“It’s just a stupid airport bear. I was going to get her an amber necklace, but I didn’t make it to the shop where they sell them, so instead of bringing back something truly special for her, I have this cheap, crappy stuffed animal.” Her voice cracks, and she takes a deep breath, blinking quickly.
“What happened, Bree?”
“Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it,” she says, shaking her head at me. “It turns out I’m completely incapable of fun. In fact, I’m so shitty at it, my sister actually asked me to leave. I ended up getting a cab to the airport around 1 a.m. and slept on a bench until the ticket counter opened, like one of those Amazing Race contestants, only a drunk, pathetic one who would definitely never do the bungee jumping, not even for a million dollars.”
Oh, dear. It’s worse than I thought. “Sounds horrible, Bree.”
“No, it’s fine. I don’t even care.” Her voice does that thing where it goes up by three octaves. “In fact, it’s a good thing, because I need to study, so I could use an extra day at home,” she says, trying to be brave even though tears are pouring down her cheeks. “Now I’ll have tonight and all day tomorrow to get caught up, because when I called Izzy to tell her I was home a day early, she didn’t want to come home.” Her face crumples. “I guess my parents are more fun than me, too.”
“Oh, dear. I’m so sorry, Bree. If you don’t object, I’m going to give you a hug and you can cry on my shoulder for as long as you need.” I set the suitcase on the driveway and wait a second.
Swallowing hard, she says, “You don’t have to. I’m fine.” Except she’s clearly not fine because her voice shakes, and big sobs erupt from her chest as she buries her face in my shirt.
I wrap my arms around her and hold her while she cries, my heart breaking for her. She needs someone to take care of her for once, even if it turns out to be me. Taking a deep breath, I catch a whiff of her shampoo. It’s a soft floral scent that suits her perfectly. I rub her back with one hand and make little shushing noises, telling her it’ll be okay. Inside, I’m overwhelmed by the need to take care of her and to hold her until she’s happy again, which is an entirely new experience for me. I’m struck by the fact that having her in my arms like this feels exactly perfect, even if she is crying.Huh.
After a few moments, she lifts her head. “And now I’m being completely unprofessional. Shit fuck.”
“Shit fuck?” I ask, trying hard not to smile.
“And I’m out of practice at cursing,” she says, listing another major flaw in her personality.
“Is that a bad thing?” I ask, putting both hands on her shoulders.
“Yes, I sound like an old woman. I’m the only twenty-six-year-old in the world who’s skipping the rest of her twenties, thirties, and forties and going straight to being a senior citizen. I should just buy some Blue Blockers and get it over with.” She sniffs.
“Blue Blockers?”
“They’re these really ugly sunglasses that block the sun from the sides as well as the front,” she says. “They’re actually quite practical. Dolores has some, and I borrow them sometimes when I’m driving and the sun is in my eyes.” Lifting one hand to her forehead, she says, “Oh, God, I actuallylikeBlue Blockers.”
She leans her head on my chest again and sobs while I hold her. So this is what happens when Brianna Lewis, the world’s most on-top-of-everything woman, falls apart.
“I should have gotten the stupid tattoo.”
Tattoo? And suddenly it all comes clear. Wild weekend away. Mean girls pressuring her into doing something she doesn’t want to do and probably can’t afford. A wave of anger comes over me, even though I don’t even know these women. “No, you absolutely shouldn’t have.”
She pulls back and looks up at me, her eyes red and swollen. “You would’ve gotten the tattoo, wouldn’t you?”
“What I would have done is irrelevant,” I say. “Besides, don’t go by me. I’m not known for my stellar decision-making.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“It is. That’s why no one uses ‘what would Leo do’ as a guidepost for living.”
Bree chuckles through her tears, and I grin down at her, feeling victorious for managing to make her laugh. Her face grows serious and she says, “You’re good at everything.”
“Am not.”
“No, it’s true. You may not have a fully developed sense of ambition but otherwise, you’re good at everything you try. Like winning people over and whipping up parties in the blink of an eye, whereas I’m basically a no-fun grouchy pants.”
“Believe me, I have a plethora of faults.”
“Nothing that makes you unlikable.”
“True, I am highly likeable, but I do have some flaws that might surprise you,” I say.
“Name one.”
“I’m terrified of butterflies. And other flying things, actually, like birds, bats, and moths. Butterflies are the worst though.”
