Chapter 9 - The Whiteboard
Some smaller things, for what they're worth.
Sorrel has a new phone and a new account now, and she set both of them up entirely herself and wouldn't let me anywhere near the room while she did it — which her therapist says is exactly right, and which I personally found nearly unbearable for about two solid weeks.
The shared calendar is gone completely. We use an old whiteboard on the kitchen wall now, like it's 1994, and honestly, I prefer it that way.
I wrote to Casimir Rusk in June to thank him properly. He wrote back three genuinely kind paragraphs, and we haven't spoken since, and that feels correct.
Lowell Bray sent me a message in April saying he'd wanted to explain everything a hundred times over and had simply been too afraid to, and that he was sorry. I told him he had nothing at all to apologize for, and I meant every word of it.
And Roan.
We are not together. I want to say that plainly, because it's the tidy, satisfying ending, and it simply isn't what actually happened.
May you like
He's my friend. He's shown up to two of Tibby's school things now, and he spent several Sunday afternoons this fall teaching Sorrel to drive a manual transmission in the empty Halloway parking lot — entirely her idea — and Bramble the dog has visited our house eleven separate times since March.
Ask me again in two years.
