Ryan’s standing in front of an open door, smiling down at his phone again. He shoves it in his pocket again when I wheel up. “This is your room. I figured you’d want the room furthest away from mine.”
“Nicest thing you’ve ever done for me,” I mutter.
“Once you’re unpacked, we should probably go over some house rules.”
“Youhave rules forme? Please. Your apartment is one banana peel away from being legally reclassified as a biohazard. You don’t even follow the basic rules of hygiene.”
Ryan runs his hand through his messy hair, leaving it looking even messier. “Would it kill you to say ‘thank you?’”
“Well, if I started being nice to you, you might get the idea that I thought you had any redeeming traits. I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong impression. If you ask me, you’re worthless.”
He takes a long step forward and glowers down at me, hatred written all over his sculpted face. He’s so close, I can smell his aftershave. “I was going to be nice and let her tell you herself,” he says. “But since you’re being such an ungrateful rat, I’ll spoil the surprise. Nate proposed, and Cat said yes.”
The news hits me like a punch to the stomach. It’s not the proposal—I’ve been expecting that since Cat moved in. But thisis a huge moment in my best friend’s life, and she was supposed to tell meherself.I’ve even got a book buried in my suitcase for her, a vintage 70s romance novel with a cheesy picture of a bride who looks uncannily like Cat.
Instead, I had to hear the news from the slithering snake I have the misfortune of calling my stepbrother.
Victory shines in Ryan’s eyes. He leans away from me, knowing he’s struck a real blow.
“Me and the guys are going to their apartment to celebrate,” he says, putting his hands back in his pockets, the very picture of ease. “Guessing you’re invited, too. Might want to wash up first, though. You smell like a wet dog.”
He strolls down the hallway, mercifully leaving for his side of the apartment. I lean against the wall and take a moment to pull myself together. I hate that Ryan spoiled Cat’s proposal, but I have to admit there’s a small part of me that’s upset for other reasons.
I hate it, but I’m scared that getting married will make Cat grow apart from me. She’ll have a wedding to plan and a whole new life to start with her fiancé. And after years and years of dating, I’m still alone.
I mean, that’s my choice. I’ve spent a few years reigning as the queen of casual dating, and I could have forced one of those guys into a relationship if I wanted to. There’s a reason I didn’t pursue any of them. None of them ever made me feel like I was their number one. Men always seem to be looking for the next best thing, either on the apps or by letting their eyes wander around the bars.
Even when I let dates blossom into short relationships, I never felt like I had someone’s full focus. There was Mark, the financial writer who said he wouldn’t be comfortable being exclusive until we’d been dating a year. Then there was Lorenzo, the pilot who called me his “Toronto girlfriend.” Even Carl, thesweet, shy religious studies professor who said I reminded him of his mom, dumped me after a week for some girl he met in Bible Study.
It’s like every guy I attract sees me as their practice girlfriend—good enough to keep around while they wait for the real thing to show up. I have to hope that one day, that’ll change. I’ll find someone who looks at me and sees their everything, the way Nate looks at Cat.
My phone buzzes. Sure enough, it’s from Cat, a picture of her grinning and holding up her hand to show me her ring.
Cat
I wanted to tell you first!!!
Come up to our apartment, we’ve got a macaron tower and a zillion bottles of champagne.
I send back about a hundred heart emojis.
Pippa
I’ll be up soon. Got to go to the pet store to get stuff for Waffle first. I threw out her litterbox during the evacuation. She says congrats too!
Guess I better get moving. Steeling myself, I open the door to my temporary room.
Any hope I had of it being cleaner than the rest of the apartment is dashed. Somebody’s slept in the bed already, and the navy-blue sheets are tangled on top of it. God, I hope it was just Luke or Beau, crashing one night when they were too drunk to make it upstairs. I don’t want to think about Ryan using the bed I’ll be sleeping in for any other purposes.
The decor is comically bad. There’s a dartboard on the wall, surrounded by dozens of tiny holes. On one wall, there’s anhonest-to-god dogs playing poker painting. Over the bed, Ryan hung a bunch of posters from the James Bond movie where they play poker.
Oh, well. At least I’ll have Daniel Craig circa 2006 to look at.
I push my sleeves up past my elbows, ready to get to work. There’s no time to give this room the deep scrub it probably deserves, but I know I won’t sleep tonight until I’ve put on a new set of sheets and unpacked all my stuff. I can run down to the pet store while the sheets are in the wash.
I strip the bed, grabbing the comforter for good measure. With my arms full of bedding, I wander out into the apartment. There’s got to be a laundry room somewhere to drop this in.
By the elevator, I notice a big set of shopping bags that definitely weren’t there before. A brand new litter box is sticking out the top of one.
