She squints up at me, taxi door open. “Goodbye!” she yells, trying hard to smile. “Parting is such sweet sorrow!”

I laugh through the tears as the door shuts and her cab disappears down the road.

Kate walks in slowly, looking as hesitant and allergic to tears as ever. “All cried out?”

“I guess,” I croak, before blowing my nose.

She drops onto the edge of my bed, making me bounce. “I’m going to get unpacked. Mind if I take her room until you find a roommate?”

“I’m not getting a roommate, you weirdo. Obviously, you’ll take her bed. Just pay what you can toward rent. We’ll make it work.”

Kate pats my thigh. “Thanks, BeeBee.”

I swallow fresh tears. “Ugh. This is so weird. She’s not supposed to leave.”

“She’s supposed to do whatever makes her happy and allows her to live a fulfilling life. Same for you. Why don’t you take your mind off things, go sit somewhere and sketch. Clock some hours at work. Draw clandestine clitorises. Sell smutty cards.”

“Can’t,” I tell her. “Store’s closed for the holiday. Tonight’s the Friendsgiving party.”

“Friendsgiving?” Kate perks up. “Sounds like lots of good food. When do we leave?”

“I—” My voice dies off abruptly. Reality hits me.

I can see Jamie now. I can fix things with him. Jules is gone, safe from any sadness and pain that seeing us together would cause. What am I doing here, crying in my pajamas?

I push off the bed and am halfway to the closet when a text pops up on my phone. Scrambling back, I unearth it from the sheets, because what if it’s Jamie?

But it’s not.

Is Kate really back or is your mom just messing with me again? It’s been a while since she pranked me.

“Who is it?” Kate asks.

“Christopher,” I mumble, tossing aside my phone, then darting into my closet. He’ll just have to wait for an answer. I don’t have time for anything but getting myself in Jamie’s arms as soon as humanly possible.

Kate wrinkles her nose. “Will he be there? At Friendsgiving?”

“Yep!” I call from the closet.

“Ew. Never mind. I’ll eat leftover breakfast casserole.”

“Sure.” I’m distracted, heart pounding. Inside my closet, I rip off my pajamas, drag on Jamie’s sweatshirt that I stole and a thick pair of warm leggings.

“I don’t recognize that sweatshirt,” she says as I dart into the bathroom and frantically brush my teeth.

“Mm-hmm,” I answer her absently, splashing my face with cold water and quickly running a brush through my hair, fixing my bangs.

“I think I’ll go outside,” Kate says, “and wear my underwear on my head, singing ‘Yankee Doodle Dandy.’ ”

“Uh-huh.” I rush back into my room, hopping into socks, stomping into my untied Doc Martens. “Gotcha.”