Mrs. Nash's Ashes

by Sarah Adler

“Jesus. You are the most . . . the most—” “The most what?” “Just the absolute goddamn most, Millicent.”

You can always judge a person by the quality of their apology,

It hits me in the chest like a massive and unexpected wave, made more unexpected because I somehow convinced myself my feelings for him were a bathtub instead of an ocean.

forever isn’t the part that I almost lost faith in. It was the millions of right-nows along the way.

But what do promises really mean in the grand scheme of things? When it comes down to it, a promise is little more than an earnest intention; I’ve learned that the universe tends to laugh at those and do its own thing anyway. Maybe that’s why I’m so willing to think the best of people. I don’t want to assume malice when mostly we’re all just victims of the universe’s whims.

Romantics like Millicent, though, move with purpose toward their goal, following an endless trail of hope. Optimistic breadcrumbs that promise to end with a happily ever after. And Millicent’s breadcrumbs, she’s informed me, lead to Key West.

I think he knows that my anger is like one of those fake fireplaces—a whole lot of heat but no real flame. I can make him sweat, make him want to keep his distance. But I won’t actually burn him if he’s brave enough to get close. And he is.

I know I’ll keep believing. My heart can take it. I am, fundamentally, a person who clings to hope, and trusting that—trusting myself—is worth everything.