“You’re not stupid, you know I’m right.”
I shake my head, then open up a solitaire, adamant about not looking at her.
“And you’ve always had a thing for him.”
“I had a crush on him when we were kids, Nat. That’s it. And I was akid. I also thought I was going to marry Harry Styles.” I thought that would get a laugh, but it falls flat; her eyes are still assessing me.
“So there’s nothing there? Nothing at all?” she asks, and I shake my head.
“Nope,” I say, popping the p. A beat passes, and she sits back, and a small part of me eases, thinking she’s done.
Rookie mistake.
“So you’d be okay if I went for it?” she asks, and my head snaps up to look at her, falling right into her trap.
Shit.
The grin spreading over her red-painted lips is absolutely devious. I fell for it—hook, line, and sinker.
“Yeah, that isn’t the reaction of someone who has absolutely no feelings for someone.” I roll my eyes and sigh, and she points at me, eyes wide and excited. “I knew it! Something happened.” I don’t deny it, eyes staying down, not wanting to give her another way to read me. “Oh my god, tell me right now.” I don’t speak. “Did you guys fuck? Was it so good? Oh my god, please tell me everything. I?—”
Without meaning to, in a hushed tone, I spill, not wanting her to continue down this path.
“We kissed, okay? It was a year ago in Vermont. It was late, and we both had drank a little bit too much, and?—”
“I’m sorry, what?” Nat says, eyes wide. “Ayearago?!”
I groan, realizing there’s no going back now, and I’ll need to tell her the whole story, so I do, telling her everything about that weekend in Vermont and then everything since.
To my surprise, it’s a relief to get it off my chest. It’s been held so close to me all this time, something I’ve played over and over but never wanted to talk to my closest friends about. If I did, Wren would either get that look in her eyes and start planning a wedding and birthday party for future nieces and nephews who don’t exist and never will, or she’ll be hurt and a little skeptical of me.
I’ve seen it before, a dozen times over: someone gets close to Wren, and Wren gets excited to have a new friend to fawn over and take care of, but in two or three months, it becomes increasingly clear it was an excuse to talk to her brothers. And every time, it breaks her heart a little. Sweet Wren, who couldn’t use someone if she really, really tried, will never understand someone becoming friends with someone just to date their brother.
So all this time, I kept it my own little secret, but sharing it with Nat now feels as if a giant weight has been lifted. Her face goes from excitement to confusion to frustration to intrigue as I tell her my story, mimicking all of the emotions I’ve felt, but she doesn’t speak until the very end.
“And now?” she asks after I finish my story.
“And now?” I ask, confused.
“Yeah. You’ve spent nearly every day together for two weeks. You’re living right next door to him. His daughter adores you. There’s clearly something between you both that you’re ignoring.”
“No, there isn’t. It was one kiss, and neither of us wants to date,” I say with a shake of my head. She looks at me skeptically, but I move past it. “We’re just friends.”
“Friends,” she says, deadpan.
“Why are you saying it like that?” I ask, irritation brewing.
“Oh, no reason at all.” She sits back, arms crossed on her chest. “How is he going to feel about Wren trying to set you up?”
My forehead creases. “Why would he have feelings about that?”
“Oh, so you’re in denial, got it. Cool,” she says with a little nod.
“You’re so dramatic. I’m not in denial, Nat. I’m the opposite, actually. I’m being very much a realist.”
She looks at me, something too close to sadness on her face for my own comfort, before she sighs and shakes her head.
“I just…I hope you know what you’re doing,” she says, low.
