"Eliza." His voice carries years of loving exasperation. "Not everything needs immediate action. Sometimes the bravest thing we can do is sit with our uncertainty."
"Says the man who took two years to ask me to dinner."
"I was building anticipation."
"You were building an ulcer." But she's grinning, and the way they look at each other, like they're sharing some private joke that's still funny after all this time, makes my throat tight.
He leans forward, his voice softening. "You know, when I first met your grandmother, she terrified me."
"I did not!" Grams protests.
"The point is," he continues, eyes crinkling with amusement, "I spent so long trying to make sense of how someone like her could fit into my carefully ordered world that I almost missed the most important lesson."
"Which was?"
"That love doesn't have to make sense to be right." He reaches for Grams' hand, their fingers intertwining. "Sometimes the very things that seem impossible on paper are exactly what our hearts need."
"Even if those things make us question everything we thought we knew?"
"Especially then." His smile is gentle. "Though before you make any life-altering choices, perhaps you'd like to hearhow your grandmother hijacked our literature hour last week to argue that Heathcliff's real tragedy was Mercury retrograde?"
"It was!" Grams insists. "That man had more blocked chakras than common sense."
And somehow, watching them bicker about cosmic influence on classic literature, the knot in my chest begins to loosen.
"I slept with Caleb,"I blurt out, immediately face-planting into the sticky table because apparently, that's where my dignity has taken up permanent residence.
"I'm sorry, you didwhatwithwhonow?" Amelia's voice hits that perfect pitch between shock and unholy glee.
My heart pounds as I craft the lie. The mediocre hookup story. The casual brush-off. Anything to hide how he'd demolished my world two nights ago.
"Don't make me say it again." I keep my face glued to the table, because lying isn't my strong suit, and I really don't want to see their expressions right now. "He showed up at my place with this pizza I didn't even order, talking about how his 'delivery intuition' said I needed it. And he was right, which was somehow worse, and then." I groan. "The sex wasn't even good."
And that part isn't a lie. Because it was terrible. Not the awkward, funny kind of terrible, but the hollow, soul-splitting kind. I was justlying there, waiting for it to be over, watching him chase something that had nothing to do with me.
"Oh, babe." Amelia's sympathy makes me want to throw up, or cry, or maybe both.
"That's not even the worst part." I trace patterns on the sticky table. "Afterward, he made this comment about all my 'weird witchy stuff' being a bit much. About how I should focus more on reality instead of looking for signs in everything. Maybe he had a point."
Twenty minutes later, I'm alone in our booth, staring at the ice melting in my glass. Amelia's gone to hunt down Daphne, who's been in the bathroom long enough that she's definitely drunk-calling James.
"SHOTS!" Amelia crashes back into view, dragging a slightly stumbling Daphne. "Because you—" she jabs a perfectly manicured finger at my face, nearly taking out an eye, "—are doing that thing where you overthink your way into emotional paralysis."
"I'm not overthinking. I'm processing."
"Semantics." Daphne collapses into the booth, lipstick slightly smudged, and hiding her phone under the table. "And processing is canceled until further notice because I can't handle any more emotional revelations tonight."
"Here." Amelia sets down a row of something that glows like radioactive candy. "Joey promised they'd kill at least three brain cells."
"Perfect." I grab one, because apparently my dignity died somewhere between confession and contemplation. "To bad decisions and worse coping mechanisms!"
"To hot girl shit!" Amelia adds with disturbing enthusiasm, and we throw back shots that taste like regret dipped in sugar.
Britney Spears starts playing overhead, and Amelia's eyes light.
"THIS IS MY THEME SONG!"
"You say that about every track," Daphne laughs, but she's already sliding out of the booth, pulling me with her.
