Whit almost growled.
“If you say you heard that from Noel, I swear to God I’ll—”
“I heard that from Noel.”
Now he did growl.
“And I told him to stop talking nonsense. But...”
She faded out, and Whit shook his head, pressing both hands against his suddenly hot ears.
“No buts.”
“I’m just saying, Merritt sounds like a nicefriend, and Adrienne and I would love to meet her.”
“Willa—”
“Really, I’m not sayinganything, just that you should invite her. Shouldn’t he, Annie?”
“Oh,” she said, joining Willa in the Looking at Whit Intently Club. “Yeah, probably.”
What was Annie thinking?
Willa gave him a wicked smile from above his daughter’s head. He supposed that was settled then, too.
When Willa was gone, he sent Merritt a text.
Would you be interested in coming to a Halloween party with my writing group friend this weekend? Costumes, I regret to inform you, are required.
Merritt texted back almost immediately.
Oh, fun! I think I should be free. I’ll check and get back to you.
Well. He’d better start figuring out what to wear.
When Whit’s text came through, Merritt was lying on top of her bed with her jeans still on, scrolling through her socials on her phone. This was dangerous business. Two of the bookish accounts she followed had posted aboutSerious Games, earning an immediate, knee-jerk block. She had then gone back and unblocked them, on the off chance that these posters had seen some deep flaw in the book—she was begging for just one person to find some deepflaw—but no, they too were fawning about its smart critique of sexual politics and power dynamics in modern academia. Then Whit had texted, saving her from herself.
Sure!she had typed, before immediately deleting it in favor ofOh, sounds fun. Maybe!But then that sounded too cavalier.
Let me check my schedule.
Too uninterested.
I think I should be free! I’ll check and get back to you!
Did she sound like a seventeen-year-old? So many exclamation marks.
I think I should be free. I’ll check and get back to you.
Nowthatsounded like a man writing an email that did not need to be a reply-all.
Oh, fun! I think I should be free. I’ll check and get back to you.
What—seriouslywhatwas wrong with her?
She sent it, and then waited an hour, hoping to give the appearance that her social calendar was not depressingly vacant, before texting to say she’d be there.
“It’s not a date,” she had told herself, out loud as she lay in bed that night. But even her own voice had sounded unconvinced.
