And I need to not care as much as she doesn’t.
But here I am, my stomach in knots just from seeing her, my bruised heart bleeding again, letting her see how much she’s hurt me.
I don’t want her to know I’m hurt.
Except she’s the one person I could always go to whenever I was hurt before.
“You should’ve told me you were coming home. Honestly, I’m hurt you didn’t.” She drops the cloth towel into the used basket and rubs a hand over her stomach. “We should do lunch before the baby’s born. You know. Make it up to me.”
“Right. Lunch.”
“It’ll be so fun. Like old times.”
“So fun.”
“Call me. But do it quick. Before baby.” She laughs.
It’s fake.
It’s so fake.
I will not get sick again. I will not get sick again. “Of course.”
She pushes out of the restroom without a hug, without another glance back, but with the fakest smile I’ve ever seen on her face.
A toilet flushes, and I realize what’s just happened.
We aren’t alone.
She knew it.
And now whoever is in there can tell people thatI’mthe problem. That I’m making up drama where there is none, and poor Abby Nora is dealing with her best friend going crazy while she’s so heavily pregnant, and isn’t that the last thing any woman needs?
I dash into the nearest stall, sit, and breathe as quietly as possible.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
I can get through this. My stomach is fine.
The bottle of Tums I’m keeping in my purse is half-empty. Constant companion these days, but they help.
What would help more would’ve been not running into Abby Nora.
Is it bad that I don’t want to live in Heartwood Valley or the Belmont District so that I can establish a social circle for myself that definitely won’t intersect with Abby Nora’s social circle?
The sink turns on.
“Grow a pair, Ziggy,” I whisper to myself under the noise of the running water.
I was so distracted by defending my honor against a man last night that I didn’t even realize I was about to puke on him. You’d think I had a pair.
Apparently not.
I pull up my text messages as soon as I’m sure I don’t need to toss my lunch.
Miranda’s sent another message, and so has Francesca, my former roommate from the cruise ship, but my shaky finger accidentally hits the message beneath hers, and I’m instead looking at the other conversation I’ve had over text today.
Holt:This is Holt Webster. Security guy from last night. Brydie gave me your number. Wanted to talk for a minute. Can I stop by? Best in person.
