Ryan Archer: Whoever wrote this article is high if he thinks I’d ever touch my stepsister. Pippa is the complete opposite of my type. Take this fucking trash post down.
I can’t read the replies, because my eyes are too full of tears for me to say anything. I don’t care that Ryan denied the story—it’s not like it made either of us look good. But why did he have to do it likethis?
Pippa is the complete opposite of my type.
The words weave between my ribs and stab me right in the heart.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Cat asks.
I shake my head. “There’s no point. Whatever happened between me and Ryan, it’s obviously over now.”
“How about I take our dishes to the kitchen and give you a few minutes to yourself?” Cat suggests. “If you want to take a shower, you can grab any of my clothes from the closet. And if you just want to wallow in your PJs, then that’s okay, too.”
“Thanks,” I whisper.
Cat kisses me on top of the head. “Your phone is charging on the bedside table, in case you were looking for it.”
“Great,” I groan. “I’m sure the texts I’m getting right now are amazing.”
Once Cat’s gone, along with our syrupy dishes, I decide to rip off the Band-Aid and check my phone. When I open it, the adorable picture of Waffle on the lock screen makes me feel better—for a few seconds, anyway.
Brinley
Hey, I read the Toronto Tea. I wanted to let you know that I’m on your side, always. Are you doing okay?
My lips quirk upward. My list of people who still love me after reading the ugly truth about me and Ryan has now doubled, to include both Cat and Brinley. I type a quick reply.
Pippa
I’ve been better. I’ll tell you more at Wine Wednesday.
Her reply comes in quickly.
Brinley
Great. We’ll keep the place open late again. <3
There are also a few emails waiting for me from Ingrid, but I make the executive decision to avoid them for the rest of the day. It’s a holiday, and I don’t need any more pressure than I’m already under.
It’sa sign of how close I am to Cat that I feel no guilt about borrowing her underwear. A hot shower and a fresh set of clothes makes me feel way more human, even if the hem of Cat’s sweatpants comes up to a few inches above my ankle.
I find Cat in the living room, working on a spreadsheet on her laptop.
“Nate has you working on a holiday?” I joke. “His workaholism is really rubbing off on you.”
She smiles sheepishly. “Sorry. Just a fundraising thing I’m working on.”
“Right, funds to feed endangered orphan whales.”
“Exactly.”
I plop down next to her. “I’m ready to talk, now.”
She closes her laptop and sets it on the coffee table. “I think I know what this is about. You want to get bangs again, and you need me to talk you out of it.”
The laugh feels weird coming out of my throat. “How did you know?”
She takes my hand and squeezes it. “Sorry. Go ahead.”
