“Shit.” She snickers once I’m finished. “Your life is fucked.”
“I know.”
“So, he left you?”
“I mean… not in so many words, but basically, yeah. And I can’t blame him. I really hurt him, but I thought I was doing the right thing. I really wanted to be with him.”
“Sometimes when you hold too tightly onto something, you set yourself up for failure,” Phoebe replies, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Think about it, you were telling yourself you just needed to get past Christmas, right? So you could have an idyllic Christmas together because you were so under his romantic spell. I mean, a picnic in the snow?” She presses one hand to her chest. “My men could never.”
“Yeah… I kept telling myself that.”
“But did you ever really accept that telling him could end things?”
I shake my head.
“Exactly. Because you never wanted to end things. You were never honest with yourself. I can’t speak for him because I don’t know the guy, but I do know that things said in the heat of the moment from hurt or anger aren’t always the truth.”
“What are you saying?”
Phoebe tucks her hair behind her ear. “I’m saying you should talk to him again once you’ve both calmed down. He literally just found out you were pregnant after you were in front of him on an operating table. I don’t care how stable you are, no one can be okay with all of that at once.”
I chew briefly on the inside of my cheek while listening. “You’re just setting me up for failure so you can get more amusement out of my pain.”
“No, I’m not. I do actually give good advice sometimes. You both knew what you were doing was wrong. And you knew keeping this from him was wrong. I’m not saying your justifications weren’t valid because none of us are perfect people but like, fucked up shit happens.” She sighs. “Or maybe I do just wanna see you fail so you’ll be heartbroken enough to be my fake girlfriend at Christmas so we can finally give my aunt a heart attack.”
Laughter bubbles up unexpectedly and I shake my head.
Out of everyone in our group, I never expected to be sitting eating pizza so late at night, discussing my entire life with Phoebe.
I was always convinced she never liked me too much.
Even if she doesn’t, at least she’s here.
“Text him,” Phoebe says, her eyes glinting. “Ask him to talk.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Yes, you can.” She snorts. “Here, I’ll do it.”
Before I can stop her, she snatches my phone off the counter and slides down to the ground, darting away from me when I lunge at her.
“Dear Xander,” she says mockingly as she types. “I know you hate me and I’m the worst person ever for lying to you.”
“Phoebe!”
“And I know you’re really hurt by my actions, but I think we should talk.”
“Phoebe, give it back!”
“We should talk like grown-ups and—oh, shit.” Phoebe suddenly freezes on the other side of the counter.
My heart punches painfully up into my throat. “Stop being a bitch and give me my phone! What have you done?”
“Nothing,” Phoebe says, turning my phone to face me. “I haven’t even hit send yet.”
On the screen flashes a single text from Xander.
[Xander]We should talk.
