21 | Miranda /**/ Ch. 21 | Miranda The thing that really upset me . . . it wasn’t the skimpy girl in his apartment or the look on his face when I caught him. And I appreciated his sprint to the red light, I really did. But he gave up. So easily. I sped off. He walked back to his house. Didn’t get in his car. Didn’t pick up his phone. No texts or calls. Maybe he had a good reason, but these are the things that made me want to retreat. Back to the place of fleeting romance and fugitive dreams. The place where my heart sat crammed away and out of reach. The place where I controlled how and when I felt pain. Is that even healthy? I needed ice cream. And cake. And brownies. And a root beer float. So I made them. Ella called when I sat down on my couch with my delightful collection of sugars. I didn’t answer. She texted instead. Miranda, hope all is well. Quick invite: Sarah is coming home in three weeks. Having a welcome back party at our house.
