Elliot

I grimace when I realize I've forgotten something essential: we haven't eaten anything since the quick lunch we picked at during the flight.

I pull some takeout menus from a drawer.

"Choose whatever you want."

Mira flips through the leaflets before selecting one from a pizzeria.

"When in New York…"

"That's what you want when you could get takeout from Ruth's Chris Steak House?"

"Who's Ruth Chris?"

I groan.

"Fine. Pizza it is."

When our dinner arrives an hour later, I arrange the pizzas on the coffee table. We both sit on the enormous rug in front of the gigantic fireplace in the middle of the living room. I don't much like eating at a table; it reminds me of when my mother was still alive, when my father came home sober enough for us to have dinner as a family.

"You said this apartment was one of your properties. How many do you own, exactly?"

I count them in my head.

"Twenty-eight."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"O-kay… That's insane," she says, suddenly looking a little pale. "Which one is your favorite?"

I take a bite of pizza to give myself time to consider the question.

"Honestly, none of them."

Mira stares at me in disbelief.

"None of them feels like home?"

"No. Home is more or less wherever I'm needed for work." She keeps staring at me, wide-eyed. "I prefer some climates to others. Chicago, for example, is great in the summer, but in winter it's cold as hell."

"And Wondervale?"

"It's different…" I answer cautiously.

"How?"

"I have a lot of bad memories there."

"Oh. It's surprising you wanted to become director, then."

"I wanted to take the park to the next level, and it was in my best interest to move past what was holding me back."

Even if it isn't the whole truth, I'm not lying. Still, her smile feels like a punch to the gut.

You have no choice but to hide the truth from her. You're too close to your goal to risk everything now.

"And now you feel better when you're there?"

"Yes, thanks to someone who makes my time there bearable."

The blush spreading across her cheeks ties my stomach in knots. It's hard to swallow anything under the circumstances.

"Bearable? I'll have to do better, then."

She already does more than enough. I clear my throat.

"Enough about me. There's something about you that intrigues me."

"What?"

"The pins."

"It isn't a nice story."

Tense, Mira looks at the view behind me.

"I didn't ask you to tell me a nice story."

I take her hand in mine, the way she's done for me every time I've needed to discuss something difficult. Her body relaxes, and she lets out a deep breath.

"I got my first pin the day I started therapy."

I never would have imagined someone like Mira seeing a therapist. According to my father, therapy is for weak people who need someone else to solve their problems.

"You went to therapy? Why?"

"Because I realized I couldn't heal without working at it."

"But you're…"

I can't find the words.

"What?" she says with a sad little laugh. "Kind? Cheerful? Smiling?"

"Well… yes."

Isn't that how it works? Why would a happy person see a therapist?

"Everyone goes through rough patches," she continues, lowering her eyes. "And for me, I… there was…"

She lets out a long breath. Mira at a loss? That's new.

"About two years ago, I fell into a deep depression."

"What?" I ask in surprise.

"Yes," she confirms, flushing. "I didn't know it at the time. Elise was the one who made me understand that I needed help. She even helped me find a therapist."

"I… I don't know what to say."

"I don't even know why I'm crying," she laments, wiping her wet cheeks.

I brush away a tear she missed.

"I know I'm better now," she continues. "But… when Victor broke my heart, I could barely get out of bed. I used all my vacation days for the year because I wasn't sleeping much, and just getting up was a chore. It was as though I was mechanically going through the motions of everyday life without actually living. I barely ate anymore. And the thoughts I had…" Her voice breaks, and it feels like a blow to my heart. "I hated myself so much. I blamed myself for months. I kept thinking, what kind of idiot doesn't realize her boyfriend is cheating on her? I thought I was so pathetic, and I felt like I'd been used…"

"You're not pathetic at all."

The thought of her seeing herself that way infuriates me.

"I know that now," she says with a sniffle. "But back then, I felt so weak because nothing I did could stop the hopelessness from taking over. I tried. I really did. Because I'd always been so happy… Except the more I pretended everything was fine, the worse it got. Eventually, I reached the point where I wondered whether life was worth living." She looks at her trembling hands again. "I… I never thought I'd be the kind of person who would think it would be better if I were gone… I'm ashamed I ever considered it."

All I want is to punch Victor so he can feel a fraction of the pain Mira went through. If she needs a semicolon pin, it's his fault.

"That's what I think now, but the girl I was before, when it all happened… I'd become an empty shell. I couldn't believe in myself anymore when it mattered most."

There's so much pain in her voice that a lump forms in my throat. Her eyes hold all the suffering she endured because of that asshole.

I crawl around to her side of the table and pull her onto my lap.

She buries her face in my shirt, clutching the fabric in both hands as if she needs something to hold on to.

Seeing Mira seek comfort in my arms stirs an emotion in me that I can't identify. I like feeling that she needs me. I want to protect her, and I resent anyone who hurts her.

I have to admit that I care a great deal about her. Our relationship is slowly evolving into something more serious, and I'm not entirely opposed to it.

"Elise started my pin collection after my first therapy session. She found one on Etsy with Iggy the Alien, but instead of holding up three fingers in a peace sign, he's giving everyone the middle finger. It was a symbolic 'fuck you' to Victor."

I shake my head with a smile.

"That's counterfeit," I reply, smiling. "It's illegal."

"Then sue me," she shoots back, amused.

"And how did you end up with a backpack completely covered in pins?"

"Elise made it her mission. Every week, she bought me one, each more grotesque than the last. Whenever I came home from my weekly therapy appointment, I got my little present. Now she gives me two a year: one for my birthday and one for Christmas."

"Elise is a very good friend."

"Yes, she's the best. I'm lucky to have her. As a roommate and as a best friend."

I hold her tighter as if I can ease some of her sorrow that way.

"So, are you better now?"

I try to hide my concern, but I don't think I manage it completely.

"Yes, much better."

"For what it's worth, he never deserved you."

And you do?