To her horror, Jenna’s eyes welled up, and she squeezed them shut, muttering “Goddamn it” as she willed the unshed tears away, mentally tried to push them back into her tear ducts. “I am not going to cry over this. Over her.”
More silence. They sat there, just being in each other’s company, Jenna fighting off her impending tears. After a moment or two, Dakota spoke.
“What now?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you live side by side. It’s not like you’re never going to see her again. What are you going to do now?”
“I’m not sure.” It was the most honest answer she could give.
Dakota took in a deep, slow breath, ruminating. “Give me the top three options you’ve been hamster-wheeling in your head.”
Jenna nibbled on her bottom lip. Dakota wasn’t wrong about that. “Okay, one. Ignore her completely. Like, pretend we never met.”
Dakota’s lips twisted with uncertainty.
“But then there’s her family,” Jenna said, on a miserable sigh. “I don’t want to ignore them.”
“Fair. Number two?”
“Rage date in front of her.”
Dakota squinted, then asked, in the drollest of dulcet tones, “Scratching number two from the running, dare I ask for option three?”
Jenna sighed. Deflated, really. “Number three. Maybe I should just…talk to her.”
“Say more.”
“I mean, how would she know how that triggered me when I don’t even know her middle name? Her favorite color?” She flailed her arms. Let them fall. “I don’t knowhertriggers, after all.”
Dakota feigned horror, hand splayed on her chest. “You mean”—fake gasp—“handle it like a mature adult rather than losing your shit?”
Jenna pulled her own droll face. “Listen, bitch—”
“Don’t try me, bitch.” Dakota raised her fists. She held her stance soberly for three seconds before melting into an empathetic smile and pulling Jenna into a hug both fierce and comforting. “You know what you need to do. Didn’t need my input at all.” One punctuating squeeze,then Dakota let her arms drop. “Talking to her,” Dakota said, “is a great next step.” With that, she kissed her own thumb, then pressed it to the middle of Jenna’s forehead—a little harder than necessary, if you asked Jenna.
“I will,” Jenna muttered back, rubbing her forehead.
“I mean, I’m not taking sides, but hear me out.” Dakota shrugged. “Maybe there was a perfectly logical reason for what she did. Or more, how she did it. I mean, the sticky note joke is our schtick, not hers.”
Damnit. Dakota had points. Lots of them.
“Maybe she’s dealing with some crap you don’t know about? Maybe it was…not such athing?”
“Are you saying I’m overreacting?”
Dakota held up a hand. “Not public defending. You know I’m Team Jenna, even when I’m not taking sides, such as right now. I’m just saying…” She tucked her chin and did the truth-eyes stare—always, before a bitter truth pill. “It’s very new. The two of you.”
“I know,” Jenna choked out, as she swallowed it.
“And maybe you just communicate differently.”
Jenna had thought the same thing with the mature part of her brain. “That, too.”
“Which means—”
“A conversation is in order, I know,” she said again, trying to reassure Dakota with her eyes, since she couldn’t seem to pull off a full smile. She did understand. Because she couldn’t just leave things the way they were. She didn’t do casual sex, and she hated to think that might be exactly what she’d accidentally had with Sawyer. She’d never know unless they talked, though. It was so logical, she couldn’t even argue the point. She blew out a defeated sigh.
