And this voluntary physical touch, this show of comfort from her, clicks together a lot of pieces in my brain. “I thought I was healed.” I squeeze Gemma’s hand, staring at our clasped fingers so I don’t have to look any of them in the eye. “I did the work and shared my feelings and got a degree and a job and made some money, and none of you abandoned me, and I thought I was all better.”

Harley scoots closer to me, wrapping me in her arms as I break down completely. She strokes my hair as I soak her sweater, never once letting go of Gemma’s hand. When I feel a large hand rubbing slow circles on my back, I know Nick is behind me as well.

My sobs subside, slowly, but they kick up again when three sets of arms fully engulf me. Eventually, I’ve drained myself of tears. Without a word, Gemma moves into the kitchen while Harley guides me upstairs and into the shower. When I step out of the steaming water, I find a clean pair of pajamas sitting on the counter. I dress and duck into my room before heading downstairs, pulling on the Captain America hoodie as I walk.

Gemma hands me a bowl of macaroni and cheese, Nick pours me a glass of wine, and we all sit and eat together. Nick does the dishes after dinner while the girls head down to the basement for some Real Housewives. Harley and Nick head home shortly after, both of them with early wake-up times on Monday. But Gem stays with me, telling me she already called for a sub and is going to hang with me at the shop the following day.

She and I curl up in my bed, me with the hoodie still wrapped around me, and with my best friend next to me, I sleep better than I have in weeks.

I schedule my therapy appointment for Tuesday in the late-afternoon hours, when deliveries will be mostly done and Lucy can handle any problems that might come up at the shop. I don’t let myself contact Jack until after my hour is up, even though I’m desperate to hear his voice. To apologize. And to let him explain himself, and actually listen this time.

My phone is pressed to my ear the second I enter the brownstone, but he doesn’t answer. It rings twice and goes to voicemail, so his phone is on, he just doesn’t want to talk to me. Which is fair. I don’t know if I’d want to talk to me either. But I can’t just not say anything, so I text instead.