Mia Goes Fourth

I looked at him kind of dubiously. I actually needed to get out of the ball by nine, not twelve, if I still wanted to make it to Michael's at a decent hour. Also, I couldn't tell whether or not Rene was joking.

'Um,' I said. 'OK.'

And that's how I ended up in this bathroom. Rene told me to hide, and that he'd get Lars to flag down a cab, and once he'd

got one, and the coast was clear, Rene would knock three times, signalling that Grandmere was too otherwise occupied to notice my defection. Then, Rene promised, he'd tell her I must have eaten a bad truffle, since I'd looked queasy, and Lars

had taken me home.

It doesn't matter, of course. Any of this, I mean. Because I am just going to end up at Michael's in time for him to dump me. Maybe he'll feel bad about it, you know, after I give him his birthday present. Then again, maybe he'll just be glad to be rid

of me. Who knows? I've given up trying to figure out men. They are a breed apart.

Oops, there's Rene's knock. Gotta go.

To meet my fate.

Friday, January 22,11 p.m.

The Moscovitzes' Bathroom

Oh, my God, I am FREAKING OUT.

Now I know how Jane Eyre must have felt when she returned to Thornfield Hall to find it all burnt to the ground and

everyone telling her everybody inside of it was killed in the fire.

Only then she finds out Mr. Rochester didn't die, he just lost his sight and his hand and his crazy wife and everything,

and Jane's like super happy, because, you know, in spite of what he tried to do to her, she loves him.

That's how I feel right now. Super happy. Because I fully don't think Michael is going to break up with me after all!!!!

I was sure he was going to when I was standing outside the Moscovitzes' apartment, you know, with my finger on the buzzer.

I was standing there going, Why am I even doing this? I am fully just walking into heartbreak. I should turn around

and have Lars flag down another cab and just go back to the loft. I hadn't even bothered changing out of my stupid

ball gown, because what was the point? I was just going to be on my way home in a few minutes anyway, and I could

change there.

So I'm standing there in the hallway, and Lars is behind me going on about his stupid boar hunt in Belize, because that is all

he talks about any more, and I hear Pavlov, Michael's dog, barking because someone is at the door, and I'm going, inside

 my head, OK, when he breaks up with me, I am NOT going to cry, I am going to remember Rosagunde and Agnes,

and I am going to be strong like they were strong . . .

And then Michael opened the door. He looked kind of taken aback by my apparel, I could tell. I thought maybe it was because he hadn't counted on having to break up with a snowdrop. But there was nothing I could do about that, though

I did remember at the last minute that I was still wearing my tiara, which I suppose might intimidate, you know, some boys.

So I took it off and went, 'Well, I'm here,' which is a foolish thing to say, because, well, duh, I was standing there, wasn't I?

But Michael kind of seemed to recover himself. He went, 'Oh, hey, come in, you look . . . you look really beautiful,' which

of course is exactly what a guy who is about to break up with you would say, you know, to kind of bolster your ego before

he grinds it beneath his heel.

But, whatever, I went in, and so did Lars, and Michael went, 'Lars, my mom and dad are in the living room watching

Dateline, if you want to join them,' which Lars totally did, because you could tell he didn't want to hang around and

listen to the Big Breakup.

So then Michael and I were alone in the foyer. I was twirling my tiara around in my hands, trying to think of what to say.

I'd been trying to think what to say the whole way down in the cab, but I hadn't been very successful.

Then Michael went, 'Well, did you eat yet? Because I've got some veggie burgers . . .'

I looked up from the parquet floor tiles, which I had been examining very closely, since it was easier than looking into

Michael's peat-bog eyes, which always suck me in until I feel like I can't move any more. They used to punish criminals

in ancient Celtic societies by making them walk into a peat bog. If they sank, you know, they were guilty, and if not, they

were innocent. Only you always sink when you walk into a peat bog. They uncovered a bunch of bodies from one in Ireland not too long ago, and they, like, still had all their teeth and hair and stuff. They were totally preserved. It was way gross.

That's how I feel when I look into Michael's eyes. Like I'm trapped in peat bog. Only I don't mind, because it's warm and

nice and cosy in there . . .