But Lissa hesitates. ‘But wait – should I?’
‘Yes,’ Darcy says again, emphatically.
Lissa gives her a look. ‘You don’t even know what I’m going to say.’
‘Call him,’ Darcy says pointedly. ‘And yes. You should.’
But Lissa bites her lip. ‘I think I’m bad for him, Darcy,’ she whispers. ‘I think I’m going to …’ She cuts herself off in time.Try not to sound insane, Lissa.‘It’ll only end badly,’ she says instead.
‘So do a lot of things, one way or another.’
‘That’s very pessimistic. And here I was thinking you were an optimist.’
‘I’m a realist.’ Darcy reaches out, squeezes Lissa’s arm. ‘You can’t control everything, Lissa.’
And she can’t not call him, can she? Because something like this … She can imagine a little of what he’s feeling. And regardless of what she knows, she wants to be there for him if she can.
‘I don’t want to make it worse,’ she murmurs.
‘You definitely won’t make it worse. Think about what you’d want if you were him.’
Lissa takes a shaky breath. ‘Okay. Okay, I have to … Wait, but we’re going for dinner!’
‘Yeah, about that … I was actually going to ask if you’d hate me if I bailed.’
‘Bailed? Why?’
‘I … Well I think I may have a date.’
‘A date?’ Lissa’s voice hikes up a notch. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because I wasn’t sure there was anything to tell.’ Darcy pauses. ‘And because with everything happening with Ash …’
‘I still want to know,’ Lissa says firmly. ‘Of course I do.’
‘Okay, but not now.’ Darcy squeezes her arm again.
‘No, maybe not now.’ Lissa pulls her in for a hug. ‘I hope it goes well tonight. He’s obviously an idiot if it doesn’t.’
Darcy laughs, patting Lissa’s back. ‘I hope Ash is okay,’ she says into her neck.
‘Me too.’
She’s already calling him as she leaves the building, stepping out into a warm summer evening. The phone rings for so long, she’s not sure if he’s going to answer – if maybe he just doesn’t want to talk to her. Which would be totally fair enough. She’s about to hang up, respect his decision, when he answers.
‘Hello?’ And despite the awfulness of what has happened, a part of her leaps at the sound of his voice.
‘Ash. I heard. I’m so sorry.’
There is quiet down the line. ‘Yeah,’ he says, his voice a little raspy. ‘It’s been a bit rough.’
She hates hearing it – the suppressed pain there. ‘Is there anything I can do? I mean, I know there’s probably not, but …’
‘It’s okay. I’m just … I’m sorting out his things and just waiting to get through the funeral. I haven’t really thought beyond that, to be honest.’
‘Do you need food? I could cook? Or bring takeaway? Or I can—’
‘That’s okay. I think I need some time to process.’
