Page 121 of I Hope This Finds You Well

It’s not normal to think like this, but it must be astartthat I’m realizing that. And Idowant to start somewhere. It somehow feels like things can be okay, now that they’re so broken. Now that there’s nothing left to hold together, I can just deal with what’s in front of me. Where I’m going, I don’t know, but I can put some garbage away. That’s all I have to do.

Next, I have to shower. That’s only standing somewhere where water happens to be falling. Nobody can blame me for that.

Once I manage to get myself washed and into a clean pair of sweats and less dirty hoodie, I find a way to gather the trash and the bottles and take them out. I spend about six hours tidying, and it isn’t anything like I’d built in my head.

After I make myself a can of soup, I spend a good half hour looking at my face in the mirror. Mostly, I try to look myself in the eye.

I find my phone. It’s been out of battery for days. I plug it in before I go to bed.

I get out of bed at the respectable hour of eight a.m. I shower and manage to take some laundry downstairs. I go to the store and get groceries and buy a new vacuum that is a pain in the ass to assemble. I’m heating up a bowl of vegetable soup when I finally make eye contact with my phone.

Tons of messages plaster my screen, sent days ago. I take a heavy breath—best not to put it off forever—and dive in.

Armin:Okay, so our moms are freaking out. Apparently, your mom’s guest list is at 111?

Armin:I’m going to have to come clean. Wish me luck.

Armin:Mom collapsed today. In hospital. Please cancel the party.

Fuck. I should’ve checked earlier.

The next few are from my mom.

Mom:I have invited a few cousins you don’t know, but they’re family.

Mom:Also, when Hassan calls, tell him you want discount because you’re giving him good business.

Mom:Hassan is the dessert maker.

Mom:Are you okay? Ey Jan.

Mom:Armin’s mom is in hospital. Please call.

Mom:You broke up? Oh no. Maybe we can still have party to celebrate you were engaged?

And the last message, sent yesterday, is:

Mom:Please answer. I’m worried.

Worried aboutwhatis the question. Because a party that’s basically in her honor being ruined might be the biggest tragedy of them all.

I need to call her. But as I grab my empty glasses from the bedside table, I hear Miley say from outside my window, “Sorry, but Jolene asked me not to let you into the building anymore.”

Then my mom says, “This is very disrespectful...”

I sprint to the front hall before things get bad.

“Mom, come in. I was just getting some tea made.”

Mom’s face is pinched as her gaze searches mine, the disappointment already apparent. “Jolene, what are you doing? Armin says you broke up, and you don’t tell me? So many people have asked me if things are still okay for the party. Why aren’t you answering my messages?”

“Sorry, I wasn’t feeling good.” I pull the door wide to my thankfully cleaner abode.

“Drink some tea and eat fruit.” She storms through my apartment and straight to my fridge. She’ll be angry that I don’t have something like pomegranates on hand.

“I just ate a bunch of melon,” I lie. “Hopefully I’ll feel better soon.”

She nods, satisfied for now. “Why did you and Armin break up?”