“Maybe another day.” I edge away.
“Or maybe I could come to you,” she offers. “Your kitchen must be finished soon?”
I freeze.
She hasn’t been to my house once, and for good reason. I feel awful for pitching her the lie about the renovation, but it’s easier than explaining the truth. Lines were epically crossed today, and the remaining boundaries have to stay untouched. It’s for her own good.
“Soon, yeah.” My tone is casual despite the pounding in my temples. “I’ll get out of your hair. Forget what they said. They don’t know what they’re talking about. Call me if you need anything.”
My foot hovers over the threshold when Harriet calls my name. I turn to find her crawling across the bed, a cautious look on her face.
“Thank you.” Her gaze falls to where she fists the bed sheets. “Not just for today, but for everything. I know this isn’t what either of us planned, and I don’t take our friendship for granted. You mean a lot to me, Warren.”
Dagger to my heart.
Friend-zoned at forty-years-old.
Because that’s what she asked for. That’s what you agreed. It’s all you can offer.
I force a smile. “You mean a lot to me, too.”
More than I’m willing to accept.
More than I’ve cared for anything in a long, long time.
THIRTY-FIVE
Warren: Morning. I hope you’re feeling better and haven’t let those publishers’ comments get inside your head.
Harriet: Hey, easier said than done, but I know in my heart, I’d never stoop so low.
Warren: Good. I’m headed into work, but call if you need anything.
Harriet: Are we good? I really don’t want what happened
*delete*
Harriet: Have a good day :)
Harriet: Lotsof kicks today!
Warren: A future soccer player or dancer in the making.
Harriet: They’re very stubborn and won’t let anyone feel the kicks, but maybe if you come around for dinner this week, they’ll surprise you.
Warren: I’d love to, but I’m slammed with work.
Harriet: Rain check?
Warren: Yeah.
Warren: I’m sorry for being distant
Warren: I don’t know how to be your friend
*delete, delete*
Warren: Happy 23 weeks :)
