Dear Dr. Duckett...Your husband is a dick. And as for you? You can suck it."

My late-night attempt at writing a scathing post-termination letter to my former boss causes my sister to laugh. “It sounds like an x-rated nursery rhyme. Dr. Seus Gone Wild.” Sophia glances at me over her shoulder as she waddles toward the mint green vintage refrigerator in the kitchenette.

I huff under my breath, my attention fixed to the screen of my phone where I’m typing. “I assure you—the alliteration is unintentional and the rhyming is by accident. There’s certainly nothing poetic about the situation I’m in.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” she says flippantly. “Things could be worse, right?” Half of her body disappears into the fridge as she rummages around.

“Please don’t even suggest that,” I warn with a groan. “I’m positive that the Universe is listening in and cooking up even more creative ways to screw me over. Don’t give it any ideas.”

After my first day at my new job, I’m beyond discouraged. Copper Heights is a small town in the sticks outside of Chicago with a population barely brushing 5000 residents who are all apparently in impeccable health. The ER was absolutely dead all day. Pun intended.

I got my hopes up when we got word that there’d been a highway accident nearby but all the victims got routed to the hospital in Reyfield. Fantastic! No traumas, no medical emergencies, nothing all day.

That left me ample time to linger around the nurses’ station while Nina gave the rest of the staff a titillating scene-by-scene rundown of some raunchy MFMMM (did I forget an ‘M’?) romance that she’s been reading on hospital time. As I zoned in and out of the discussion, a half-dozen variations on my encounter with Ben played on continuous loop in my mind.

From the looks of it, this is what my life will be for the foreseeable future. Therefore, optimism is definitely not on tonight’s menu.

“Do you realize that the most exciting thing I worked on today was pulling a splinter out of a preschooler’s big toe? This is how I’m making use of my Ivy League education.” I fold my legs up under me on the couch. “Plus, the idea that my ex-boyfriend might come waltzing around the corner at any minute, looking ripped and heroic like the star of a pornhub.com firefighter video, had me on edge all day. I can’t think straight under these conditions.”

Sophia’s muffled voice barely rises above the drone of the ancient kitchen appliance as she speaks. “Come on, the Universe has got an amazing sense of humor. You’ve got to let yourself laugh at your situation every now and then. At least so you don’t drive yourself crazy.” She emerges from the fridge with a tub of chocolate yogurt, a bottle of mustard and a jar of orange marmalade. She lays it all out on the cracked vinyl countertop.

I blink. “Humor? There is no humor. My life is in the gutter.”

She pauses at the counter where she’s spooning yogurt into two small bowls. She nails me with a merciless scowl. “Excuse me!” She whips her arms around like an air traffic controller waving down a jet. “I’m the queen of terrible luck. You’re talking to the girl who planned the high society wedding of the decade, got stood up at the altar and then two weeks later, found out she’s pregnant…If I can find a way to laugh, then so can you.” She picks up the bottle of mustard and aims it at one of the yogurt bowls. “Want some?”

I retch involuntarily at her magnanimous offer. “Thanks, hun, but I’ll pass.” Pregnancy cravings combined with budgetary constraints have turned my sister into a gastronomical freak.

Anyway, Sophia is tougher than a Soprano. The fact that she’s still standing—and laughing—after the cards she’s been dealt, I’m in awe of her.

“You’re a freaking inspiration, you know that, Soapy?” I lean back on the cushions and smile at her.

Her hand draws circles on her belly. “Some days, looking forward to this baby is the only thing that keeps me going.” She picks up the yogurt bowls—one plain, the other garnished with mustard and marmalade—and shuffles toward the living area of her tiny apartment where I’m sitting.

“You’ve been through a lot. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you.” I take the bowl that she hands my way.

Her jaw begins to tremble as she crumbles onto the seat of the couch. Her gaze flickers to the floor and she hesitates before speaking. “I really needed you, Ang.” Her voice cracks on the words.

Guilt swells inside me and I try to swallow it down.

I thought I was doing my best. I thought I was staying in touch with her. But now that I’m actually back in Copper Heights, I see that the occasional Skype calls and WhatsApp chats with my sister weren’t enough. I should have been here for her. I put my career above all else. I let her down. I’m well aware of that now. She needed me. She still needs me.

Yes, it’s incredibly bullyshitty that I got kicked out of the internship program in Seattle but maybe it was a blessing in disguise.

“I’m so sorry…” I say in a hushed murmur as I envelop her with my free arm and we collapse into an awkward sideway hug. The tears come down hard and fast. “But I’m here now. We’re gonna raise the fuck out of this baby, Soapy. You hear me? Everything will turn out okay. Tell me you believe me.”

She pulls back and her eyes look so sad. “I’m glad that you’re here but I know you can’t stay. You can’t make a career for yourself here in this small town.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I promise. And I mean it.

Now that I’ve seen the conditions that she’s living in, I can’t leave her. I let my gaze traipse around the room. The floral-patterned wallpaper covering every vertical surface of the tiny apartment. The vinyl-covered chairs surrounding a creaky laminated kitchen table. The hideous lattice-patterned wall-to-wall carpet 'embellishing' the floor in varying shades of orange. It's basically like stepping onto the set of That 70s Show. Except I doubt the TV show set had this musky, wet dog odour. All jokes aside, she’s struggling. There’s no way I’ll up and leave now.

“Sophia, girl—we’re in this together so you’d better make room for me on your twin-sized cot.”

She narrows her eyes. “There’s no opportunity for you in Copper Heights.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I insist. “I’m as serious as an acute myocardial infraction.”

Brushing tears away from her eyes, she scoffs deep in her chest. "It's a heart attack."

"What's a heart attack?" I shake my head in confusion.

Her shoulders rock as she laughs. “As serious as a heart attack. That's the saying, you big nerd."

I flick my hand dismissively. “Whatever. I'm not a nerd. I'm bookish.”

“Bookish? You’re a walking medical encyclopedia!”

“Well, I’m finding creative ways to put my medical degree to use because within a week of working at that damn boring hospital, my brain is gonna wilt up like a head of lettuce.”

As her laughing peters off, Sophia shovels a heaping spoon of her yogurt concoction into her mouth. "So, you didn't give me any details. Tell me what happened with Ben.” Her eyes shimmer with excitement. “When you saw each other, was it like that reunion scene in the Notebook?"

I pause to glare at her. She’s a hopeless romantic and it’s plain silly. "It was not like the reunion scene in the Notebook."

My sister isn't satisfied with that answer. "Angela..." Her eyes darken with warning. “De-tails”. She drags out the word, slowly enunciating both syllables.

I lean back against the couch and twirl the spoon around in my yogurt. "I don’t know…He had this look on his face…”

“What kind of look?”

Lifting a shoulder, I let it fall. “This look…Like he was actually glad to see me. Or maybe ‘glad’ isn’t the right word. Maybe ‘relieved’.”

Sophia’s pretty features morph into a knowing grin. “He asked you out, didn’t he?”

My tongue runs nervously across my bottom lip. I don’t want her to start overanalyzing this. “He wanted to take me out for a drink.”

Her eyes widen like Frisbees and her jaw hangs open. “He asked you out?!” Glee spills out of her as she bounces in her seat like a child who’s just found out that her birthday party will be held at Chuck E. Cheese’s. “Are you serious? You said yes?”

“Of course not,” I spit out with furrowed brows. My volume creeps up as my anger takes over. “Okay, you seem to have forgotten what he did so let me give you a little refresher. The guy pretended he to love me. We made plans for the future together. He had me convinced that he had my back. So I stood by his side when his father died. I was his shoulder to lean on. I got accepted into the most competitive pre-med program in the country and I was prepared to give up the opportunity and transfer to a closer college just so I could be near him. After all that, all it took was one little dose of fame for him to drop me. His damn boy band advanced one round on a damn reality TV show, and just like that—” I snap my fingers for effect, “—he tells me to leave town, to go to college wherever the hell I feel like because he had no intentions of messing up his shot at stardom for me.” I swallow hard and fight against the tickle at the back of my eyes. My voice drops to a quiet whisper. “No, a guy like that doesn’t get a second chance with me.”

On the heels of my rant, Sophia recoils and her expression shuts down. The hum of the fridge fills the long silence as we both get lost in our own heads. I can tell she feels bad for pressuring me but she needed to be reminded of what happened. I’m not mad at her for bringing it up. I just don’t want to have to relive Ben’s rejection at every turn. I’ve moved on.

Heavy tension hangs in the air…until she releases an unbridled belch into the silence.

I look over at her with feigned horror on my face. "Sophia! Our mother would be appalled. Agata Gallo's daughter knows better than to exhibit such lack of couth.”

Our mother directs her meticulously-crafted public image by the unwritten rules of the upper-middle class etiquette handbook. And right about now, she’s not very happy with either one of her daughters. We’ve irreversibly tarnished her name. One is pregnant and destitute with no baby daddy in sight. The other got kicked out of her medical internship after spreading her legs for the wrong guy.

Mom’s high-priced therapist won’t ever hear the end of it.

Whenever I’m tempted to complain about the living conditions at Sophia’s rundown shack on the bad side of town, imagining Mom and Dad’s blistering wrath sets me right back on track. They call demanding to see me every day but I plan to avoid the towering wrought-iron gates of my parents’ mini-mansion for as long as possible.

My sister giggles. "Sorry. Heartburn. I've been dealing with it from day one."

"Honey, I've seen worse. Trust me." I chuckle as I pick up my phone and get back to typing. “Anyway, I need to finish up this letter before bed.”

Sophia waits a beat before asking, “Are you sure you want to send it?”

“Of course I do.” I confirm in a hotly dignified tone. “I was unjustly terminated! I should sue that damn hospital! There were two willing actors involved in the unfortunate events that transpired in the 4th floor medical supply closet and it is completely unacceptable that one said actor should lose her career while the other gets to walk away without so much as a slap on the wrist. Any judge would agree.”

Her lips curl slightly and her tone brims with patience. “Sometimes, it’s not about whether a judge would agree with you or not. Sometimes, it’s about taking responsibility for your decisions. And figuring out how to dig your own way out of the hole you find yourself in.”

My fingers freeze over the screen. My sister’s good judgment is obviously clouded by peace, love and pregnancy hormones. There’s no good reason for me to take her advice. At least that’s what the stubborn chorus in my brain is saying even though I have to admit that her words resonate with me on a deeper level. Am I playing the victim here? Should I just let it go and move on?

No—that’s ridiculous. I deserve justice. “Yeah, whatever. That’s just stupid,” I hum under my breath as I resume typing.

Sophia gives a little shrug as a yawn rolls past her lips. “Suit yourself.” She curls up on the couch and scrapes her spoon along the sides of her yogurt bowl.

I sit at the other end of the couch, doggedly focused on perfecting my eloquently-worded hate mail. It takes me a few attempts to find words that fully express just how pissed I am but eventually, my masterpiece is done. The letter finds the perfect balance between clever jabs, thinly-veiled insults and explicit threats of legal action. I’m feeling pretty damn proud of myself.

“Okay—how does this sound?” I say excitedly before the sharply-worded message comes spilling off my tongue. A sense of satisfaction rises into my chest as I reach the end. I wait for Sophia’s reaction, but all I get in response is a steady flow of light snores.

She’s sleeping, adorably balled up against the side of the couch with the empty bowl in her lap. Her words replay in my head, making me doubt whether I should send this letter after all.

I totally resent her for saying what she did. And for being so damn right.

For the first time since this mess started, I find myself looking inward. Instead of feeling powerless and searching for someone to pin the blame on, I find myself craving control of the situation. I hit the ‘backspace’ key and delete the whole damn letter.

I drop the phone into my lap and I blow out a harsh breath that causes my bangs to flutter across my forehead. I hate that I find myself wondering what Ben’s advice on the situation would be. He doesn’t deserve an opinion and I honestly think I would die of mortification if he ever found out about the mess I created that sent me running back to Copper Heights. But the fact remains that, back in the day, Ben was my go-to, my best friend. He and I made decisions together, we made plans. We were just teenagers but his opinion mattered more than anyone else’s.

I miss that.

Seeing him was hard. It stirred up memories of a time when we faced the world as a team. I had his back and I thought he had mine. I thought I could conquer anything because he was always there to cheer me on and be my soft place to fall. Losing him exposed me to how cold and lonely the world can be.

Now, all of a sudden, I’m aching for a man’s companionship. Not a relationship, of course. Not someone who’ll barge into my life and start rearranging the furniture to make room for his own baggage, figuratively speaking. Just someone to pass the time with, someone temporary to make me forget how incredibly empty I feel. That’s the role I’ve assigned to every man I’ve been with since Benjamin Riggs broke me down, all the way to my nuts and bolts.

Tall, dark and dirty-talking with a side order of emotionally unavailable. That’s my usual hook-up of choice. But tonight, I have only two criteria. I’ll settle for 'not an axe murderer’ and ‘not Benjamin Riggs’.

I swipe open my phone and download the first dating app that pops up when I do a web search. CheekyChat. Hmm. Interesting. I set up a harried profile and invite a random man to meet me at a bar in the next town over.

Oh god.

This might not be exactly what Sophia had in mind when she said I need to take control but it’s the most immediate way I can think of. Before I can chicken out, I tiptoe across the room and slip into one of Sophia’s fancy pre-pregnancy get-ups. I drape a blanket over her and creep out the door with my purse tucked under my arm.

With my luck, let’s see how long it takes before things start skidding off track.