when I completely fuck everything up.

“It’s not failure to let people see your imperfections,” Meredith says. “It’s vulnerability.”

I snort again. “Gross.”

Meredith erupts with laughter. It’s a glorious, barking laugh, like the sound of a French bulldog struggling to breathe, and it makes me start laughing, too, even though everything is complete and utter shit. I lost Jack, and I lost the money, and all I have now is this terrible apartment.

Actually, I’ll be evicted from this apartment in a week.

“Ellie.” Mere reaches over and touches my cheek. “You have to stop letting your fear of failure keep you from letting people in.”

“That’s not what—”

I’m set to argue with her, to tell her it’s not my fear of failure that caused me to lose Jack twice. Except…

Except maybe it was. Jack said I didn’t tell her the truth about the money because I was convinced we were going to fail, and maybe she was right. Exactly one year ago, I fled Jack’s Airstream before she had the chance to explain Claire to me.

But I didn’t need an explanation. Claire confirmed what I’d already suspected: that Jack and I were never meant to last. I convinced myself we could never have anything more than one perfect day together because I was terrified of what might happen between us when things stopped being perfect. I couldn’t imagine a world where Jack might choose me after the snow melted.

Claire showed up, and she gave me a reason to leave before Jack could leave me. And my supervisor fired me from Laika after I already felt like a failure. And I didn’t tell Jack the truth about the money because I assumed the Butch Oven would fail before it even opened. I didn’t tell her the truth about the engagement because I assumed we would fail. Like a fucking self-fulfilling prophecy.

“I’ve been so fucking afraid,” I say out loud.

“Yes,” Meredith says with the curt nod of her head. She’s crushing my ribs a bit, but it helps me feel like the world isn’t completely falling apart.

“I let fear rule my entire life.” I take a deep breath and try to hold it in my lungs, try to press it into the aching hole inside of me. The hole that can’t be filled by another person; it can only be filled by me. “I don’t want to let fear control me anymore.”

“Good takeaway.”