Funny. I already felt closer to Reid than I did to her. Sure, we’d had a sleepover to solidify our blossoming, friend-adjacent relationship, but I was still surprised by it. The two of us had so little in common.
“Are you all table people?” I asked, tilting my head in the direction of the giant wooden dining table.
“Reid is.” Ruby rolled her eyes and led the way to the table.
“Sorry I don’t believe the couch was meant to be eaten on,” he said.
I pulled out a chair and plopped down as Reid moved the pizza boxes to the center. A splotch of steam still smudged his glasses from when he’d opened the box. I resisted the urge to reach out with my sleeve and wipe it away. He beat me to it anyway, pulling them off and wiping them on his shirt.
“You probably had a heart attack yesterday when we ate straight from the takeout cartons on my couch,” I said.
Ruby laughed. “No way! Do you have photographic evidence?”
Reid shrugged. “I didn’t mind.”
“Did you share cartons and everything?” she asked.
I nodded.
She tilted her head, glancing between the two of us. “Reidnevershares food. When we were kids, he used to build a napkin wall around his plate because he was sick of us asking if we could try whatever he got. It became a running joke to attempt to get him to share.”
“Can we change the subject, please?” he asked, visibly unamused by his sister’s story.
Ruby chuckled and shook her head. “Hazel, don’t let his rules fool you. We always ate on the couch growing up. The table-only-thing is an adult development.”
Reid shook his head. “Notalways.”
“Atleastevery Friday.”
“Only because Mom worked late and Dad was in charge of dinner,” he said.
“And he’d order take-out, and we’d watch a movie on the couch. Those memories aren’t fond ones for you?”
There wasn’t much behind my smile as I observed their back and forth. As an only child, I’d never had that kind of familiarity with anyone. Watching close friends or siblings interact always made me feel like I was missing out on something, like there was this big life experience I’d never get to know simply because I’d been born alone.
“Hazel can eat on the couch if she wants to.” The sound of my name interrupted my thoughts.
“I’m alright. I wouldn’t dare disrupt your household.”
“See?” Ruby held out a hand. “She thinks you’re rigid.”
Reid let out a long sigh. “I am not rigid.”
Ruby and I exchanged a look.
“I’m not,” he said again.
“I didn’t say that,” I offered, although I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smirking. Reid was the definition of rigid. He was sweet and kind, which is why he was putting up with me for as long as he already had, but he was still stiff. Inflexible. He had a robot vacuum, countertops so shiny you could see your reflection in them, and not a single thing in his house was out of place.
We had a few more slices of pizza before Ruby leaned toward me, concern dancing in her eyes. “So how are you really doing?” she asked.
“Oh, y’know, been better.” The lightness in my voice was forced. “I just wish this could all be over. And it’s so hard not to blame myself.”
“You can’t blame yourself for some twisted person trying to take advantage of you,” Reid said, a determined set to his jaw.
I smiled gratefully at him. “But itwasme who posted way too much information on social media. I should never have done that.”
“It sucks we have to be vigilant with our privacy, but that doesn’t make this your fault. Crimes will always be the fault of the person stalking, or harassing, or taking advantage. You’re a victim, Hazel. And you’re allowed to feel frustrated and upset.But not at yourself.” His words were unexpected, but I appreciated them nonetheless. I smiled when he caught my eye.
