The one person I want to see most in the world right now, besides Miles.
Story MacIntosh.
My best friend since I was six. My permanent sunny day, whatever the weather.
Her entire face lights up. For a second, my day rights itself. The anxiety curdling my bones subsides, and I completely forget how fucked my life is.
Wrapping her arms around me, she squeezes me tight, and just like always, I rest my chin on her head. It’s been something I’ve done since my growth spurt at thirteen because she stayed the same height. The scent of her shampoo floats under my nose.
It’s all I can do not to bury my nose in her thick mop of chocolate-brown hair to calm my racing heart.
It’s been less than twenty-four hours since I last saw her, but it feels like forever. My world is not the same as it was yesterday.
I wish I could go back to last night, when the two of us snuggled under the blanket on the sofa, watching our Monday night movie with a bowl of popcorn. It’s a ritual we started the summer we were thirteen, and we’ve continued it every Monday we could. But with us both being away at university, yesterday was the first Monday movie night we’d had in forever.
Even though we speak every day, we hadn’t both been back in Valentine Nook at the same time for a couple of months, so I couldn’t fucking wait to see her.
Everything was set up the way all our Monday movie nights are. I’d bought her favorite popcorn, ordered two pizzas—pineapple for me, spicy pepperoni for her—and the movie we’d been waiting to watch together was ready on pause.
It was the same as always, but better somehow. The two of us together again, finally. We’d barely watchedthe movie because we’d been talking too much, and when it came time to leave, I hadn’t wanted her to go. I always struggled leaving Story, but last night it was different.
Last night, I finally felt things shifting into their rightful place. Our time had arrived, and we would get our chance.
“I thought you had to be in school today,” she says, stepping back, though her fingers stay looped in mine.
“I did. Iwas. I came back.”
“Oh amazing, lucky me.” She grins wide, and her fading summer freckles spread across her nose. “I was going to call you . . . I want to talk, actually . . .” She pauses, and her head tilts as she regards me with an expert eye. Only Miles knows me better than Story does. “Hen, are you okay?”
I shake my head. “Not really.”
She can tell by my face that whatever’s bothering me is nothing to joke about because that’s what she’d normally do. Make a joke.
“What is it? What’s happened?”
I push my fingers through my hair. I’ve already told Alex. I’ve said it out loud, yet telling Story is infinitely harder.
My eyes find a spot in the distance, past the fountain and into the field where the Aberdeen Angus bulls are grazing. I know, in the field beyond, are this year’s calves, all growing nicely. My throat is suddenly dry.
“There’s a girl I hooked up with?—”
I don’t imagine how the grip of Story’s hand on mine loosens.
Her voice is weirdly high-pitched when she replies, “You’ve been hooking up with someone? I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, not often, just a couple of times. Alex and Miles were in London a few months ago, and we went out—” If I tell her my brothers were there, maybe it’ll feel less like my fault.
And Story will be less annoyed, because I know she’ll be annoyed.
“A fewmonths?”
I know why she’s mad. I never told her. But the one thing Story and I never talk about is the girls I hook up with—or, in her case, the guys.
If we don’t talk about it, we can pretend it doesn’t happen. An unwritten rule that started in our mid-teens.
Plus, I haven’t seen Story in person since I met Sienna.
“She called me this morning on my way into class. I went to meet her after . . .” I stop talking, and my eyes find the bulls again. I can’t look at her. Fuck. “She’s pregnant.”
