“If you mentioned his date to us, that means it bothers you,” Daphne said, her voice carrying the finality of a zipper sealing an evidence bag.
She was right, of course. It was my call for help, even though I now acted as if they were butting in. But they knew me well enough to know that even if I seemed to resist their advice, analysis, and help—I was asking for it,welcoming it.
Especially when I tried to explain. “It’s not like ... you don’t ... you guys ... I ...”
“We found the one thing you stammer on,” Rio said with a sympathetic little smile.
She would know—both about stammering and my usual quick tongue and my current state.
“Maybe you were just trying to put things back the way you like them,” Evangeline said slowly, her eyes narrowing like she was looking inward rather than at me. “Because you know you’re losing your emotional safety. If he went on a date, then maybe he’s ready for something serious, maybe with someone else, and that could change what you two have.”
We all looked at her.
“What? I took courses in psychology,” she said with a shrug. “You’re defensive, Ruby, trying to hold your world together. It’s okay. You can admit that to us.”
“What Evangeline is trying to say, Ruby, is: use your words,” Daphne said.
I scoffed and bopped her with a pillow. “He’s leaving soon. His part is nearly done. Everything will go back to normal.” Another thing they didn’t need to know was that I’d promised myself that night with Sebastian would be the last. Just in case I couldn’t keep that promise.
“It’s harder to be emotionally known than physically admired,” Daphne said, her tone pensive, her eyes on the wine in her glass.
Now we all stared at her.
“What? I took the same course.” She chuckled, then added, “No, seriously. Ruby, we love you, but you’ve gottenused to keeping your relationships physical. And this guy—now that he’s here all the time instead of dropping by for booty calls and casual dinner or movie fun—heknowsyou. Even the parts you think you lost or left behind. And you’re scared. Because having him see all that ... and yet, he still wants you, still being there for you, and that’s a big deal. And you don’t want a big deal. Big deals have big costs.”
“Daph,” Evangeline said. “Wow.”
Yes, wow.But it wasn’t just that. Sebastian had me now in small, manageable doses—why risk more? If he had more of me like he thought he wanted, he’d be singing a different tune.
Daphne let out a quiet huff of a smile, her face twitching just a bit. She was always the tough, unshakable one, but right now, the cloud that had hovered over her lately showed through. She pressed her lips together before speaking. “I ... we sometimes have to go to mandatory therapy sessions for work. I’m ... It teaches you things.”
Evangeline reached out, resting her hand on Daphne’s arm. “We’re here for you. You know that, right?”
“I know, sweetie. You’re the best.” Daphne never used pet names, but Evangeline had a way of pulling out everyone’s softer side.
Rio reached for the wine bottle on the coffee table and refilled her glass, lightening the mood with the small, ordinary gesture. She took a sip, then said, “You already know what I think, Ruby.”
Yeah, I did. What she’d said that day on the beach starred in my what-ifs.
“Maybe that’s why you’re feelings-phobic, Rub. What Daphne said,” Rio added.
“I’m not feelings-phobic. I feelallmy feelings. And you don’t want to know what I’m feeling about you now,” I shot back with a laugh. It was the kind of thing I could say only to Rio—years of being best friends let me get away with more bluntness than with anyone else.
“Ruby is not feelings-phobic. She’s heartache-phobic,” Evangeline said, her big brown eyes fixed on me.
There was another silent pause, but Eve’s mic drop echoed in the room.
“Damn, you two are on fire today,” Rio said a moment later, and we all cracked up.
“It’s like with musicians or poets—you need pain to get your best work. Once they’re rich and comfortable, their art loses its edge. You’re cloud-nine happy, Rio. You’re like a rich, comfortable musician.”
That got another round of laughter.
We all laughed. But damn, they were spot on. And yes, I was probably heartache-phobic.
Born out of old scars I’d carried for so long, that I couldn’t even remember which cut had been made first. Maybe it wasn’t a cut, just the same nerves rubbed raw over and over until the wound became permanent—that deep belief that I wasn’t enough to betrulychosen. At least not for long, not everlastingly.
At first, it was my looks. As a teen, looks and fitting in go hand in hand. Then it was my dad leaving, and that became about my personality—I was too loud, too blunt,too opinionated. Too much of the wrong things and not enough of the right ones.
