Don’t I know it.
“And if we keep growing, it’s only going to get worse,” I say.
Lucy nods like she’s totally in my corner, and it makes me equally terrified and grateful.
“I can give you the name of the firm we used,” she says. “We were going to meet up to go through some of the planning for the bachelor and bachelorette weekend, aren’t we, Hunter? I can give you more information then.”
“Sounds good,” I say, trying not to be obvious that the last thing I want to do is meet up with Lucy.
“Remind me when you said that was going to be? Was it tonight? I know you’re super eager to arrange everything.”
“Well, I’ve done the hard part and found the perfect beach house,” I say. “I don’t think we need to overprepare.”
“Perfect!” Lucy exclaims. “That’s what’s so great about Hunter. He’s so confident. I’m coming over to your place tonight to plan everything and look at detailed images of this perfect beach house. It’s going to be fantastic.” She pulls out her phone. “Tell me your address?”
Fuck. I’m in checkmate. I can’t refuse to give her my address—it seems shady because we’re both playing along with the wholewe get on like bestiesvibe. But if I give her my address, I’ll have her camped out on my doorstep, demanding this, that, and the other. If Ed wasn’t here, I’d just give her a fake address, maybe somewhere way up in the Bronx, so she can have a nice long subway ride to think about her recent actions. But given he’s stayed at my place, there’s no way I can get away with that.
I should have just messaged her and said I’d found the place. If I’d done that, she probably wouldn’t insist we need a meeting. It’s my own stupid fault. In fact, if I’d done that, she probably wouldn’t have stomped over in the bar and embarrassed us both. Or herself, mainly. I can admit that I’ve been a bit of a dick, though I’ll never confess it out loud. Because she’s been ... a hapless harpy.
“I’m at 222 Lexington. You can come by at eight tonight, and we’ll figure everything out.”
I deserve my fate, whatever that might be.
Chapter Seven
Lucy
It’s 7:55 p.m. when I press the buzzer for Hunter’s apartment. By the time I’m at his door, it will be eight, so technically, I won’t be early.
The buzzer crackles and then Hunter speaks over the intercom. “Of course you’re early.”
“Technically, I won’t be—” The door unlocks with a buzz, cutting me off. I balance the Bankers Box on my knee and pull open the door. He could have offered to come down and help me with this.
I arrive at his door and tap it with my foot, as I don’t want to put the box down. Hunter is already talking when he abruptly pulls open the door.
“What the actual hell, Lucy? Why are you kicking my ...” He sees my full hands, and there’s a moment when we both silently recognize how quickly he jumped to conclusions. Thewrongconclusions.
“Add it to the list,” I say.
“The . . . what?”
“The list. Of grievances? About me? I’m sure there’s a running tab somewhere.”
He leans against the doorjamb and crosses his ankles, like it has never once occurred to him to take the heavy box out of my hands. “You forget,” Hunter says. “I’ve met your parents. I’ve met your sister.I’ve even met your great-aunt Mildred. They all seem so ...normal.What happened to you? Dropped on your head as a child? Switched at birth? Alien overlord trapped in a human-skin suit?”
There’s an edge to his teasing that makes me feel like he’s reached into my rib cage and pulled out my heart. Hunter might be a lot of things—a lot of annoying things—but I didn’t realize until just now that he’smean.
I glance down at the box in my arms and realize this is pointless. I don’t have the energy to go on like this. I can’t even be bothered to tell him that Great-Aunt Mildred is Ed’s aunt, not mine. I’m never going to be my sister. I’m never going to flit through my perfect life, sprinkling perfection wherever I go. No matter how organized or punctual or put together I am, I’ll always just be me. TheotherJones sister.
I sigh and turn back to the elevators. I’m done. I don’t have it in me to fight with someone who doesn’t care. At least not tonight.
“Lucy,” Hunter calls.
I can’t even bring myself to respond.
“Lucy,” Hunter calls again as he follows me out of the apartment. “Look, I’m sorry if I overreacted about the door. Let’s just go inside.” He tugs at the Bankers Box. “What the hell is in here?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say.
